All eyes turned to the grand doors the moment the Feran family stepped into the hall. The music screeched to a halt, the orchestra's instruments falling silent mid-note.
Conversations froze in mid-sentence as nobles from across the East Sector turned to face the stars of the night. The main reason for the celebration had finally arrived.
The Ferans stood proudly at the entrance, basking in the attention. They took a moment—just a breath—to scan the hall, as if weighing the worth of each guest with their gaze.
Then, with perfect poise, they moved forward. Their steps were graceful, synchronized, refined. The crimson-and-gold of their formal wear shimmered under the chandeliers, and each stride radiated practiced nobility.
But it wasn't the patriarch or matriarch drawing the stares.
It was the red-haired boy in their center.
Eden Feran.
The prodigy. The boy who pleted his first trial in just four days.
Every gaze followed him as the family walked toward the head table—positioned between the Queens and Kael families. The moment they sat down, the music resumed as if on cue, and conversation rippled back through the crowd like a wave restarting after a sudden stillness.
Among the guests, two nobles stood near a marble pillar, speaking in hushed tones. One, a gray-bearded man in a silver-trimmed robe—an influential Rank 2 noble from a region under the Feran domain—gestured subtly toward the high table.
"I hardly ever see the three Lords gathered in one place like this," he said, voice tinged with admiration. "The young master of the Ferans must truly be exceptional for them to give him such face."
The woman beside him, wearing a pearl-gilded gown marked with the Queens domain's crest, shook her head slightly. "If the young mistress had pleted her trial a few days earlier," she murmured, "we might have been celebrating in the Queens domain instead."
Regret flickered across her face.
The man chuckled dryly. "Too bad. Still, she can't pare to the Feran boy. No one can, really." Then, with a sly look, he turned his gaze toward another noble lingering nearby—a stern man from a Kael-controlled region. "Well... at least the young mistress did better than him."
The insult was sharp.
"She finished her trial in ten days. But the Kael boy? Twenty-eight. Makes you wonder if he's really nobility at all."
A few nobles nearby chuckled under their breath. The noble from the Kael domain simply lowered his gaze. He couldn't argue. The numbers were real.
Leon Kael, heir of one of the greatest noble lines, had taken longer than any Rank 1 noble heir in recorded history to plete his first trial.
It was an embarrassment—a stain that lingered in every conversation.
The noblewoman from the Queens domain said nothing. Though she didn't refute the jab, she didn't join in either. The relationship between the Queens and the Kaels was close, and the least she could offer was silence.
Throughout the vast hall, similar conversations were happening in corners, beside fountains, near the wine tables. Nobles praised Eden Feran with glowing words, building him up with every sentence.
In contrast, they casually tore Leon Kael down, each whispered remark another knife in his reputation.
At the head table, the subjects of those conversations could hear it all.
The Ferans smiled faintly barely containing the satisfaction on their lips.
The Queens and Kaels, however, remained posed. They ate quietly, their expressions unreadable, as if the entire hall didn't exist to them.
Then came a clink.
The gentle but sharp sound of a spoon tapping against a crystal tumbler.
A man had stood up from the head table.
It was Dayton Feran, second-born of the Feran family.
Though his robes were just as fine as his family's, they hung slightly looser, and his posture was not as crisp.
Most of the nobles in the hall knew him well—but not for his titles, nor for any political achievements.
He was infamous.
A notorious drunk.
A known embarrassment to the Feran name.
Yet here he was, swaying ever so slightly, holding up a wine-filled tumbler as he smiled.
"I'd like to say a few words," Dayton slurred just lightly, raising his glass, "on this special occasion held for my wonderful little brother..."
A hushed murmur passed through the hall.
Because whenever Dayton Feran spoke, something always happened.
****
Luke Feran, the patriarch of the Feran family, sat silently at the center of the head table, his eyes half-lidded and face unreadable.
When Dayton stood up and began to tap his tumbler, a few members of the Feran family shifted unfortably, and whispers passed through nearby nobles.
Everyone knew Dayton's reputation—an infamous drunk, prone to slurred speeches and unpredictable behavior.
Yet Luke didn't stop him.
He didn't raise a hand.
He didn't frown.
He simply allowed his son to speak.
Because despite Dayton's flaws—his drinking and lack of restraint—there was one line he had never crossed.
He had never spoken poorly about the Feran name.
And more importantly, this moment wasn't a surprise.
It was planned.
Luke had set him up to it.
A quiet game of political chess was playing out in the background of this glittering celebration, and Luke was three moves ahead.
His gaze flicked across the table—first to the patriarch of the Kael family, then to the matriarch of the Queens. The two had grown far too close for Luke's liking.
Their children's bond had spilled over into an alliance of households, and that unity was starting to shift balances of influence within the East Sector.
An alliance between the Kaels and the Queens... that would never do.
But now?
Now the world had seen his son—Eden Feran—acplish a near-impossible feat. Four days to clear his first trial. A record. And not just in speed, but strength, control and grace.
And in contrast?
Leon Kael. The slowest Rank 1 noble heir in Federation history.
What kind of alliance could survive that imbalance?
Luke's lips twitched into the ghost of a smile. His wineglass caught the chandelier light as he brought it to his lips, never once looking at Dayton.
'Let's see how they react,' he mused, sipping calmly. 'Let's see if the Queens still cling to the Kaels after tonight. They only need a little push. Just a spark to light the divide.'
'And Dayton...:
'You're the perfect spark.'
As his son cleared his throat and prepared to speak, a hush once again fell across the grand hall.
Luke Feran leaned back in his chair, relaxed and posed.
Tonight, the alliance between the Kaels and Queens might just break.
...
...
...
A/N: Thank you for reading
...
...
...
User Comments
0 comments from readers