The sky bled amber not with grace, nor with warmth, but with a kind of reluctant beauty. The kind that comes before executions. Veythor stepped down from the royal carriage, boots crunching against gravel so fine it might as well have been bone dust. His House loomed before him, sharp as a blade in its architecture.
Home.
He didn't pause at the gate. Didn't admire the dawn. His mind was already deep, drowning in currents others never even sensed. The air, cold and clean, tasted like betrayal wrapped in perfume.
The guards opened the door. They didn't greet Veythor. Deep down, they despised him, but they also secretly admired him. They were from third-class noble families, and Veythor though a commoner was the Supreme Commander of Narzan, the youngest in its history. The guards were mere soldiers, and he was a man who held power beyond their comprehension.
Veythor entered the house. Eliya and Morgan hadn't attended the academy today. They were sitting at the dining table with Grey, waiting for him.
They all looked up as he entered. Grey bowed his head slightly, a silent gesture of respect. Morgan spoke first.
"Where were you, Big brother?"
Veythor smirked. "I was summoned by the Emperor."
Eliya's eyes narrowed. "By the Emperor? And what for?"
Veythor shrugged nonchalantly. "He arranged a welcome party for me and personally asked some questions."
Morgan's voice grew louder with excitement. "A welcome party for you? Aww, man, I wish we could go!"
Veythor glanced at him with a smirk. "Who said you're not going? You all are coming with me."
"What?" Morgan and Eliya were shocked. Since they began living with Veythor, they had never attended any social events with him. Though everyone knew they lived in Veythor's mansion, he had never taken them out.
Morgan hesitated. "But—"
Veythor interrupted, his tone hard. "But what? You're going. Go prepare. I don't want to hear any more questions."
Eliya and Morgan didn't argue further, though deep down, they were pleased. Both of them went to their rooms.
Grey lit a cigarette and passed it to Veythor before lighting one for himself. He was silent, his mind drifting.
That's rare. Lord Veythor has never taken Eliya and Morgan out to any social gatherings. Why now, of all times? And why had he never taken them before?
Grey was filled with questions he couldn't answer. He didn't know who Eliya and Morgan truly were, or how anyone might suspect the children of the rebel king could be living with the Supreme Commander of Narzan. Truly, who could suspect such a thing? Even the sharpest minds wouldn't.
"What's on your mind, Grey?" Veythor's voice broke the silence, pulling him from his thoughts.
Grey quickly composed himself. "No… sir, nothing. Nothing at all."
Veythor chuckled softly and started walking toward his room. He paused midway and turned back.
"Grey, get dressed. You're coming too."
Grey blinked in surprise. "What…..me too?"
Veythor's tone remained casual. "Yes, you too."
With that, Veythor went straight to his room, leaving Grey to contemplate this sudden, unexpected kindness or was it something else?
It's not like him. Out of nowhere, he's showing kindness. But why?
Grey had no answer, only more confusion.
It was already 6 PM. Though this was a different world, time still followed Earth's rhythm hours passed, the sun set, shadows stretched just the same.
Veythor stood before the tall mirror, clad in his military uniform. It was Narzan tradition for high-ranking officers to wear ceremonial uniforms at official gatherings, as if their garments bore the weight of their sins and service. His uniform was black as charred fate, lined with delicate white threads across the shoulders, like veins of frost on obsidian. His boots, scuffed yet proud, echoed authority with every step, and his sword the infamous black blade of his campaigns rested on his left, as though it had grown from his very body.
Eliya wore a flowing red gown, vibrant and defiant, paired with white heels that clicked like whispers of forgotten elegance. Morgan and Grey were clad in Narzan's traditional formal wear black coats, dark trousers, polished shoes, and matching gloves. Each wore it with subtle differences in embroidery, revealing fragments of their personalities. The carriage was summoned. Grey took the reins, while Morgan and Eliya sat behind, lost in cheerful banter. Veythor, however, remained still and quiet, like a storm inside glass. His fingers danced with fire as he smoked cigarette after cigarette, ash falling like snow from an angry sky.
They soon arrived at the Royal Castle. The sun had begun to die behind the horizon, casting long shadows across the marble courtyard. Morgan's jaw dropped in awe at the size of the structure, his voice almost breaking into admiration.
"Whoaaaa, it's huge, even larger than—"
He fell silent, realizing where he stood. Grey glanced at him, then at Veythor, whose smirk spoke more than words ever could. Veythor casually stepped forward toward the castle gates.
The castle was undoubtedly beautiful. The very stones seemed to hum with ancient pride. Upon seeing Veythor, the guards stiffened and opened the grand doors without hesitation.
They entered.
