Location: Shelb Estate, Grant hall
4 days before the Flower Festival
Three days later, Micheal found himself in the estate's grand hall, reviewing plans for the journey to the capital. The sharp sound of a trumpet echoed through the estate, drawing his attention to the main entrance. Moments later, a herald entered, resplendent in imperial regalia, carrying a scroll emblazoned with the Emperor's seal.
The room fell silent as the herald unrolled the decree and began to read in a booming voice.
"By order of His Imperial Majesty, Raphael Valoria, Emperor of the Healian Empire: Let it be known that Mikhail Valoria von Shelb is hereby recognized and honored for his exceptional contributions during the Red Sky and Red Fog incident. His innovations and dedication have saved countless lives, bringing great honor to both the Shelb family and the Empire."
The words hung in the air, their impact immediate. Micheal's heart swelled with a mixture of pride and disbelief.
Though he suspected this was Raphael's way of compensating for the stolen first dance, he couldn't deny the satisfaction of being recognized—not as a spare heir, but as someone who had made a difference.
From his seat near the fireplace, Duke Louis von Shelb's sharp blue eyes darkened as the herald's voice rang out. His gaze lingered on the name used in the decree: Mikhail Valoria von Shelb. The addition of "Valoria" was subtle, but its implications were unmistakable.
He set down his glass of brandy with deliberate precision, his voice low and edged with displeasure. "Valoria von Shelb. As if he no longer belongs solely to this house."
Eleanor, seated across from him, arched a brow, her hazel eyes calm but unyielding. "He is part of the imperial family now, Louis. By your own design."
Louis's jaw tightened, his weathered features hardening. "That marriage was meant to strengthen the Shelb name, not dilute it. I didn't agree to hand over my son."
"And yet," Eleanor countered, her tone quiet but firm, "you did. You sought to control Magda through Micheal, but instead, Raphael brought Micheal into his family. You cannot dictate their lives now."
Louis's lips pressed into a thin line, his frustration palpable. Eleanor leaned forward slightly, her voice softening. "You wanted power, Louis, but what you received was something far more valuable. Micheal has found purpose. Let him have this."
The Duke said nothing, his expression inscrutable. For all his pride and ambition, even he could not deny the truth in her words.
-----
Later that evening, Micheal stood on the estate's balcony, the scroll from the decree still in his hands. The recognition from the Emperor was an honor, but it wasn't the reason he felt a renewed sense of purpose. It was the image of Magda, standing tall and unshaken at the festival, that drove him forward.
The stars above glimmered faintly, their light casting a soft glow over the estate's grounds. Micheal tightened his grip on the scroll, a faint smile playing on his lips.
"This time," he murmured to himself, "I'll make sure she never has to face them alone."
Location: Shelb estate, Barracks
2 days before the Flower Festival
The crisp morning air of the Shelb estate carried the faint clang of swords and the rhythmic thud of boots on training grounds. However, inside the administrative wing, the atmosphere was decidedly less disciplined.
Ethan von Shelb, the eldest and most stoic of the Shelb brothers, sat stiffly in a chair that seemed too small for his imposing frame. His sharp blue eyes scanned the parchment in his hand, disbelief evident in every line of his chiseled face.
Across the desk, Adrian von Shelb, his golden-haired twin with a perpetual smirk, leaned back in his chair, looking far too pleased with himself.
"So," Adrian began, steepling his fingers theatrically, "as part of Soldier Appreciation Week, we collected anonymous suggestions to improve morale. And let me tell you, Ethan, the results are revolutionary."
Ethan's expression darkened. "I highly doubt that."
Ignoring him, Adrian grabbed a stack of papers from his desk and began reading aloud with gusto. "First suggestion: Weekly pie contests."
Ethan's brow furrowed. "What?"
"Second," Adrian continued, his grin widening, "more comfortable socks. A sensible request, if I do say so myself."
Ethan's voice dropped an octave, the warning tone unmistakable. "Adrian…"
"And finally," Adrian concluded, holding up the last parchment with mock reverence, "a petting zoo for morale."
Ethan stared at him, his mouth slightly agape. "A petting zoo. For morale."
Adrian shrugged, completely unbothered by his brother's growing horror. "Soldiers are people too, Ethan. They deserve to feel appreciated. Morale is the key to success. Father always says so."
Ethan pinched the bridge of his nose, a deep sigh escaping him. "Adrian, you're turning this camp into a circus."
"Better a circus than a graveyard," Adrian shot back, his tone light but carrying a hint of sincerity. "You can't expect soldiers to function like machines. Happy troops are loyal troops."
Ethan narrowed his eyes, his patience wearing thin. "If you were the firstborn, this estate would be run by clowns instead of soldiers."
