"This is simply satisfying," Leo laughed, lying flat on the cool forest floor, arms outstretched, eyes shut in relief. The crisp morning air filled his lungs, and a content smile played on his lips. He had finally done it—seen his own mana, felt its presence pulsing in rhythm with his heart. The breakthrough was exhilarating.
But like all moments of peace, this one didn't last.
A gust of wind carried the first hints of dawn through the trees, and as light trickled through the canopy, a wave of panic struck him.
"Ah, crap…"
Leo bolted upright, eyes scanning the shifting morning hues.
"How am I going to get back?"
A long, frustrated sigh escaped him. He scratched his head and muttered, "One of these days, I really need to learn how to teleport…"
He waited a little longer, hoping Alicia might return. But after another hour of silence and no sign of his elusive mentor, Leo gave up. There was no time to waste. The Valor Ball was tomorrow—and suddenly, he remembered something even worse.
"Damn!" he cursed, smacking his forehead. "Cassandra is going to skin me alive…"
She was probably neck-deep in rehearsals already—and Leo, as usual, was missing in action. Unless he could find a skilled mage kind enough to open a portal, he'd be stuck hoofing it back the old-fashioned way.
Unfortunately, teleportation magic wasn't simple. Mages could only open portals to places they had either visited personally or memorized through the unique mana signature of the location. That ruled out most help.
With no other choice, Leo dropped to all fours, shifting smoothly into his panther form. Midnight-blue fur shimmered as he sprinted through the underbrush, agile and silent as a shadow.
"Hopefully, I'll be back by evening…"
Elyria, meanwhile, was alive with preparations.
The castle's great hall had been transformed. Once home to austere war councils and tense diplomacy, it now radiated elegance and festivity. Banners of deep crimson and shining gold fluttered from the columns, each one bearing the twin swords and shield of Valor.
The once-massive council table had been replaced with several smaller round tables, each adorned with velvet cloth and glimmering silverware.
At the front, upon a raised marble dais, a long oak table had been draped in silver and gold silks, soon to serve as the centerpiece for honored guests and dignitaries.
Outside, the streets of the capital were even more chaotic. Artisans, performers, and merchants flooded the roads, turning Elyria into a city-wide celebration. Music echoed through alleys, and laughter mingled with the scents of exotic food.
"Watch it!" a short elven merchant shrieked, stumbling backward as two armored figures brushed past him.
"Is this how your mothers raised you—" he began, but the words froze in his throat.
The merchant's eyes widened as he realized who the two guards were escorting—Princess Emelda, her cloak trailing like woven sunlight behind her.
He blinked, then did the only reasonable thing—he apologized profusely.
The guards barely acknowledged him, focused instead on keeping pace with the princess as she stormed through the bustling streets. Her expression was agitated, lips moving in silent dialogue with herself.
Despite the recent bloodshed that had painted these very streets red, today Elyria was brimming with joy. Yet Emelda seemed unfazed by the festivities.
Eventually, the trio arrived at the capital's largest dress shop—a towering building of polished wood and stained glass.
"SO nice to see Your Highness!" the seamstress, Zelda, chirped as she curtsied deeply. Her golden eyes gleamed as she beckoned the princess inside.
With a nod to the guards, Emelda disappeared into the changing area.
"I hope it's ready, Zelda," she asked, scanning the shop eagerly.
"Of course it is, dear," Zelda chuckled, clapping twice as she pointed toward a tall wardrobe. "Behold—my masterpiece!"
With a grin, Emelda stepped forward and opened the wardrobe. The wooden doors creaked open… revealing a dress fit for a queen.
It was a sleeveless wonder of golden silk, stitched with phoenixes in flight—flames trailing from their wings, shimmering with each thread of mana-infused fabric. A daring neckline and a thigh-high slit added a bold touch.
"Seems a little provocative," Emelda muttered, raising a brow at the seamstress.
"Oh please," Zelda laughed, waving her hand. "You'll own the room. Now come on—put it on!"
Two elven maids entered and helped Emelda slip into the dress. She twirled once, admiring her reflection in the tall mirror. The dress caught the light, wrapping her in a regal glow.
"It's beautiful," she whispered.
"Really complements your hair, Princess," Zelda said with pride.
"Every head will turn the moment you enter the ballroom," added one maid, a petite girl with auburn curls and kind eyes.
"You'll be the center of attention," the other chimed in.
Emelda giggled, brushing a loose strand of hair behind her ear. "I sure hope so."
Back at Night Castle, however, tension brewed.
"Where is he?" Cassandra demanded for what must have been the tenth time that morning. Her voice was sharp, fraying with frustration.
"No clue," Tyler replied with a shrug. "Bethran says he might still be in Elyria."
"Elyria?!" Cassandra practically shouted. "What in the five realms is he still doing there?"
She slapped her forehead and waved Tyler off.
Knock knock
"Come in," she sighed, idly twirling a dagger in her fingers.
The door opened slowly, revealing Bethran—and the look on Cassandra's face made him gulp.
"You summoned me, Elder?"
"Yes," Cassandra said coolly. "Where is Leo?"
Bethran gave a sheepish shrug. "I don't know."
"You seriously expect me to believe that?"
Cassandra's tone darkened as the dagger stopped spinning in her fingers.
"You two were always inseparable growing up," she added, narrowing her eyes. "Don't insult my intelligence."
"He was in Elyria last I checked," Bethran said. "Maybe after the vampire hunt, he stayed behind for the alliance talks."
"I was in that meeting," Cassandra snapped. "He left that same night. By portal."
Bethran scratched his chin. "Maybe he went to visit someone?"
"I doubt it." Cassandra's gaze pierced through him. "He isn't like you."
Bethran blinked. "What do you mean?"
"Leo doesn't go around town chasing skirts like a depraved wolf."
He would've laughed—on any other day—but with Cassandra glaring at him, he wisely kept silent.
A heavy pause fell between them.
Bethran finally asked, "Why do you need him so badly?"
"He might return by afternoon—maybe earlier," he added, trying to ease the tension.
"That's not the issue." Cassandra leaned back with a groan. "You know how he gets in formal events."
Bethran winced. She had a point.
"He needs to understand everything—speech, greeting rituals, the toast, the dance, the award ceremony…"
Her voice droned on as Bethran's mind drifted. He only snapped back when she gave him a tired look.
"You see the problem?"
He nodded.
"The worst part?" Cassandra sighed. "I'm the only one who even cares about changing how people see us. We can't keep being the shadowy monsters in children's tales."
Bethran raised a brow. "We wear black, strike at night, and live in a castle surrounded by a creepy forest."
He chuckled. "Not exactly the stuff of fairy tales."
"That doesn't mean we stop trying," she said, pointing the dagger at him. "We keep people safe. Wouldn't it be nice if they stopped being afraid of us for once?"
Bethran stood silently, her words settling over him like mist.
Finally, she yawned. "That will be all, Fang Bethran. See if you can find your brother while there's still time."
"I will," he said, bowing low before exiting with swift steps.