The grand parlor of the Auric family was awash with sunlight streaming through stained-glass windows. Lord Alaric sipped his tea while Lady Mirabelle fanned herself, their youngest daughter perched on a silk divan.
"Do you truly think she warrants all this attention?" Mirabelle asked.
"She's an unknown," Alaric replied, placing his teacup down with a sharp clink. "Not from any notable lineage. That alone is... unconventional."
"Unconventional, but clever. No ties to our rival families. Her rise could mean fresh alliances," Mirabelle mused.
The daughter chimed in, her eyes alight with curiosity. "If nothing else, she's a spectacle. Everyone's whispering about her."
Mirabelle gave a knowing smile. "Spectacle or strategy, she's worth watching. I cannot wait to see her."
…
Books lined every wall, the smell of ink and aged parchment heavy in the air. Lord Castellan leaned back in his leather chair, arms crossed as he addressed his eldest son.
"She's a phantom," the son said, pacing around. "No one knows where she came from or how she earned favor. A mystery at court."
"Indeed," Lord Castellan replied, his voice low. "It's not just intrigue. A calculated move. Every noble house will be evaluating her today."
"Do you think she's capable?"
"That's irrelevant. Perception is what matters. Her actions will define her worth. And we'll see the weight of the council's decision soon enough."
The son stopped pacing, a thoughtful expression settling on his face. "I cannot wait to see her."
…
The Morvants' breakfast table was adorned with delicate pastries and fine silverware. Baroness Morvant spoke while her husband read the morning bulletin.
"A complete mystery, and they've made her Duchess?" she exclaimed. "Do you suppose she has some secret backing?"
"Or a secret talent," the Baron muttered, folding his paper. "Her ascent doesn't happen without merit. The council isn't foolish."
"Perhaps, but there's something magnetic about her, wouldn't you agree? To rise like this with no name of note—it's almost like a fantasy tale."
"Fantasy or not, she'll need more than charisma to survive. The others will tear her apart if she's unworthy."
The Baroness dabbed her mouth with a napkin, a glint of anticipation in her eye. "I cannot wait to see her."
…
The Van Eryths stood in their manicured courtyard, the morning dew still fresh on the hedges. Lord Van Eryth observed his wife and their eldest daughter as they admired the arrangements of blooms.
"An outsider, yet poised to enter the highest circles of power," Lady Van Eryth said, her voice tinged with skepticism. "It's audacious."
"Audacious is what us nobles thrive on," her husband replied. "We could learn a great deal from her maneuvering. A rise this rapid suggests a mind worth studying."
"Or watching closely," the daughter added. "Who knows what alliances she intends to forge?"
"Exactly," the Lord said with a nod. "She's an anomaly, and anomalies can't be ignored."
The daughter turned her gaze toward the horizon, where the palace loomed. "I cannot wait to see her."
…
The grand musicatry room of House Elvarez was filled with the soft sound of string music, played by a hired quartet. The Elvarez siblings sat in a cluster, their faces alight with excitement.
"Do you think she'll be wearing something extraordinary?" the youngest asked, practically bouncing in her seat.
"Not just extraordinary—strategic," the eldest corrected. "Every detail matters for a Duchess, especially one as unknown as her."
"That's why I find her so fascinating," the middle child said. "No history, no lineage, yet she's here. It's like watching a blank canvas turn into a masterpiece."
The eldest leaned forward, her voice firm. "Or into a disaster. Today will reveal everything about her. Whatever happens, it'll be memorable."
Their mother entered the room, smiling faintly. "She's already the talk of every household. I cannot wait to see her."
…
A long tunnel stretched before Ophelia, the bright light at its end spilling over the smooth stone walls like a beacon. Her steps were slow, her heels echoing faintly in the enclosed space. The brightness ahead seemed to pulse, drawing her forward. Her chest tightened—not with fear, but with anticipation. As her heart began to race, she felt an unbidden smile tug at her lips.
Ophelia's ruby dress cascaded around her in flowing waves of deep crimson, the fabric shimmering faintly in the light of the tunnel. Intricate embroidery of gold thread adorned the bodice and hem, curling into delicate, floral patterns. Around her neck hung a matching ruby necklace, the gemstone catching the light and refracting it in fiery glints, complementing her earrings, which dangled with the same deep red jewels.
A touch of blusher accentuated her high cheekbones, and her lips, painted a soft yet striking red, mirrored the intensity of her dress. A faint shimmer on her eyelids, coupled with precise eyeliner, framed her sharp silver eyes.
A creak from the door behind her shattered the moment. Her expression hardened instantly, the smile vanishing as if it had never been. She turned her head sharply, her movements as composed as they could be.
The door at the far end swung open, and eight figures stepped inside. It was the Holy Knights and their armor gleamed faintly even in the dim light. Among them, Alexandra stood out, her face breaking into an unashamed grin the moment her eyes met Ophelia's.
"Ophelia!" Alexandra's voice was light, and joyful, as she broke into a sprint. The lunge that followed caught Ophelia slightly off guard, but she reacted instinctively, wrapping her arms around Alexandra in a genuine embrace. The faintest smile returned to her face, a subtle warmth replacing her earlier composure.
Soon, they turned together toward the light at the tunnel's end, Alexandra falling into step behind her.
She took a step and it looked as if an aura of absolute grayish-silver spilled out from beneath her foot.
As the Holy Knights followed, their eyes fixed on Ophelia, the sound of a steady drumbeat echoed from outside. This was soon followed by sounds of a humming deep chorus that bellowed even louder than the drums.