Adrian feigned offense, placing a hand over his heart. "Oh, how cruel! I'll have you know, Ethan, that this estate would be far more colorful under my leadership."
"Colorful," Ethan deadpanned. "That's one way to describe it."
Their exchange was interrupted by a knock at the door. A young aide stepped in, clearly struggling to suppress a smile. "My Lords, there's a new suggestion."
Adrian perked up, snatching the paper eagerly. "Let's see… 'Permission to play music during training drills.' Brilliant! See, Ethan? Creativity thrives when you give people a voice."
Ethan groaned, standing abruptly. "This is absurd. I'm going back to the training yard before someone suggests mandatory clown shoes for the infantry."
Adrian called after him, his tone dripping with mock indignation. "You can't silence progress, Ethan! History will remember me as the visionary who brought joy to Shelb troops!"
As Ethan left the room, shaking his head, Adrian leaned back in his chair, a satisfied smile on his face. The estate might never see a petting zoo, but he knew one thing for certain—morale was already improving, one ridiculous suggestion at a time.
Location: Imperial palace
Day of the flower festival
The palace gardens were alive with vibrant hues, the Flower Festival in full bloom. Sunlight filtered through canopies of blossoms, casting dappled shadows across the cobblestone paths. Laughter and music echoed softly in the distance as nobles and commoners alike reveled in the festival's beauty.
Micheal von Shelb stood near the entrance to the grand palace ballroom, his heart racing as he adjusted the lapel of his tailored suit. His platinum blonde hair, styled in its signature half-ponytail, shimmered under the soft glow of enchanted lanterns. The ceremonial insignia pinned to his chest—a recent gift from the Emperor—seemed heavier than its actual weight.
"Micheal," a familiar voice called from behind.
Turning, Micheal was met with the sight of Magda descending the marble staircase. She was radiant, her jet-black hair falling in soft waves over her shoulder, her crimson eyes gleaming with warmth.
She wore a flowing gown in hues of ivory and gold, its delicate embroidery depicting the symbols of the empire—golden laurel leaves representing peace, and interwoven chains symbolizing unity. The gown, simple yet regal, was a statement: she was not just the Emperor's daughter but a bridge between the empire's traditions and its future.
Micheal froze for a moment, captivated. "Magda," he said finally, his voice soft. "You look…"
"Beautiful?" she teased, arching a delicate brow as she came to stand before him.
"Stunning," he corrected, the sincerity in his voice bringing a faint blush to her cheeks.
Her crimson eyes swept over him, a smile tugging at her lips. "And you," she said, stepping closer, "look very handsome." Her voice dropped to a softer tone. "I'm glad you're healthy again."
Micheal chuckled lightly, a touch of warmth returning to his expression. "I had good reasons to recover."
Before either could say more, the sound of measured footsteps drew their attention. Emperor Raphael Valoria approached, his imposing presence as commanding as ever. His raven-black hair, streaked with silver at the temples, framed his sharp features, and his crimson eyes—so much like Magda's—glimmered with quiet authority.
"Micheal," Raphael greeted, his deep voice carrying an undercurrent of formality. His gaze shifted briefly to his daughter. "Magda."
"Royal Father!" Micheal replied, bowing slightly. Magda dipped her head in acknowledgment, though the warm smile she reserved for her father softened the gesture.
Raphael's eyes lingered on Micheal for a moment, his expression unreadable. "You should know," he began, his tone casual yet pointed, "I would not have claimed Magda's first dance had she not been so…" He paused, as if searching for the right word, "enthusiastically uncoordinated."
Magda groaned softly, her cheeks flushing. "Papa!"
Micheal hid a grin, his tension easing at the gentle banter. "Your Majesty," he said, his voice steady, "thank you for ensuring Magda's moment in the spotlight."
Raphael's gaze sharpened, a flicker of something unreadable passing through his crimson eyes. "Magda was my daughter long before she became your wife, Micheal. I would do anything to protect her."
The weight of those words hung between them, and for a moment, Micheal's usual composure faltered. "And I thank you for that," he said earnestly. "You saved her during the red sky and fog. For that, I will always be grateful."
Raphael inclined his head slightly, his expression softening. "We both care for her," he said simply, before turning his attention to the ballroom. "Enjoy the evening, both of you."
As the Emperor walked away, Micheal exhaled a breath he hadn't realized he was holding. Magda smiled faintly, her hand brushing his arm. "He's not so bad, once you get past the theatrics."
"I'll take your word for it," Micheal murmured, his lips twitching into a wry smile.
