The air still trembled with the weight of her words.
Empress Celestia Dragonair had spoken, and it was as if the very heavens had listened. The grand ballroom—bathed in golden light and swirling with soft mana veils—had fallen into reverent silence during her speech. Now, it erupted with life.
The once-distracted nobles and warriors seed galvanized, their spirits reignited. Swordsn straightened their spines. Mages looked at their staffs like they were weapons of destiny. Even the aloof emissaries of other realms leaned in closer to one another, their eyes sharp with purpose.
Such was the effect of her voice—clear, commanding, divine.
It was the kind of speech that could rally armies and change the fate of kingdoms.
But not everyone shared the sa fervor.
In a quiet corner of his own mind, Luca stood apart from the revelry, brows furrowed in thought. He reached inward, to the ancient presence slumbering within him.
"Hey, Aira. Did the egg react to the energy she released just now?"
A scoff echoed back.
"Hmph. Don’t call that." Kunpeng’s voice was cool and prickly as ever. "But yes. It stirred. Her aura... it’s not ordinary. Does she have sothing to do with dragons?"
Luca’s gaze flicked back to the high stage where Empress Celestia sat on her gilded throne, majestic and untouchable.
"...Her surna is Dragonair," he murmured under his breath.
He rembered so rumors from the ga. Whispers about the Empress’s bloodline. About how she once cald a rampaging wyrm with a single glance. About how dragons bowed to her shadow.
"She must be connected. I can feel it in her presence," Kunpeng insisted. "You could ask her for help. Maybe she—"
"Do you want to die!?" Luca ntally snapped, feeling cold sweat trickle down his spine. "Asking soone like her isn’t an option. We’ll find another source of energy for the egg."
Just then, he felt a gentle tug on the hem of his coat.
He turned to find Aurelia beside him, looking elegant yet slightly flushed.
"I’ll be going to freshen up a bit," she said softly, her eyes darting toward the side corridors. "I’ll find you later."
Luca gave a small nod, watching her disappear into the crowd.
The hall had resud its usual rhythm—champagne glasses clinking, silken dresses sweeping across marble, masked figures whispering behind jeweled fans. But Luca could see the subtle undercurrent beneath it all.
The Iron duke and the two people with him where now approaching the stage where her majesty and other dignitaries were present, Luca could see a stream of people gathering towards that place now.
This ball wasn’t just a celebration. It was a gathering of power. A front.
All the major leaders are here, Luca thought, sipping from a glass of deep crimson wine. Which ans... there’s more going on behind the scenes. A council? A treaty? A warning?
His eyes scanned the gathering again.
But where’s Master?
The Tower Master, one of the top five strongest beings in the realms—if anyone had a seat at such a gathering, it should have been her. And yet, she was absent.
Just as that thought sharpened in his mind, a familiar presence drew close.
Selena.
She stood beside him wordlessly, her flowy white dress shimring under the chandeliers, her white hair catching moonlight through the tall arched windows.
Her expression was unchanged. Cold. Beautiful. Detached.
Still, Luca ventured, "Why isn’t Master here?"
Selena didn’t even glance his way.
"What does that have to do with ?" she replied, her voice like frost over glass.
Luca sighed internally.
Right. I forgot. Their relationship isn’t exactly... warm.
He sipped his wine again, the taste bitter on his tongue.
So ti had passed when Elowen quietly approached Luca. "Are you enjoying it?" she asked with a soft smile.
"It’s just a ball," Luca replied, his tone calm but indifferent.
Elowen chuckled lightly at his response. "Well, soone wants to et you. Will you follow ?"
Luca raised an eyebrow in curiosity but gave a small nod. Who could possibly want to et here?
He followed her through the crowd, weaving past nobles and dignitaries, until Elowen suddenly stopped and bowed. "I have brought him, Your Majesty."
Luca halted in his tracks. His eyes widened as he looked up—and saw the Elf Queen standing before him, her expression gentle and welcoming.
Amiable... yet radiant, like the forest bathed in morning light.
Quickly, he bowed in respect. "Greetings, Your Majesty."
Why does the Elf Queen want to et ? She did smile at when she arrived, but still...
"Greetings, young hero," the Elf Queen said in a calm voice that felt like wind through leaves.
"But it’s not who wants to et you."
Luca’s brow furrowed. "What do you an?"
She smiled, serene and unreadable. "The Mother Tree wishes to see you."
His heart skipped a beat.
The Mother Tree?
As in... the World Tree?
The living soul of the elven forest? Why would sothing like that want to et ?
The Elf Queen noticed the stunned silence on his face and continued, "You are welco in the elven forest at any ti you wish to co. So please, do visit—when your heart is ready."
His jaw nearly dropped. Did she just... grant unrestricted entry?
The forest where no humans are allowed?
What in the world is going on...?
"I... I will definitely," Luca managed to say, still dazed.
The Elf Queen gave a slight nod. "You may leave now."
Still trying to piece it all together, Luca turned and walked back with Elowen, his mind racing.
First the Elf Queen greets personally, and now the World Tree wants to et ? What is even happening anymore?
As he walked away, Elowen lingered behind for a mont and asked the Elf Queen softly, "He’s special, but... isn’t it too much to give him free entry to the elven forest?"
The Elf Queen’s smile deepened, her gaze distant and knowing.
"It won’t be too much," she said, voice almost reverent, "if you truly heard what the Mother Tree said."
As Luca wandered aimlessly through the grand ballroom, the golden chandeliers above blurred in his peripheral vision. The music faded into the background, lost beneath the whirlpool of thoughts and revelations—the Elf Queen, the World Tree... Why ? What does the Mother Tree want with ? he pondered, his mind still dazed.
But then, he stopped.
His eyes narrowed.
A few steps ahead, near the edge of the ballroom’s arching balcony, he saw her—Aurelia.
Her face was tense, lips pressed into a firm line, eyebrows furrowed. But what caught Luca’s eyes first wasn’t her expression—it was the hand gripping her wrist.
Him again...
The sa dark-haired noble, the one who had nearly clashed swords with Luca days before, stood too close—his fingers curled tightly around Aurelia’s arm, expression overbearing and forceful.
Luca’s breath stilled. His steps quickened.
In a heartbeat, he was there.
"What’s going on here?" he said, his voice low—sharper than steel, colder than frost. It cut through the music and chatter like a blade.
The ballroom fell into a hush.
Gasps and murmurs rose in pockets. Nobles and guests turned to look, their eyes drawn to the sudden standoff. The noble flinched, but before he could speak, Luca had already reached for him.
Luca grabbed the man’s wrist and peeled it off Aurelia’s arm—not harshly, but firmly, with strength that left no room for argunt. His crimson eyes glead like dying embers.
"I won’t be polite again," Luca said, voice like thunder before a storm, "if I ever see you lay a hand on her again."
The noble’s face twisted in fury. His voice trembled with indignation. "I told you again and again, brat—don’t interfere in family matters!"
Aurelia stiffened beside him. Her eyes flickered between the two.
Family?
But before another word could be said, the floor shuddered slightly with the imposing arrival of two towering figures.
Iron Duke Gregor stepped in with heavy strides, his silver hair gleaming under the candlelight—followed closely by another sharp-eyed man in regal attire, his aura colder than steel: Aurelia’s father.
"What’s going on here?" the Iron Duke asked, voice stern. "Why so much noise?"
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