When Arthur stepped into the banquet hall, he found himself overwhelmed by the sheer scale of what surrounded him. Like most commoners, he'd often imagined what such noble gatherings might be like, grand, lavish, maybe even intimidating, but nothing he had envisioned in his quiet moments had truly prepared him for the real thing.

The lighting alone was enough to steal his breath. Bright and golden, it bathed the hall in a warm, almost surreal radiance that shimmered off polished marble and glass, casting everything in a glow that felt both welcoming and unreachable. The music that drifted through the space was delicate and refined, with each note flowing so effortlessly into the next that it created a soundscape both foreign and strangely familiar, like a lullaby heard in dreams and forgotten upon waking.

The architecture of the hall was no less astonishing. The walls were an immaculate white, smooth and unblemished, while the floor, crafted from marble so clean it reflected like still water, gave the whole place a feeling of endless space. The ceiling curved upward into a wide dome, every inch of it carved and painted with detailed illustrations: constellations, mythical beasts, and ancient scenes from wars Arthur didn't recognize but somehow understood were important.

His gaze wandered toward the banquet tables, where the food seemed more like a curated art exhibit than a meal. Dishes of every colour and texture were laid out with a precision he found almost excessive. Many of them were completely unfamiliar, strange arrangements of fruits, meats, and sauces he couldn't name, let alone identify, and all of them seemed too pristine to eat. Even the bread looked expensive.

Then there were the people.

Men strolled past him in robes stitched with gold and silk, suits so finely tailored that they clung to their wearers like the garments themselves had been grown onto their bodies. The women wore dresses that glinted in the golden light, fabrics that caught and reflected each flicker of illumination. Most of the gowns were modest in cut, designed to suggest restraint rather than expose, but that subtlety only enhanced the sense of allure they gave off. There was something quiet and practiced about the way they all moved, like every gesture, every tilt of the head, every glance had been rehearsed a hundred times.

Arthur swallowed, acutely aware of his own behaviour, the way his shoes tapped too loudly against the floor. 'The gap between commoners and nobles…' he thought to himself, 'it's bigger than I ever imagined.' He had attended his fair share of upper-class events before, always as the son of Mr. Hern, the kind and successful merchant who had raised him like his own. But even those well-funded banquets, polished and refined as they were, paled in comparison to this. This wasn't just luxury. This was something else entirely, an atmosphere so thoroughly shaped by power, wealth, and legacy that it seemed to run deeper than the décor.

His confidence, already fragile, began to crack at the edges. The way these nobles moved, graceful, poised, with backs straight and expressions coolly disinterested made him second-guess every step he took. He suddenly felt clumsy, untrained, like an intruder wearing borrowed skin. Desperate for something familiar, he turned his head in search of Jacob.

And there he was.

Arthur couldn't help but feel a strange relief at the sight of him. As much as the thought was mildly cruel, Jacob stood out precisely because he, too, didn't seem to belong. While the nobles around him seemed to float with confidence, Jacob's shoulders hunched slightly as he walked, his steps too hesitant, his eyes darting around the room like a man looking for an exit. Everything about him, from the way he held his glass to the subtle way he pulled at his collar projected discomfort.

It was an image Arthur recognized deeply, because it mirrored his own. 'At least I'm not the only one,' he thought.

When they'd first met at the aspect testing centre, Arthur had briefly entertained the idea that perhaps the Skydrid family as a whole was less rigid than the other noble houses. Jacob had been approachable, well not quite approachable but he didn't have his head up his ass, quiet, a little awkward even, and it had shaped Arthur's perception. But that illusion had been swiftly and utterly shattered the moment he set foot in the Skydrid estate. The difference was clear. Every other member of that family, Jeremiah, Jessica, Henry, even Belemir who was merely an attendant had carried themselves with a kind of innate authority, a nobility that wasn't just worn but lived.

Only Jacob felt out of place. Not because he wasn't noble by blood, but because something in his bearing refused to align with the rest. It wasn't just posture or confidence it was the absence of that invisible thread, the one that tied every other noble here together, the one that told the world I belong to this world of power and prestige.

And perhaps, Arthur thought as he stood quietly among strangers in fine clothing, that was what made Jacob easier to trust.

As Arthur continued scanning the crowd for a familiar face, he gradually became aware of an unusual presence approaching him. It wasn't the kind of threatening or overwhelming pressure that came from a hostile mage or a powerful knight, but rather a composed and poised energy, the sort one would expect from someone who had spent their life surrounded by status and scrutiny.