From a distance, Calista watched the scene unfold, her sharp eyes missing nothing. Though her expression remained composed, the faintest hint of a smile played at her lips. Her young lady was happy, and for Calista, that was enough.
Together, Micheal and Magda turned toward the ballroom, the festival's music growing louder as they stepped into the light of the festivities, ready to face the night together.
Location: Flower Festival Fair grounds
The Flower Festival had transformed the capital into a vibrant celebration of life and renewal. Every street seemed to bloom with colorful garlands—golden marigolds, crimson roses, and lilac orchids draped elegantly from every archway. The air was filled with the hum of excited chatter, the sweet scent of blossoms, and the cheerful notes of festival music.
Micheal led Magda through the bustling fairgrounds, their pace leisurely amidst the crowd. Micheal knew that they were being trailed by the Emperor's stealth guards, but that didn't dull his spirits. Vendors called out, hawking bright ribbons and delicate sweets, while children darted between the stalls with laughter echoing above the melodies of wandering musicians. The festive atmosphere seemed to wash over everything, even Micheal, whose thoughts were still tinged with the weight of the Emperor's words earlier in the palace.
Magda's white and gold gown shimmered as she walked beside him, the golden embroidery of laurel leaves and interwoven chains catching the sunlight. She looked every bit the imperial princess, yet her crimson eyes were filled with warmth as she glanced at Micheal. "It's overwhelming," she admitted softly.
"It always is," Micheal replied, a faint smile tugging at his lips. "The empire spares no effort for the festival. But this year feels... different."
"Because of you," she teased, her voice light with affection.
Micheal paused, his blue eyes meeting hers. "And because of you," he said earnestly. "You're part of this now."
They reached the main avenue just as the rhythmic beat of drums signaled the start of the grand parade. Micheal guided Magda to the sidelines, where rows of spectators had already gathered. The sound of boots striking the cobblestones echoed through the street as the Armond troops marched into view, their formation precise and disciplined.
Micheal's breath caught in his throat. Among the soldiers' polished armor and gear were unmistakable signs of his inventions—the Aura Fixers.
The mana-threaded reinforcements shimmered faintly in the light, supporting joints and enhancing movements with seamless precision. The sight of them, worn proudly by the troops, sent a surge of disbelief and pride through him.
"These…" Micheal murmured, his voice barely audible as he stared. "They're wearing the Aura Fixers."
Magda glanced at him, a smile blooming on her lips. "Didn't you know?"
He shook his head slowly. "I—I didn't. I never imagined they'd make it here, to this parade."
Just then, he caught sight of two familiar figures among the ranks. Garrick, the grizzly half-beast, marched with his usual commanding presence, his broad shoulders and fierce demeanor lending an air of authority to the formation.
Beside him was Claude, the fox-eared recruit, who seemed to be enjoying the cheers of the crowd a little too much. His sly grin and twitching ears betrayed his playful nature, even in uniform.
Micheal laughed softly, shaking his head. "Look at them. Garrick looks like he's leading an army into battle, and Claude... I bet he's already planning how to raid the food stalls after this."
Magda chuckled, her crimson eyes twinkling. "They're proud of you, Micheal. I think everyone here is."
Her words brought a tightness to Micheal's chest. For years, he had seen himself as the odd one out, the Shelb who didn't belong. And yet, here was proof of the impact he had made.
From the crowd, Barnaby and Arthur emerged, their faces glowing with satisfaction. Micheal turned to them, his expression a mixture of amazement and gratitude.
"This was your doing, wasn't it?" Micheal asked, his voice thick with emotion.
Arthur grinned, rubbing the back of his neck. "Well, we might have coordinated a little behind your back. But credit goes to Barnaby for managing the logistics."
Barnaby, ever composed, gave a small nod. "We thought it was time the empire saw the value of your work, my lord. Your contributions deserved to be more than whispers in the barracks."
Micheal swallowed hard, his heart full as he looked at the two of them. "Thank you," he said quietly. "You didn't have to do this, but you did. And it means more than I can say."
Barnaby's expression softened, his emerald eyes steady. "You've always underestimated yourself, Master Micheal. This was simply a reminder of what you're capable of."
As the last of the troops passed, Magda's hand found his arm, her touch grounding him amidst the swirling emotions. "Your inventions," she said softly, her voice carrying over the cheers of the crowd. "They're helping so many people."
Micheal turned to her, his blue eyes meeting her crimson gaze. For a moment, the festival faded around them, leaving only her words and the quiet pride in her expression.
"That's all I ever wanted," he said simply.
With a nod, he guided her back into the fairgrounds, the music and laughter wrapping around them like a warm embrace. For the first time in a long while, Micheal felt not just pride, but a sense of belonging—something he had spent his life searching for.