Time flowed steadily onward, and before we knew it, Celia and I had reached our tenth year. With it came the approach of our joint birthday banquet—a grand celebration for more than just the marking of years.
This was an age of significance in our world, a threshold marking our entrance into young noble society. It would also be the day I was named the heir to the Grand Duchy of Silvaria, a formal announcement setting me apart from my sister, though it was a decision Celia seemed to embrace with cheerful resolve.
Here, one came of age at eighteen, and many married by nineteen, so a tenth birthday marked not merely a milestone but a debut into the world of our peers. Yet, despite our noble status, Celia and I had few friends. The lands of Silvaria lay in the far East, distant from the territories of other noble families with children of our age. Isolation had been a way of life for us—until now.
Things were about to change. The Grand Duchy, so often self-contained, was opening its gates wide to the world beyond. And with it, the chance for us to make connections beyond our walls, to step into a society we'd only heard of in stories and lessons. I didn't yet know all the reasons why the duchy had stayed so cloistered, or why that was shifting now, but I could feel the weight of it, the importance pressing like the hum of distant thunder.
Our guests would be of the highest standing; nearly every powerful noble, as well as members of the Imperial family, would attend. It was a testament to Silvaria's strength, a reminder of the reverence—and perhaps wariness—with which our family was regarded across the empire.
For all its splendor, this was more than a birthday celebration. It was our introduction to the world we were born into, and I sensed that whatever awaited us, we were stepping into something vast and uncharted, bound to shape us both.
Naturally, the day was spent in the elaborate ritual of dressing for the grand banquet. Celia and I endured layers of silks and satins, countless pins and buckles, and the fastidious care of maids who treated each strand of hair as if it were a matter of national importance.
Celia wore a gown of deep silvery-blue, the color of twilight skies, embroidered with threads that glimmered like starlight. Her hair, a soft halo of silver waves, was woven into a half-crown braid, accentuating her lively eyes and the delicate features that had already charmed many of the staff. She looked both radiant and fierce, every bit the daughter of the Grand Duchy, a glimmer of excitement in her eyes as she turned to me with a small smile.
As for myself, they had dressed me in a deep, forest-green ensemble lined with silver threads to match Celia's gown, an understated nod to the Silvarian wolf. The coat was tailored and fitted, its fabric rich but practical, hinting at both the nobility and strength the Grand Duchy was known for. My hair was brushed back, lending an edge to my young face that hinted at both nobility and quiet resolve.
Once we were ready, we joined our mother, who looked resplendent as ever in a dress of black and silver, the colors of our house. Her presence commanded the room, her crimson eyes surveying us with a pride softened only by a mother's love. She nodded approvingly, and together, we moved down the hall to the estate's grand ballroom, the largest hall in the entire duchy, where guests would soon gather.
Two knights stood by the towering doors, nodding as they swung them open with the air of ceremony. And as the doors parted, we were greeted by a scene unlike any we had ever known.
The hall was transformed—a vast, glittering world unto itself. Crystal chandeliers cast soft light across marble floors, and rich tapestries lined the walls, each depicting scenes of Silvarian history and the strength of our lineage. The tables were dressed in fine linens, gleaming with silverware and crystal goblets, their reflections dancing across the room. Every detail spoke of power, wealth, and the storied heritage of the Grand Duchy.
It was a world meant for us to step into, and as I caught Celia's eye, I knew that, however daunting it seemed, we were ready.
At least I was ready.
After all, in my previous life, as the strongest human on Earth, I'd endured countless gatherings of the powerful. Yet here, the sheer scale of the event eclipsed anything I'd experienced before. The presence of so many formidable figures filled the room, their mana shimmering subtly in the air—a quiet but unmistakable display of strength and influence.
The guests stood in clusters, each cloaked in their house colors, bearing crests of noble families known throughout the Killion Empire. I could feel their eyes upon us, assessing, evaluating, as though our entrance marked the beginning of some great shift.
As we descended the steps, my gaze fell upon two young girls near the far end of the hall, standing out even amid the nobility surrounding them. They were the twin princesses—Rachel and Aurora Vasillias Evereux. Rachel and Aurora Vasillias Evereux shared an unmistakable resemblance, yet their presence differed as vividly as day from night.
