You can’t truly predict life.

It’s strange, isn’t it? One moment you’re standing on the platform with your family, watching the sun set over the Imperial Capital, feeling almost peaceful for the first time in months.

The next moment, you’re standing in the middle of a grand ballroom with blood on your knuckles, a sword aimed at your throat, and the furious screams of half a dozen noble houses echoing in your ears.

Life comes at you fast. That’s what they say.

I used to think it was a joke.

If you’re wondering why I’m giving you this long, drawn-out monologue instead of explaining what happened, well, the truth is I have a bit of a situation on my hands. Nothing too serious. Nothing I can’t handle.

What? You don’t believe me?

Come on. I’m the most innocent person here. I’m practically a saint. I’ve never done anything wrong in my entire life.

Okay, maybe that’s a lie. Maybe it wasn’t such a small situation.

But come on, I wasn’t even at fault. All I did was beat the crap out of some noble’s entitled son who thought he could talk shit about my sister, and I may have refused to bow to the Emperor when he demanded it.

And I might have called his daughter a few names that I probably shouldn’t have — nothing too harsh, just the truth dressed up in ugly words. And yes, I may have caused a bit of a commotion. Perhaps I almost killed a few noble kids who really, really deserved it.

That’s all. Nothing else.

And now I’m standing here in the middle of this ridiculously overdecorated ballroom, with chandeliers that probably cost more than my entire estate and carpets that look like they’ve never seen a dirty shoe in their lives.

The music has stopped. Everyone is staring at me like I’m some kind of monster, and there’s a sword pressed against my throat, held by a knight who looks like he would very much like to use it.

The Emperor is looking at me furiously, as if he wants to kill me — or maybe he really does want to kill me. It’s hard to tell with old men who have too much power and too little patience.

The herald is screaming something about treason. The nobles are whispering behind their fans, their eyes wide with a mixture of horror and excitement, because nothing gets a noble’s blood pumping quite like watching someone else’s downfall.

My mother looks like she’s about to faint, and my father has that expression on his face, the one that means he’s calculating exactly how much trouble I’ve caused and whether it’s worth saving me this time.

Mia is eating chocolate cake.

Wait, what? How could she be eating chocolate cake when her one and only beautiful, handsome brother is about to be executed? Somewhere in the distance, I hear her say, "This is really good," and I feel a profound sense of betrayal.

And Seris is also sitting next to Mia eating the chocolate cake.

Well, anyway. Sylvia is going to kill me. She told me not to cause any trouble. She specifically said, and I quote, "Try not to embarrass us." I agreed. I promised. I meant it too at the time.

But you know what they say about promises. They’re just words until something tests them.

...And something tested me.

If you want to know what happened, the real story, not the version the nobles will tell their grandchildren, then you have to go back a bit. Back to the moment I walked through those palace doors, back to the moment I first laid eyes on the princess, back to the moment where everything started going wrong.

Because, and I cannot stress this enough, none of this was my fault.

Well, maybe some of it was my fault. Maybe most of it. Okay, fine, all of it was my fault.

But I had my reasons.

And those reasons, as far as I’m concerned, were completely justified. Not all of them, though. Some of them were just me being an idiot.

But we’ll get to that.

_

Few hours earlier...

The Grand Ballroom of the Imperial Palace was filled with nobles.

The hall was a masterpiece of architecture and excess. The room made you feel small and insignificant the moment you stepped inside.

The ceiling soared high above, painted with murals of ancient battles and divine blessings, the gold leaf catching the light of a thousand floating mana-lamps that drifted lazily through the air like fireflies drunk on their own importance.

Chandeliers made of crystal and silver hung from the ceiling, each one worth more than a small village, casting a warm, golden glow over the gathering below.

The floor was polished marble, white and grey and black, arranged in patterns that told the story of the Empire’s founding.

Tapestries depicting the triumphs of House Valerion covered the walls, their colors still vibrant despite their age, and at the far end of the room, raised on a dais that seemed designed to remind everyone of their place, sat the Imperial family.

The ballroom was already crowded when the first guests began to arrive, filled with nobles from across the Human Domain, all dressed in their finest, all eager to be seen and remembered.

The whispers started the moment someone important walked through the door, spreading through the crowd like ripples in a pond, and the eyes of the room followed each new arrival with predatory interest.

Arthur Vale stood near the center of the room, a glass of wine in his hand that he had no intention of drinking. His white and gold coat made him stand out among the darker colors of the Imperial nobles, and his golden eyes — impossible to hide, drew stares from every corner of the ballroom. Some of those stares were curious.

Some were admiring. Some were jealous. Some were cold and calculating, measuring a person’s worth in terms of political advantage.

Amelia stood beside him, her hand resting lightly on his arm, her silver-violet eyes scanning the crowd with the practiced ease of someone who had grown up in rooms like this. Her deep blue gown shimmered in the chandelier light, and her pinned-up hair revealed the elegant line of her neck, but her expression was anything but relaxed.

