The dance ended. Applause scattered through the ballroom, polite but distant.

Azrael stepped back from Selyne fast. He needed air. He needed distance from the swirling dresses, the clinking glasses, the weight of a hundred pairs of judging eyes. That brief dance felt like navigating a minefield.

He saw Ilythia excuse herself from Quill, whose usual cold composure seemed slightly ruffled. Her sharp gaze swept across the room, pausing for a fraction of a second on Azrael and Selyne. He could almost feel the calculation behind that look.

'Time to vanish.'

"Need a break," Azrael muttered, turning before Selyne could protest. He slipped through the thinning crowd, heading for the edges of the grand hall, ignoring the slight pout forming on her face.

He found a quieter corridor, the music fading behind ornate tapestries depicting long-forgotten battles. Arches lined one side, opening onto a long stone balcony overlooking the estate's glowing gardens. Moonlight, or Elarion's version of it, cast long, stark shadows. Perfect.

He pushed through an archway, the cool night air a welcome shock. It smelled cleaner out here, free of the heavy perfumes and underlying tension. Below, enchanted fountains whispered, their spray catching the light like scattered diamonds. He walked towards the heavy stone railing, just wanting a moment to lean, to breathe, to reset his internal defenses.

He wasn't alone.

A figure stood near the far end, almost invisible in the deep shadow of a marble pillar. Long silver hair stirred in a breeze he couldn't feel.

Aria sen Selros.

He froze. 'Shit. How long has she been here? Did she follow me? Or did she need to escape too?' The stillness around her felt intentional, watchful.

She didn't turn right away. Her gaze seemed fixed on the glittering lights of the city spread below, a river of artificial stars. The silence stretched, broken only by the faint party sounds.

He stayed near the archway. He tried to look relaxed, unaffected. He failed. Every nerve felt tight. This felt like another calculated move in a game he didn't understand. Her presence always felt like a test.

Finally, her voice came, quiet but clear, cutting through the stillness. "I looked into your past, Azrael Ashveil."

His blood ran cold. Mask on. Face blank. "Stalking now? Didn't know I was that interesting." Sarcasm felt thin, brittle.

"Curiosity," Aria replied, turning slowly. Her violet-red eyes seemed to glow faintly in the dim light, unnervingly perceptive. "The records are… empty. Official details only. But whispers travel. From Aethelgard. About the Ashveils."

She glided closer, silent as smoke. Her movements were unnervingly smooth. "They paint a picture of pain. Loss. A boy broken by rejection, lashing out. Then… silence. Followed by stories of a change. A different Azrael. Colder. Sharper."

She stopped a few feet away, tilting her head slightly, her expression unreadable. "All I see is pain and suffering in your history. Yet here you are." Her tone wasn't mocking. It was detached, analytical, almost sympathetic, but filtered through layers of ice. Like a scientist observing a particularly resilient specimen. "Still standing. Still… pretending to enjoy these absurd gatherings. How do you manage it?"

He stayed silent, jaw tight. Clench. Letting her assumptions hang in the air felt safer than correcting them.

"It doesn't make sense," she continued, her gaze unwavering, missing nothing. "Most would crumble under that weight. Become bitter. Or simply fade away. But you seem… fueled by it. Each wound seems to carve you into something harder, something more dangerous. It's almost as if you seek it out."

He finally met her eyes, letting a sliver of the truth show, wrapped in deflection. "Maybe pain is just a better teacher than comfort. Maybe suffering forces you to adapt. Or maybe," he added, his voice dropping slightly, trying to regain control of the conversation, "the past is just a story someone else wrote. I'm working on a rewrite."

He thought of Selvara. Her cage. Her fight. His own constant battle against the narrative. 'We're all just trying to break the script.' He wondered if Aria felt trapped too, beneath her perfect composure.

Aria considered his words, her expression unreadable. "A rewrite implies you know the original text. And that you believe you have the power to change it." She paused, her gaze still holding his. "An ambitious endeavor."

He didn't reply. What could he say? She was closer to the truth than she knew. They stood in silence, the distant city lights reflecting in her unnervingly calm eyes. He felt exposed, analyzed, like a complex equation she was methodically solving, piece by piece.

Footsteps echoed softly from the corridor. Silas appeared in the archway, looking slightly bored, interrupting the charged atmosphere. "Aria. Mother is asking for you."

Aria didn't look away from Azrael immediately. She gave a slight nod, a silent acknowledgment of their strange, fragile truce. Or perhaps just a dismissal, the puzzle momentarily set aside. "Coming."

She turned and glided away, following her brother back into the noise and light of the party. Silas shot Azrael a final, curious, almost appraising glance before disappearing after her.

Azrael let out a breath he hadn't realized he was holding. Gulp. That felt like dodging sniper fire.