Rachel Vasillias Evereux, the elder by a mere breath, held a reserved elegance that drew attention with quiet authority. Her hair, a waterfall of molten gold, flowed past her shoulders, adorned with a single delicate silver diadem that reflected her composed demeanor. Her violet eyes, as sharp as they were calm, surveyed the room with a watchful intelligence, making her appear years older than her age. She wore a dress of deep plum with silvery accents, regal and understated, complementing her poised nature.
Aurora Vasillias Evereux, on the other hand, radiated warmth and vivacity. Her golden hair, braided intricately with threads of crimson, matched the bright expression in her eyes—a lively shade of amber. Aurora's gown was lighter, a rich shade of scarlet that flared as she moved, exuding an undeniable energy and charisma. She seemed wholly at ease, offering quick smiles and words to those around her, drawing laughter and lightness as naturally as breathing.
'The Crown Princess,' I thought, my gaze drifting and settling upon Rachel. 'The Jewel of the Killion Empire.'
In this hall of opulent splendor, where laughter mingled with the murmur of political undertones, she was the one to watch most keenly. Rachel Vasillias Evereux was not just another royal. No, she was the future Empress, the radiant star of the Evereux lineage, the axis upon which countless schemes and dreams spun.
And she was merely ten years old.
I noted the subtle poise in her bearing, the quiet intelligence that glimmered behind her eyes. 'She's talented,' I mused. A spellcaster, unlike her younger sister, who wielded a sword with the grace of one born to it. Rachel had not yet reached Blue Stage, nor carved her Intent into the fabric of mana, but it was only a matter of time. The potential in her was as clear as dawn breaking over the horizon, inevitable and quietly awe-inspiring.
My eyes moved, leaving the young princess, and settled on another figure who commanded nearly as much attention: Edwin von Ardenfall, heir to the storied Archdukedom of Ardenfall. He stood with the air of someone accustomed to admiration, but without the pretense that often accompanied it. Edwin, our childhood friend, who had once laughed and played in the gardens of Silvaria, was now a young lord whose name carried weight like a drawn blade.
He too had grown, the marks of training visible in the confident stance of his frame, the subtle shift of muscle beneath fine cloth. He was not far from unlocking his Sword Intent, perhaps only a few years away. The thought made me smile faintly; the boy who once scoffed at ghost stories was now becoming a swordsman of note, his future written in the steel he carried.
A hush swept over the hall as the great double doors at the far end of the chamber swung open. The room, awash in golden light from the crystal chandeliers above, seemed to hold its breath. Conversations stilled, laughter dimmed to whispers, and all eyes turned expectantly toward the dais where the Grand Duchess Eleanor von Silvaria stood, resplendent in a gown of deep silvers and blues, adorned with a glimmering sash that marked her station.
"Honored guests," she began, her voice steady and regal, ringing through the hall like the soft chime of a bell. "Today, we gather not just to celebrate the birthdays of my beloved children, Lancelot and Celia, but to mark a moment that will shape the future of Silvaria itself."
The words stirred the crowd, a ripple of anticipation weaving through the nobles, knights, and dignitaries. I felt the weight of their gazes, each assessing, judging, perhaps even calculating.
"Lancelot," Mother continued, her eyes finding mine in the sea of faces, warm yet piercing. "Step forward."
I moved, the thud of my boots on the polished marble masked by the rustle of silks and murmurs. The room, a grand expanse framed by towering banners bearing the sigil of Silvaria—a fierce silver wolf set against deep blue—felt both vast and small, every detail sharp in the heightened moment.
Celia's crimson eyes sparkled with excitement as she stood to the side, her hands clasped tightly, while Rachel's expression remained composed, a keen intelligence flickering behind her gaze. Edwin, a step behind the princesses, gave the smallest nod, an acknowledgment only I would catch.
Mother gestured to me, pride tempered by the weight of responsibility visible in the slight furrow of her brow. "Today, before friends, allies, and those whose legacies intertwine with our own, I declare my son, Lancelot von Silvaria, as the heir to the Grand Duchy of Silvaria."
The announcement resonated in the hall, the echo mingling with a momentary silence as the proclamation settled. Then, applause erupted—measured and polite from some, earnest and boisterous from others. The room pulsed with energy, the kind that promised change and sparked the first embers of whispered speculations.
A court bard, stationed near the balcony, struck a chord on his lyre, signaling the start of the birthday banquet in earnest. Servants glided through the crowd, carrying trays of jeweled goblets filled with sparkling nectar and platters of delicacies that gleamed under the golden light. Conversation picked up, fueled by the announcement, but each exchange carried a different undercurrent now.