Before the Banquet
Evening had almost come.
Outside, the sky over Moonspire was bathed in purples and pale rose—twilight's gentle fingers sweeping the capital in subdued loveliness. Magic lanterns drifted upwards like fireflies, their light gentle and dreamlike, casting glints over marble spires and blossom-hung balconies. The spheres glimmered like stars too impatient to wait for darkness. A soft breeze caressed the flowers, transmitting the distant, musical hum of sound drifting up from the city's core, where nobles and commoners had started to converge beneath the dying sun.
The city thrived, alive—its grandeur in full display.
But in Leon's great mansion, quiet prevailed.
Elegant. Silent. Waiting.
Within his blue-and-white decorated room, Leon stood before his mirror. The room was filled with the faint aroma of sandalwood and citrus—his personal cologne in the air like a memory. Golden sun filtered through the delicate curtains, shining a warm halo on his form.
