He bowed slightly in greeting, a gesture that wasn't merely courteous but practiced, the mark of someone born and bred into power. But it wasn't his appearance or manners that caught my attention—it was his strength.
'Blue stage,' I noted silently, impressed despite myself. Edwin had progressed well, faster than most for his age. His aura was controlled, focused, yet carried a subtle edge that hinted at his potential. He wasn't quite there yet, but he was close to becoming formidable.
But my attention shifted quickly as my gaze moved beyond Edwin to the two figures following him. His parents.
The Archduke and Archduchess of Ardenfall.
"I greet His Grace, the Archduke of Ardenfall, and Her Grace, the Archduchess," I said, bowing slightly. My tone was carefully neutral but respectful, the sort of greeting that acknowledged their power without overstepping my own station.
The Archduke inclined his head in acknowledgment, his expression unreadable. He was tall, his presence commanding without effort. His steel-gray eyes regarded me with the measured scrutiny of someone accustomed to wielding authority. His aura was a storm barely contained, and it was immediately clear why he was considered one of the strongest in the Empire. Where my mother's power was precise and sharp, like a blade honed to perfection, his was like a mountain—immovable and overwhelming.
The Archduchess was no less striking, though her strength was subtler. Her dark hair, streaked with silver, framed a face that radiated poise and quiet confidence. Her green eyes studied me, a flicker of curiosity in their depths. It was clear she was a woman who saw much and said little, her words carrying weight when she chose to use them.
"Lord Lancelot," the Archduke said at last, his voice deep and deliberate. "Your reputation precedes you. It is said you've already reached Indigo stage at such a young age. A remarkable feat."
"Thank you, Your Grace," I replied, keeping my tone humble but firm. "I've been fortunate to have strong guidance."
The Archduke's gaze flickered briefly to my mother, who was engaged in conversation across the hall. "Indeed. The Grand Duchess is known for raising heirs worthy of the Silvaria name."
Edwin grinned, breaking the tension as he clapped me on the shoulder. "Don't let my father intimidate you, Lance. He's just curious."
I chuckled lightly. "If he intended to intimidate, I imagine I'd already be on my knees."
The Archduke's lips twitched, almost forming a smile, though it was gone as quickly as it appeared. The Archduchess, however, allowed herself a faint chuckle, the sound soft but genuine.
"Your humility does you credit," she said, her voice carrying a refined warmth. "Though I suspect there is steel behind it."
"Your Grace is generous," I said, bowing my head slightly. "I've only begun to forge my path."
"Then perhaps we'll see where it leads," the Archduke said, his tone thoughtful. "The Empire is always in need of those who can lead."
His words carried weight, more than was immediately apparent. It wasn't a statement—it was a test, a question veiled in politeness.
"I will strive to be worthy of that need, Your Grace," I said, meeting his gaze directly.
The Archduke nodded, the conversation settling into a more casual rhythm. Edwin, now grinning like a fox who'd just found a henhouse, leaned in conspiratorially.
"You should join me for a spar sometime," he said. "I'd love to see how that Indigo stage of yours measures up."
I raised an eyebrow, smirking. "Only if you're prepared to lose."
"Confident, aren't we?" he teased. "I like that. Makes it more fun when I prove you wrong."
The banter eased some of the formality between us, though I was keenly aware of the Archduke and Archduchess observing, their expressions unreadable. It was clear that Edwin was being groomed, as much a reflection of their power as their plans for the future.
"I look forward to the challenge," I said lightly, though my thoughts remained elsewhere. Ardenfall was a force to be reckoned with, and this meeting only reinforced that truth.
"Until then," the Archduke said, his voice cutting through our exchange, "enjoy the evening, Lord Lancelot. And Lady Evelyn," he added, nodding to her. "You carry yourself well."
"Thank you, Your Grace," Evelyn replied, her voice steady despite the weight of his gaze.
As they moved on, Evelyn exhaled softly, her shoulders relaxing. "They're... intense."