He turned slightly, just enough to catch the woman in his peripheral vision: a noblewoman in a dazzling emerald dress, the fabric glittering faintly under the golden lights of the hall as though threaded with gemstones. She held a fan delicately in one gloved hand, partially concealing the lower half of her face, and walked toward him with the kind of deliberate grace that suggested every step had been practiced.

To someone less observant, her intentions might have seemed vague, or her path coincidental, but Arthur wasn't just anyone. Long before he ever awakened to mana, he had been training to become a knight, and those years had sharpened more than just his swordplay. He could easily tell by the angle of her eyes, the orientation of her body, and the subtle flickers of her attention that she was coming directly toward him.

What was more interesting, however, was the feeling he got from her, a strange instinctive impression, not threatening, but not entirely relaxed either. Her intent didn't carry any malice, that much he was sure of, and yet it was clearly directed. She wasn't here by accident.

That fact alone made her approach all the more confusing. What business would a noblewoman have with him?

When she finally reached him, she came to a stop across from where he stood and simply remained there, saying nothing at first. Her gaze held his with an unblinking patience, as though she were waiting for something expected of him. It took Arthur a few seconds to register what that was, then, with a mental nudge to his own memory, he recalled the basic etiquette he'd been drilled on.

He stepped forward slightly, bowed with a smooth but respectful arc, and extended one hand. "My lady," he greeted, his tone calm and formal. The noblewoman responded in kind, holding out her own gloved hand without a word. Arthur took it gently, bowed his head once more, and placed a brief, polite kiss on the back of her glove before rising to his full height again.

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Maintaining his poise, he met her gaze. "May I ask what brings you to me?" he asked in a composed voice, each word chosen to be courteous but not overly submissive. He had no idea who she was, but everything about her manner suggested a woman accustomed to being obeyed without question.

She ignored the question completely.

"I don't believe I've seen you before," she said, her voice marked by a faint sharpness, cool, smooth, and just slightly edged with condescension. "What family have you come from?"

Arthur suppressed a sigh. Of course that was going to be her first concern. Still, he kept his expression neutral.

"It makes sense the lady has not seen me before," he replied evenly. "This is my first time attending a noble gathering of this scale. As for the family to which I belong... I'm afraid I cannot say with certainty just yet."

It was the truth, if only a partial one. Lord Jeremiah had, in a decisive and almost absurd manner, stated that Arthur would be adopted into the Skydrid family, a pronouncement as bizarre as it was significant. Adoption in noble houses was a complicated process, layered with politics and bureaucracy, but when it came to the Five Great Families, the usual rules didn't always apply. In fact, for the Skydrids, there was only one rule: the word of the head of house.

Unlike the other major families, which were often governed in part by advisory councils composed of elder relatives, influential uncles, aunts, or retired warriors, the Skydrids had no such system in place. They had no elders. No councils. No second voices. All authority was concentrated in a single individual, Lord Jeremiah Skydrid.

And the reason for that, grim as it was, wasn't a secret. It was tradition. A brutal one.

The Skydrid method of succession was as infamous as it was absolute. Each patriarch had, for generations, claimed their title by eliminating their rivals, their own siblings. There were no aunts or uncles left because those who might have become elders had never lived long enough to be considered. It wasn't a hidden shame; it was common knowledge, spoken of quietly, accepted with the same uncomfortable inevitability as death or war.

So, if Lord Jeremiah had declared Arthur to be a future Skydrid, then it would be so. There was no one to challenge his decision, no family elders to veto it, no vote to be cast.

But even with all of that, Arthur didn't feel it was appropriate to use the name, not yet. Jeremiah hadn't made any formal announcement. Until that happened, Arthur saw no reason to claim a title that wasn't truly his. So instead, he offered the noblewoman before him a small, almost apologetic smile and waited to see how she would respond to his vagueness.

He could only hope she wouldn't press too hard.

"Oh, your first time here?" the woman said, a coy lilt in her voice as she tilted her head slightly. "Then why don't you accompany me? You have quite a stunning face and physique, far too lovely to be left standing on your own."

Arthur blinked, stunned, and for a moment he thought perhaps he had misheard her. But the unmistakable implication behind her words settled in, and he felt a wave of discomfort rise within him, subtle at first, then sharper, colder. He took a longer, more discerning look at the woman standing before him.

