Elden, once a territory wrapped in noble corruption, now shimmered under the late spring sun, cleansed and proud. The city's restored beauty reflected the occasion: the grand 18th birthday of Seraphina Elden, now Duchess of the land, and one of the youngest nobles to ever hold such power.
The estate had been transformed into a spectacle of light and gold. Silver banners embroidered with Elden's phoenix crest rippled in the wind. Classical music drifted through the marble courtyards. Nobles arrived in glistening carriages, their jewels brighter than their intentions.
At the heart of the garden, beneath a crystal canopy adorned with blue roses, sat a peculiar group.
Thea, sipping tea like a nobleborn herself, crossed her legs in perfect posture, her twin swords hidden beneath her simple dress, though one hand always lingered near her belt.
Tobin and Kessia, in matching navy outfits provided by Seraphina's maids, were leaning on each other, their eyes half-lidded from exhaustion.
"Why do nobles talk like they're trying to seduce each other and execute someone at the same time?" Tobin muttered.
Kessia groaned. "I smiled so much my face started twitching. Someone tried to flirt with me using historical war metaphors."
And then there was Ryle, hunched over the dessert table.
Or more accurately—devouring an entire cake.
"Hey, Ryle," Thea called gently, "people are starting to stare."
"Let them," he said through a mouthful of red velvet. "I've earned this cake."
The table creaked under the growing pile of empty plates.
A metallic clank interrupted them.
Albrecht, the stoic Glory Knight in polished white armor, walked over with a rare smirk on his lips. "You're not even pretending to be dignified, are you?"
"Do I look like I came here for dignity?" Ryle said, licking frosting from his fingers.
Before Albrecht could respond, the swarm arrived.
Journalists. At least twenty of them.
Pens out, notepads ready, voices loud.
"Ryle! Is it true your article triggered the nationwide executions?"
"Do you believe truth magic is ethical?"
"What are your comments on Wraith sympathizers being executed without trial?"
Ryle opened his mouth, but the first question hadn't even ended when Thea and Kessia stepped forward like twin shields.
"Back up. Now," Kessia said, eyes glowing faintly.
"No interviews," Thea added, surprisingly gentle but firm. "This is a birthday. Not a battlefield."
Albrecht leaned back, amused as Thea radiated quiet threat and Kessia growled like a wolf.
Within moments, the journalists retreated, some grumbling, others scribbling about "hostile bodyguards."
Peace, momentarily, returned.
Until a shrill voice pierced the crowd.
"You monster!"
A woman in a deep burgundy dress stood trembling near the fountain. Her hair was perfect, her necklace heavy with emeralds—but her eyes were full of madness.
"My husband," she hissed, "was loyal. A Baron. He served this kingdom for twenty years. And you… you had him executed."
Ryle turned, wiping his hands calmly on a napkin.
"He was a Wraith?," he said.
"He was your lie, not mine!" the woman shrieked—and lunged, dagger in hand.
A blur of motion—Thea intercepted her mid-step, grabbing her wrist and twisting it until the dagger dropped with a clatter.
Ryle didn't flinch. He simply looked at the woman and spoke evenly:
"Your husband would've become a demon. The Awakening happens in four months. He killed someone for his disguise. How innocent was he, really?"
The crowd went silent.
Gasps followed.
And from the grand steps of the manor, Duchess Seraphina Elden raised her hand.
"Guards. Arrest her."
As the Baroness was dragged away screaming, Seraphina locked eyes with Ryle and gave a faint nod of thanks.
That night, the celebration dimmed. The stars scattered across a quiet sky. A warm wind rustled through the open windows of Seraphina's personal study.
Ryle sat across from her, this time with a small plate of fruit instead of cake.
Seraphina poured herself a glass of white wine and sighed. "I used to think birthdays were meaningless."
He glanced up. "And now?"
She smiled faintly. "Now I think they're survival marks."
There was a pause.
Then she continued.
"Darius… was engaged to me for politics. I was sixteen. He was twenty-seven. I didn't have a choice." Her voice didn't shake, only hardened. "When you killed him, I didn't feel sorrow. I felt… free."
Ryle said nothing.
"But when you named me his successor," she said, meeting his gaze, "I found something else. Purpose. I want to lead better than he ever did. I want to be worthy of the title you gave me."
He looked into her eyes, and for a moment, the usual smirk faded.
Seraphina placed her glass down and leaned forward, her voice softer now.
"I'll stand by you no matter what… Even if it means standing against the Hero."
Ryle's body froze.
The silence between them became tense.
"I know," she said, "what you did to Ryo. I don't know all the details. But someone who's seen the Hero's blade…" She looked out the window, toward where Thea was training in the courtyard. "Would know that Twinlight isn't some replica. It's his sword."
Ryle didn't answer.
Then, after a long beat…
He laughed.
Quietly. Low. Not mocking.
Just amused that someone had finally figured it out.
And Seraphina smiled with him.