"They're Ardenfall," I said simply. "It's part of who they are."
She nodded, her gaze drifting across the hall. "Do you think he meant it?"
"About leading the Empire?" I shrugged. "Perhaps. Or perhaps he wanted to see how I'd respond."
Her dark eyes searched mine, curious and intent. "And how did you respond?"
"Do I need to respond?" I murmured, my gaze slipping past her to sweep over the glittering expanse of the hall. The chandeliers above glimmered like constellations caught in crystal, their light refracting off golden filigree and polished marble floors. But it all felt distant, unimportant. The pageantry of high society might as well have been another world entirely.
Evelyn tilted her head, confusion flickering across her face. She waited for me to say more, but I didn't. What was the point of explaining my indifference to the Archduke's probing words? The politics, the games, the constant jockeying for power—it wasn't my concern. Not truly. Not anymore.
I turned back to her, offering a small, reassuring smile. "High society doesn't concern us right now," I said. "We'll be back to adventuring soon enough."
Evelyn's expression softened, though a shadow of uncertainty lingered in her gaze. She glanced at the silk and lace of her gown, the intricate embroidery that marked her as more than just a guest tonight. "And... the engagement?" she asked, her voice quieter, almost hesitant.
I exhaled, running a hand through my hair. "It ends when I turn eighteen. We won't get married, Evelyn. This is all just... temporary."
Her eyes flickered, and for a moment, I thought I saw something there—relief, perhaps, or maybe disappointment. But Evelyn was quick to compose herself, nodding as if she'd already expected my answer.
All of this was a farce, after all. A mask we both wore, a shield against the world's judgment and dangers. For her, it was protection from those who would condemn her lineage or exploit her talents. For me, it was something simpler, something far more selfish.
Atonement.
The word settled heavily in my chest. I wasn't doing this because I loved her. I was doing this because of what I'd failed to do in my past life. The sins I'd committed while wearing the mask of a hero. The lives I couldn't or didn't save, no matter how many monsters I slew or how many Towers I climbed. Evelyn's salvation was a way to quiet the ghosts that still whispered in the corners of my mind.
"There's no need to overthink this," I said, more to myself than to her. "Let's just survive tonight and focus on what comes next."
Evelyn didn't reply immediately. Her gaze lingered on me, thoughtful and searching. Then she nodded, the faintest hint of a smile curving her lips. "All right, Lance. Let's get through tonight."
We moved through the hall again, the hum of conversation a steady backdrop. Nobles exchanged pleasantries, their laughter a touch too polished, their words laced with the subtle venom of courtly maneuvering. My gaze drifted to the far end of the room, where the Emperor sat atop the dais, his crown catching the light like a beacon. He surveyed the proceedings with an expression carefully neutral, his posture that of a man who understood the weight of an entire empire rested on his shoulders.
But no, that wasn't quite right.
There was something about him, something that struck a chord I hadn't intended to touch. It wasn't the commanding aura of a ruler in his prime, nor the quiet menace that marked a man like the Archduke or even my mother. No, the Emperor reminded me of someone I had seen before—many someones, in fact.
The world leaders who had watched helplessly as the Towers descended, as Climbers like me rose to prominence and stripped them of their power. Leaders who had been reduced to figureheads in a world turned upside down. Their hands had trembled as they signed away control, their eyes hollow as they realized they could neither protect the people who looked to them for guidance nor themselves from the opportunistic vultures circling above.
The Emperor had that same look. Not the sharp, calculating gaze of a predator, nor the calm assurance of an unshakable force. His was the expression of a man burdened with power he could no longer wield effectively, a man whose authority was propped up by the ambitions of others more capable—or more ruthless—than he.
No, the Emperor was not a man to fear. He wasn't like my mother, whose unyielding strength commanded respect, or the Archduke, whose very presence radiated the kind of danger that made even the bravest think twice.
He was nothing but a scarecrow. An ornament designed to hold the crows at bay while the real predators prowled the fields.