A guard approached, bowing stiffly. "Lord Veythor, the party is held in the Grand Hall. Shall I escort you?"
Veythor responded with a slow, wordless nod.
Their footsteps echoed through the gilded corridors, the walls adorned with portraits of old emperors and victorious generals, their eyes painted in the same cold fire that Veythor carried.
At last, the guard pushed open the towering doors to the Grand Hall, and even silence bowed before the splendor within.
A sea of nobles flooded the hall, shimmering in velvet and gold. Their laughter echoed like fragile glass. Crystal chandeliers hung like frozen lightning from the ceiling, casting fractured light over dancers who spun in practiced perfection, gowns swirling like flames across polished marble. Perfume layered the air, mixing with the scent of roasted meats, exotic wines, and the faintest trace of ambition. Tables groaned under the weight of opulence silver trays stacked with delicacies from across the continent, from blood-soaked Narzan lamb to fruits preserved in stardust honey.
And yet, amidst the music and merriment, heads turned one by one as Veythor entered, only to return to normalcy without further attention. Many familiar and unfamiliar faces were present. The Emperor sat on his throne, and only three noble family leaders were present at the party: Sugen Riku, Orun Kaelis, and Zaurak Vion.
Though all seven of the major families had been invited, they each declined with various excuses.
From the royal family, only the Queen, the youngest prince Nolan, and the beautiful princess Vaelina were present.
Vaelina, however, wouldn't have attended the party if it weren't for Veythor. She only wished to observe him, keeping her distance from the others.
Grey made his way to the smoking area, followed quietly by Eliya and Morgan. The two were nervous, feeling the weight of the many eyes upon them.
Veythor, standing at the center of it all, glanced at them and said, "Sit at any table near the Emperor. I'm going to speak with him."
The Prime Minister of Narzan, Safhire Consula, was also present with his family. A middle-aged man, around 40 to 45 years old, he was engaged in conversation with the Emperor, along with the leaders of the three most prominent noble families. Vaelina, Nolan, and the Queen were standing near the Emperor, their presence unmistakable.
Emperor Avantis' gaze fell upon Veythor, who was smirking. Without hesitation, Veythor approached and knelt before him. "Greetings, Your Majesty," he said, his tone respectful yet tinged with underlying confidence.
Avantis nodded, acknowledging him.
Eliya and Morgan watched with curiosity, wondering what Veythor was doing.
The Prime Minister, who had held his position for the last fifteen years, greeted Veythor warmly with a kind smile. "Greetings, Supreme Commander. I heard you were attacked by some assassins. Have your injuries healed?"
Veythor's response was calm, his demeanor unwavering. "Yes, you heard correctly."
As the conversation continued, Veythor's eyes shifted towards Sugen Riku, who was also observing him with a faint smirk. The tension between them was palpable as they locked eyes, neither willing to look away.
The atmosphere in the hall thickened, and a quiet battle of wills ensued, the pressure mounting between the two. Riku, breaking the silence, finally spoke.
"Greetings, Supreme Commander."
Veythor met his gaze and responded coolly, "Greetings, Mr. Sugen."
Riku let out a low chuckle, his tone dripping with condescension. "Supreme Commander, I heard you were nearly killed by some mere assassins. How does that feel?"
Veythor chuckled softly in return. "Yes, you're correct. And so?"
Riku's smirk deepened, his words sharp. "Hmph. And you call yourself a supreme commander, a warrior, when you can't even defend yourself from a few lowly assassins?"
Veythor remained unfazed, his calmness unnerving. The taunts didn't sting. He had no pride to be wounded, but neither was he a coward. He had nothing to lose and everything to destroy.
"Mr. Sugen," Veythor spoke with measured ease, "that's a very fine statement. But unlike you, I don't make empty boasts. I prove my abilities through my actions, not words."
A brief silence fell over the room, and the eyes of the grand hall shifted to Riku. Some whispered among themselves, others waited in anticipation.
Riku's smirk never wavered as he chuckled darkly. "Hahaha. Then, Supreme Commander, prove it."
Veythor raised an eyebrow, intrigued.
"Oh? How so?"
The room seemed to hold its breath as every gaze turned toward Riku, eyes wide with curiosity.
Riku, a glint of amusement in his eyes, smiled and spoke. "Let's have a chess match, you and me. Let's see who's truly the better strategist."
Veythor's gaze flickered to Emperor Avantis, seeking his approval. Nothing would happen without the Emperor's consent.
Avantis, who had been silent until now, suddenly broke into laughter. "I approve," he said, his voice carrying through the hall. "It would be the perfect entertainment for this night."
The tension in the air remained thick, but now it was flavored with excitement and curiosity as the grand hall eagerly awaited what would come next.