She took another step, the grayish-silver aura spewing from her other foot.
Something about her had changed in the moment she stepped forward.
And then another step.
It wasn't magic, nor the commanding aura of a warrior. It was something else.
And another step.
A presence that transcended titles or roles.
And another.
It was the aura of a ruler, one born to lead, to command not through force but through sheer gravity of existence.
And another.
For a fleeting instant, the Holy Knights felt as though they were looking upon the Emperor himself.
Ophelia took the final step through the tunnel's glowing threshold, her silhouette emerging into the brilliance beyond. A roar hit her like a tidal wave—thousands of voices rising as one, the sound reverberating through the air and shaking the stone beneath her feet. She stood on a grand balcony, the sprawling capital stretching out below, alive with a sea of citizens of all races and standings.
The streets were packed with people, their faces turned upward. Others leaned from windows or stood on rooftops, their cheers merging into an unrelenting cacophony of admiration. Banners bearing the empire's crest fluttered in the breeze…
A single golden lance.
Ophelia paused, letting the enormity of the moment settle over her. Her eyes swept across the vast crowd, her expression unreadable, yet the weight of her presence carried effortlessly to all who looked up at her. The drumbeats, steady and loud, blended with the deep, haunting hum of the chorus from the square below. Together, they formed an anthem of anticipation.
Behind her, the Holy Knights came to a halt. Though they stood in formation, none of them spoke, their awe visible as they watched her. To them, she seemed larger than life.
Ophelia raised her head slightly, a calm yet deliberate motion that silenced her own thoughts and steadied her racing pulse. The aura that had followed her out of the tunnel, pale and commanding, seemed to linger around her, a subtle yet unmissable presence.
Then, their eyes raised even further upwards.
The crowd's cheers softened into an awed murmur. The balcony Ophelia stood on was no longer the focal point. Higher above, nearly lost against the grandeur of the imperial palace, a recessed balcony emerged into view. Its edges glowed faintly as if kissed by an ethereal light. There, the atmosphere itself seemed to change. A pressure filled the air, tangible and overwhelming, forcing all to pause, their breaths caught in their throats.
Even Ophelia, with all her calculated poise, felt her chest tighten. A slight hitch in her breath betrayed her as her gaze moved upwards. Her fingers curled into fists at her sides, willing herself to remain steady.
It was an overwhelming tide of raw authority crashing over her.
The massive double doors framing the higher balcony creaked open with an agonizing slowness. From the shadows beyond, a solitary figure emerged. His movements were deliberate, his presence undeniable. Every step he took seemed to reverberate through the hearts of those below.
This was no mere ruler.
This was the Emperor.
The capital seemed to collectively bow, not by command but by instinct. Heads dipped, breaths stilled, and even the most defiant of hearts could not resist the compulsion. Ophelia's knees locked in place, her mind grappling with the enormity of the man's presence.
The Holy Knights behind her shifted uneasily, their disciplined stances faltering as the Emperor's gaze swept over the city. It was not cruel nor cold, but its weight bore into all it touched, demanding reverence without uttering a word.
For a moment, Ophelia felt herself shudder beneath that gaze. However, quickly, she straightened her back, her expression unreadable once more. Her fingers relaxed, though the faintest sheen of sweat betrayed the effort it took to steady herself.
The Emperor remained still, his figure as unshakable as the palace itself. It was as if he were not a man but an embodiment of the empire's very will. The crowd below roared again, louder than before, a sound that seemed to shake the heavens. Yet, even amidst the deafening cacophony, the Emperor's presence silenced all other thoughts.
This was power at its purest.
His skin, a grayish hue while his golden hair fell in soft, cascading waves, catching the faint light like liquid sunlight. Behind his head was a halo of golden thorns, shaped into what looked to be a sun.
His armor was an extension of his form, intricate and dark, spiraling outward in jagged, organic shapes. Each layer of his attire seemed to breathe, as though the armor itself carried his unyielding will. Beneath the armor, a faintly glowing circle marked the center of his chest—a mysterious emblem, like a window into some uncharted depth of power.
Then, the most haunting part was that thing behind him… a ghostly figure of a woman floated behind him, lightly clinging to his chest. Her long, flowing garments swirled as though caught in a phantom wind. Her pale, translucent skin seemed to blend with the faint light around her, while her eyes, devoid of color, held a bottomless emptiness. Her hair, long and white as snow, flowed like a river of mist.
The suffocating weight of the Emperor's presence faded as he turned and disappeared back into the grand double doors. The city below erupted once more into cheers, a thunderous roar that rolled like waves through the capital.
"ALL HAIL THE EMPEROR! ALL HAIL THE EMPEROR OF THE HOLY EMPIRE!"
The focus shifted again, thousands of eyes turning toward Ophelia.
From the shadowed archway behind her, a figure emerged. It was an old man, his steps soft and his white robes flowing as he approached. In his hands, he carried a small white pillow embroidered with golden threads, upon which rested a golden orb that shimmered faintly under the sunlight.
The priest stopped before Ophelia and, with great care, lowered himself to one knee. Arms extended, and he presented the golden orb to her.
"Please place your hand on the orb."
Ophelia's face remained calm as she placed her hand atop the orb, feeling a hundred needles stab her, however she remained unphased. And then, in an instant, the priest's hands began to shake while his voice infused with holy power announced…
"Nine…" His voice shook even more. "99.99% Synchronization with the Supreme Command… 99.99% SYNCHRONIZATION WITH THE SUPREME COMMAND!"
The crowd popped, even louder than before.