He stared up at the artificial stars painted across the high dome above the gardens.

"Hiiiii, Junior!"

The voice exploded cheerfully from directly above. Azrael flinched violently, looking up.

Nia Var Emreis. Grinning down from the railing of the balcony overhead, legs dangling, looking entirely too comfortable perched dozens of feet in the air. Her amber eyes gleamed.

'Oh, come on!' Panic surged. He instinctively took a step back, calculating the drop. 'Can I make it if I jump? Probably break both legs, but maybe worth it.'

"Whoa there, speedy!" Nia laughed, vaulting effortlessly over the railing and landing silently on the stone beside him like a cat. "Relax! I'm not here for lectures. Or even beating you up. Probably." Her amber eyes twinkled with barely contained chaos.

Azrael eyed her warily, ready to dodge whatever madness came next. "What do you want, Nia?"

She bounced on the balls of her feet, restless energy radiating from her. "Funny story, actually. You'll be wondering why I'm here. Well, tbh, I'm wondering the same. Why the hell am I here?" She shrugged dramatically, as if baffled by her own presence.

"It's just… my uncle," she said, rolling her eyes expressively. "Brother Quill, as you apparently call him now." She made air quotes around the title, dripping sarcasm. "He asked me to come talk to you."

Azrael stared. "Quill sent you? To talk to me? About what?" The idea was ludicrous. Quill sending Nia for a 'talk'?

"No clue!" Nia chirped brightly, confirming his suspicion that this made no sense. "He just said 'Go talk to Azrael Ashveil.' Didn't say about what. Just… talk. Weird, right? Like, super weird, even for him."

'Quill sent his chaotic niece to 'talk' to me? For what purpose?' Azrael's mind raced. 'Is this another one of his clumsy attempts to play matchmaker, trying to score points with Celestria by proxy? Or is he trying to keep tabs on me through her, using her as an unwitting spy?' Neither option felt particularly reassuring.

"But," Nia added, her grin turning positively wicked, "he did say something interesting. He said if I did this little favor, talked to you, whatever that means, he'd take care of any… messes… I might create at the academy for one whole month. No consequences!" She practically vibrated with glee at the prospect.

Azrael groaned inwardly, pinching the bridge of his nose. Tssk. 'These two are unbelievable. One is so lovesick he's making terrible strategic decisions, using his own volatile niece as a pawn in some convoluted scheme to impress my sister, probably hoping I'll report back favorably. And the other? She'll happily burn down the academy for a get-out-of-jail-free card.' Chaos bartering for chaos.

He could see the calculation in Nia's eyes now, beneath the manic energy. She wasn't just here because Quill asked. She was assessing him, trying to figure out why her perpetually-stoic, rule-following uncle would offer such a valuable, unprecedented bribe just for a conversation. What made him worth a month of immunity for her brand of academy-wide mayhem?

"So," Nia said, leaning closer, her amber eyes sharp and curious. "Talk to me, Junior. What's so special about you that Uncle Quill is willing to unleash me on the academy, consequence-free, just for a chat? Spill it."

The party was finally dying. The music was a soft whisper, weaving through the remaining knots of conversation. Most guests had departed, leaving echoes of laughter and political maneuvering in the vast ballroom.

Azrael managed to detach himself from Nia, who had launched into a highly detailed and probably illegal plan involving experimental alchemy, illusion magic, and the academy's main water supply ("Imagine! If I blow the water tanks and create my own rain!"). He needed to find Ilythia, secure the promised Aether Stones, and escape before Nia decided he'd make a good test subject or before Silas reappeared looking for round two of their verbal sparring.

He spotted Ilythia near the grand entrance, exchanging final pleasantries with Juliana sen Selros, both matriarchs exuding effortless power. Selyne stood beside her mother, looking half-asleep but still trying to appear attentive and not fidget with her dress. He approached them cautiously as Juliana offered her thanks.

"...a truly memorable evening, Ilythia, Selyne."

"The pleasure was ours, Juliana," Ilythia replied with practiced smoothness, her voice like cool silk.

Juliana's warm gaze shifted to Azrael as he joined them, a hint of knowing amusement in her eyes. "Lord Ashveil. I trust the evening met your… expectations?"

"It was… informative, Lady Juliana," he said, bowing stiffly. He felt Ilythia's warning glance land on him.

"We must take our leave," Ilythia announced, cutting the exchange short. Formal farewells were exchanged, polite smiles firmly in place.

As they walked towards the waiting vehicle, the sleek black lines barely visible in the dim light, Azrael kept his eyes on Ilythia. Now. The payment. The reason he'd endured the suffocating pleasantries and veiled threats.

He needed those stones. That power was his priority.

If you find any errors ( broken links, non-standard content, etc.. ), Please let us know < report chapter > so we can fix it as soon as possible.