The emerald dress glittered under the chandeliers, elegant and expensive, but it could not mask her age. She was most likely in her mid-forties, and while her skin was smooth and polished in a way that suggested money and careful maintenance, the tautness of her cheeks and the odd stiffness of her smile hinted at something artificial beneath it all. And though she held herself with poise and confidence, there was nothing subtle or graceful about her intentions.

She was old enough to be his mother, and yet here she stood, speaking without hesitation or shame, as if her words were the most natural thing in the world.

Arthur fought the urge to frown, keeping his expression polite as he gently stepped back, placing a small but deliberate distance between them. "While this is indeed my first time at an event of this scale, I have attended similar gatherings on a smaller level," he said with a courteous smile, his voice calm and restrained. "With that in mind, I wouldn't dare impose on someone as distinguished as yourself."

He hoped the combination of formality and distance would make his disinterest clear, but it seemed the woman either didn't understand or chose not to acknowledge it.

Instead, she stepped forward and wrapped her fingers around his arm, her grip light but possessive, and with a soft, girlish giggle that sounded disturbingly out of place coming from someone her age, she began to guide him forward.

Arthur felt his stomach tighten, not out of fear, but from the deeply unsettling contrast between her youthful tone and the mature, artificial face she wore. The juxtaposition was jarring, as though two entirely different people were occupying the same body, and every second her hand remained on him made his discomfort grow.

He had made up his mind. He would excuse himself, even if it meant abandoning all formality or risking offense. Whatever noble status she held, he couldn't endure another moment of this strange interaction.

But then, just as he opened his mouth to speak, he heard something that made his blood run cold and his body freeze for a fraction of a second, his breath caught in his throat.

"So, I see you entered the Skydrid household without any difficulty," the woman murmured, her voice low and smooth, carefully modulated to ensure that no curious bystander could overhear.

Arthur's steps faltered, and for a moment his face twisted with open confusion, his brows furrowed, his lips parting as if to form a question, but then, with startling speed, his expression shifted. The surprise drained away, leaving behind a stillness that was almost unnatural, his features settling into a calm, unreadable coldness.

Without saying a word at first, he gently pulled his arm from hers, maintaining his pace beside her but keeping just enough distance to make the separation felt. He clasped his hands behind his back and continued walking with quiet composure. When he finally spoke, his voice had lost all its familiar warmth. Where once there had been ease and good-natured cheer, there was now only indifference, the kind of voice that calculated more than it felt.

"This fool is surprisingly good at making connections," he said flatly. "And the threat of Whisper was more than enough to force the Skydrids to act."

The woman gave a delighted chuckle, clearly intrigued, her eyes glinting with something between amusement and fascination. "It really never ceases to amaze me," she said softly. "And yet you never explain it. How is it possible for two separate personalities to inhabit one body? How do you observe everything he does while he remains completely unaware of you?"

Arthur, or rather, the presence now occupying him, offered no reply.

She sighed with exaggerated disappointment.

"Why have you come here now, anyway? Why are you speaking to me directly this time?" he slowly asked, even now as he was talking he refused to look towards her.

"You're too curious, shouldn't we talk a bit more," she said, looking straight at him. "But fine. I was told to inform you that there will be an attack during this banquet. Do not interfere, even if the target is someone important. And now that you're inside the Skydrid household, you've been instructed to begin assessing whether any control can be extended to the heirs' attendants."

Arthur raised a brow, his expression becoming more thoughtful than cold, though it was still very cold. "that'll be difficult," he said, almost wistfully. "Those attendants were practically bred for obedience. They won't cooperate with anyone, especially not Whisper."

He stopped walking then, just long enough for her to turn and face him again. She looked up at him and smiled playfully, stretching out a gloved hand. "One dance before you disappear again?" she asked, her voice light as air, lashes fluttering in an exaggerated display of flirtation.

He kept walking, unfazed, unamused, offering nothing more than a calm and quiet response several seconds later. "You disgust me. Just make sure the plan goes ahead."

Once he was several paces away, his shoulders loosened, and a blink of surprise flickered across his face, just for a second before he paused, scanned the crowd with a slight tilt of his head, and muttered under his breath, "Thank the stars, she's gone."

A shiver ran through him as he recalled the woman's face, her voice, the way she had clung to him, and he turned sharply, making his way toward a nearby table stacked with various dishes he couldn't name.

"Well," he mumbled, already reaching for a plate, "might as well eat something and wash that memory out of my head."

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