"Everyone is staring at you," she murmured, her lips barely moving.

"I know and...," Arthur replied, his voice flat. "I’m getting used to it."

Amelia’s lips twitched. "Well, at least you’re honest."

Further away, near one of the towering pillars that lined the edges of the ballroom, Riven Ashford leaned against the marble with his arms crossed and his steel-red eyes fixed on the crowd with an expression of bored disdain.

His burgundy coat with gold trim was immaculate, and the sword at his hip was purely ceremonial, but no one who looked at him doubted that he knew how to use it. He had not spoken to anyone since entering the ballroom, content to watch and observe, to measure and assess.

His grandfather, Grand Duke Orion Ashford, stood beside him, his simple dark coat a stark contrast to the extravagance around him. The old man’s eyes swept across the room with the calm confidence of a predator who had nothing to prove. He did not need fine clothes or loud announcements. His presence alone was enough.

The Emperor’s voice rang out from the dais, commanding attention without effort.

Aldric Valerion was a tall man in his late fifties, with blonde hair that was more grey than gold now and emerald green eyes that had seen too much and forgotten too little. His crown was simple — a band of gold with a single emerald at the center, and his robes were white and purple, the colors of the Imperial house.

He looked every inch the ruler of the Human Domain, and he knew it.

Beside him sat the Empress, a woman whose name Arthur could never remember and whose face he would forget the moment he looked away. She was beautiful in the way that all royal women were beautiful — polished and perfect and utterly forgettable.

On the Emperor’s other side stood Crown Prince Lucius Valerion, a young man of twenty-four with strawberry-blonde hair and emerald green eyes. His jaw was strong, his posture was perfect, and his expression was calm and controlled. He wore a dark blue coat with silver trim, and a sword hung at his hip.

...And beside him, standing just slightly behind her father, was Princess Cordelia.

She was beautiful — there was no denying that. Her strawberry-blonde hair was curled and pinned up, with small diamonds woven through the strands that sparkled every time she moved.

Her emerald green eyes were bright and clear, and her gown was pale gold, flowing and elegant, with small diamonds sewn into the bodice that caught the light and threw it back in scattered flashes.

She looked like something out of a fairy tale, like a princess from a storybook.

But her eyes were nervous.

Her hands were clasped tight in front of her, and her smile — the smile she wore for the crowd but did not reach her eyes.

Arthur felt a pang of sympathy for her. He knew what it was like to be stared at, to be measured and weighed, to be seen as a symbol rather than a person.

The Emperor stood on the dais, his glass raised, and the room fell silent. Every eye turned toward him, and every ear strained to hear his words.

"Welcome," Emperor Aldric Valerion said, his voice carrying across the ballroom without effort, "to the celebration of my daughter’s eighteenth birthday. Tonight, we honor not just her birth, but the future of the Empire. Tonight, we stand together — nobles and knights, heroes and commoners — as one people, united under the banner of House Valerion."

He paused, his emerald eyes sweeping across the crowd, and Arthur standing near the center of the room felt the Emperor’s gaze linger on him for just a moment longer than was comfortable. He knew what that look meant.

Arthur kept his expression neutral.

"Tonight is a night of joy," the Emperor continued, his voice warm and welcoming, "a night of—"

The doors at the far end of the ballroom swung open with a loud creak, cutting him off mid-sentence.

Every head turned.

The herald standing between the doors straightened his shoulders and raised his voice, his words echoing across the suddenly silent ballroom.

"Presenting the Celestial Family — Duke Noah von Celestial, Duchess Isabella von Celestial, Lady Sylvia von Celestial, Lady Mia von Celestial, and Lady Seris Lunaria!"

The whispers that followed were not the polite, restrained whispers of before. These were sharp and surprised, filled with disbelief and curiosity and something that sounded almost like fear.

"The Celestials? They came?"

"I thought they weren’t going to show their faces after what happened."

"The rumors said the boy died in the trial."

"Who is that girl with them? The one in black? I don’t recognize her."

"That’s Seris. She’s from the academy."

"A commoner? Here? At the Imperial Gala?"

"Times are changing. Not everyone is happy about it."

Duke Noah von Celestial led the way, his deep blue military-style coat with gold epaulets catching the light, his salt-and-pepper hair neatly combed, his ocean-blue eyes calm and steady.

He did not look at the whispering nobles. He did not acknowledge their stares. He simply walked, his presence alone enough to remind everyone in the room that House Celestial was not a family to be dismissed.

Duchess Isabella followed beside him, her silver and white gown flowing behind her like a river of moonlight, her platinum-silver hair braided and pinned up with small diamonds woven through the strands. She smiled at no one in particular, but her emerald eyes were sharp, missing nothing.

Sylvia walked behind her parents, her deep crimson gown hugging her figure and flaring at the hips, her black hair loose and falling in waves past her shoulders. Her ocean-blue eyes swept across the crowd with something that looked like disdain, and more than one noble looked away rather than meet her gaze.

