I used to think I was good in public.
Communication is supposed to be a fundamental skill - unless your goal in life is to die in a cave. Talk to people, make friends, build networks, form a family, live your life than die. Even the nobility, as smug and aloof as they are, throw parties for politics' sake. Smile, shake hands, secure alliances.
But watching the gilded scene in front of me, I realized how much isolation had twisted me. Somewhere along the way, maybe in these last couple years, I'd started to forget how to be human.
After a silent escort by a servant, we reached a pair of pearly doors adorned with ornate religious sigils - half imperial, half ecclesiastical. The door creaked open with solemn grace, revealing a burst of warmth and grandeur. Black-clad servants bowed on either side, eyes downcast, postures perfect.
The main hall was a stunning blend of Victorian architecture and classical design philosophy - white pillars rising in neat symmetry, their bases crowned with vines of gold leaf. Paintings, murals, and relics hung from every stretch of wall space, each soaked in divinity or warfare.
And plenty of people were present as well.
So many people.
Dressed in fine-cut uniforms and ceremonial dresses, nobles mingled like well-oiled machines. Military men dominated the room - border city culture turned the armed forces into tradition. Their medals clinked with every loud laugh. Their wives clutched long glasses of sparkling wine, gossiping through painted smiles.
I'd say the ratio of military to non-military noble was probably 3 to 1. An example of the long military tradition of Morren City, which had traded hands many times in past wars.
We were led to a circular table near the back of the room - close to the podium, far from the cluster of whispers.
Guess me and Arthur both seem somewhat anti-social.
All the more better for me.
"Thank you for your help," I told the young woman who'd guided us. "We'll take drinks, if it's not too much trouble."
"Of course, sir. It'll be here in three minutes."
She bowed and vanished like smoke.
I sat down, running a hand over the table's inlaid gold. I hated small talk. So did Arthur. That made us equally antisocial by noble standards.
I let my eyes wander, scanning for anything worth my attention.
Paintings. Religious in theme. There was always something divine on the walls in buildings like this - just to remind you who ruled your soul.
One canvas showed a general on horseback, white cape billowing behind him. His sword glowed like a sunbeam, and thousands of soldiers marched in the background. His face was noble, age-worn, eyes staring into a future only he could see.
The crest on his chest represented his noble family - a black eagle clutching a golden thunderbolt.
Looks familiar... but I can't quite remember where from...
Another painting took up nearly half the wall. A man kneeling before a sword buried in stone, shrouded in fog. He wore no crown, yet the weight of something poured off him. Below the mountain, people wept and clawed upward, desperate to reach the light surrounding him.
He wore a white mask, which only showed his eyes, which was clouded in the painting. The mask gave away who it was, as the statue in the back of the podium was of the same visage.
Don't recognize this one either. But I know who it is. The old lost Emperor himself.
"You've got a good eye, young man."
A voice broke my thoughts. A large hand clapped my shoulder. It even hurt a bit, but I swallowed the pain.
I looked up - and up again.
The man towering above me had the bearing of a general and the presence of a storm. Burly, older, sharply dressed, with a dozen medals jingling like a war hymn. His smile was a little too warm, but I didn't want to judge so quickly.
Arthur nodded politely beside me. "Greetings, Lord Regent. May I offer my admiration for tonight's arrangements? The grandeur is - predictably - impeccable."
The man chuckled, pulling out a chair between us with a grunt.
"Drop the formalities, will you? I've had enough of that pompish shit back in the capital. Haven't been home more than a few hours and already got a headache from those royal parasites. And none of this 'Lord Regent in waiting' nonsense. My brothers still alive, praise the Lord. I'd hate to see his highness anywhere other than his throne."
Arthur relaxed immediately, smirking.
"Fair enough. I suppose that gives me the right to speak plainly."
He gestured to me. "This is Damian, no last name yet. Damian, meet Lord Cassian Magdalene. Our Lord Regent "
Magdalene... That name sounds similar.
Of course, I already knew about the big shots in the Empires political regime, so I wasn't too surprised from his appearance.
The man grinned, then slapped my back like he was trying to restart my lungs. I even had to swallow a cough that threatened me.
"Ah, so this is the commoner everyone's whispering about! Don't worry, lad, we'll have you decorated in no time. You're one of three surprises I've got planned tonight. And from the looks of you, you'll be swimming in noble attention before the hour's out. Just... steer clear of Mary."
Mary?
He leaned back, looking pleased with himself. That's when I saw her.
A flash of golden hair.
She turned-and I saw her eyes.
Gold in its purest form, but ancient. Knowing. Her beauty wasn't just physical. It was the kind that hurts to look at. Like if you stared too long, you'd either fall in love or lose yourself.
She smiled.
Not flirtatiously. Not warmly. Just a quiet curve of the lips, like she was acknowledging something that happened quite a bit in her life.
And then, she turned away.
But the damage was done.
Beautiful.
"Ah," the Regent grunted. "Looks like Mary's already reeled in another one. Sorry, son. There was never any hope."
Arthur shifted in his seat, posture tightening. His eyes lingered on Mary's retreating form for a moment too long before returning to Cassian.
"So she's the one you brought from the capital… That explains it."
He didn't say more.
He didn't have to.
Because I had already realized something far more terrifying.
Memorise started flooding into my brain like torrential rain, and I felt a headache coming along.
Those golden eyes - were not normal. I had seen enough scripture, enough forbidden texts, enough paintings to know what I was looking at.
Divine Eyes.
And not just any of them.
She was the inheritor of one of the Twelve Lost Eyes, relics torn from the Apostles during the War of Redemption. Each was said to embody a concept of divine law and perception. Hers was one of the most dangerous, at least to me.
The Eyes of Verity.
A relic of the Apostle of Truth, known for piercing the Veil and unraveling even the holiest of lies. They said it could see sin in its purest form, buried in the soul. The very same eye that once condemned kings and saints alike.
And she could even read minds in the Novel through eye contact.
There was a reason the first thought I had was to compliment her beauty when we made eye contact. Sure, she was beautiful, but not enough for me to actually fall for her. Especially since she was the most dangerous person I could have encountered.
If she could read my mind...
I would be doomed.
And now... it stared out from the face of a girl with golden-glass eyes and the smile of someone who already knew who you were.
She's the kind of person who could destroy you without lifting a finger. Just by seeing you.
She was the future Empress of Light. A Veilwalker, like me.
And she had already seen me.