Mia held Seris’s hand, her small face bright with curiosity, her pale pink dress with tiny silver butterflies in her hair making her look like something out of a painting. She was too young to understand the whispers, too innocent to care about the stares. She just wanted to see the princess.

And Seris, she walked at the edge of the group, her simple black dress with long sleeves and a high collar making her stand out among the bright colors and extravagant fabrics of the other nobles.

Her black hair was straight and shining, falling past her shoulders like a curtain of ink, and her crimson eyes were fixed on the Emperor’s dais with an expression that revealed nothing. The whispers followed her too, questions about who she was, where she came from, why she was here, but she did not react.

She did not care.

The Emperor watched his old friend approach, and when Noah reached the center of the ballroom, Aldric nodded at him, a small gesture, barely noticeable, but one that spoke of years of friendship and mutual respect.

Noah nodded back.

Then the Emperor coughed, drawing the room’s attention back to him. He raised his glass again, and the whispers faded into silence.

"As I was saying," Aldric continued, his voice smooth and practiced, "tonight is a night of joy. A night to celebrate the future of our Empire. A night to welcome heroes and honor traditions." His emerald eyes found Arthur again, and his lips curved into a smile that did not quite reach his eyes. "And speaking of heroes—"

The doors at the far end of the ballroom opened again.

Aldric stopped mid-sentence. His lips twitched, a small, almost invisible spasm of irritation, and his eyes flicked toward the entrance with something that looked like annoyance. For the second time in less than a minute, the Emperor of the Human Domain had been cut off.

Every head turned toward the doors.

...And then they saw him.

The young man who stepped through the doorway was unlike anyone else in the room. His white hair was tied back in a low, elegant ponytail that fell past his shoulders, and a few loose strands framed a face that was sharp and pale and almost unnaturally beautiful.

His eyes were ocean-blue, bright and cold, like the heart of a glacier, and they swept across the ballroom with an expression of distracted annoyance, as if he was arguing with someone that no one else could see.

He wore a black jacket with subtle silver embroidery along the lapels and cuffs, the fabric rich and dark, tailored perfectly to his lean frame.

Beneath it, a black vest with silver buttons hugged his torso, and his black pants were fitted and tucked into knee-high black boots. A silver chain with a lightning bolt pendant hung around his neck, catching the light and throwing it back in small, bright flashes.

He carried a cold, striking gravity that commanded the space around him.

It wasn’t an invitation to look, but a warning to watch; a razor-edged beauty that compelled people to instinctively give him a wide berth. Even in silence, his presence felt like a physical weight, shifting the tone of the room and turning the previous idle gossip into hushed, cautious murmurs.

"Who is that?"

"I don’t recognize him."

"Look at his hair, white, like snow."

"His eyes they’re blue. Ocean blue."

"That’s a Celestial color."

"But the Celestial boy, the failure, he had black hair. Everyone knows that."

"Is that really him? Is that Leo von Celestial?"

"He’s... not what I expected."

The young man walked further into the ballroom, still lost in his own world, arguing with the voice in his head, completely unaware that every single person in the room was staring at him. His lips moved silently, and his brow was furrowed in frustration, and his hands moved slightly as if he were gesturing to someone standing beside him.

But there was no one there.

[You know,]Nova said, his voice dry and amused,[most people would consider it rude to be late to an event hosted by the Emperor.]

"I wasn’t late. I was... delayed."

[You went to the bathroom. You could have gone before we left the estate.]

"Nature called. I can’t control it. And I did go before we left the estate. But this was a second call. An unexpected call. A surprise attack from my own bladder. It’s not my fault."

[That is the most ridiculous thing I have ever heard.]

"You don’t have a bladder. You don’t understand the struggle."

[I understand that you are just making excuses.]

"Tsk! Bastard."

Leo finally looked up.

The ballroom stretched out before him, massive and golden and filled with hundreds of people, all of them frozen in place, all of them staring at him with wide eyes and open mouths.

The Emperor was staring at him. The Empress was staring at him. The Crown Prince had raised an eyebrow, and the Princess — the Princess was staring at him with her emerald eyes wide and her lips slightly parted.

The hero, Arthur Vale, was staring at him. Riven Ashford was staring at him. Amelia Nightshade was staring at him. Even the servants holding trays of champagne had stopped moving, their eyes fixed on his face like they were seeing a ghost.

Leo’s mind went completely blank.

What the fuck?

Why is everyone staring at me?

I haven’t even done anything yet.

He slowly raised his hand and gave a small, awkward wave.

"Uh... hello?"

Across the ballroom, Sylvia put her hand over her face and sighed. The sound was loud in the silence, heavy with resignation and embarrassment and the kind of exhaustion that only came from being related to Leo von Celestial.

Leo’s eye twitched.

Fuck, he thought. Kill me. This is too embarrassing.

The Emperor’s lips twitched, once, twice, and for a moment, no one was sure if he was about to laugh or scream.

The silence stretched on.

...And Leo had the sinking feeling that this was going to be a very, very long night.