Crystal chandeliers hung from the vaulted ceiling, each dripping with hundreds of glittering prisms that cast a cool, silver light across the room.
The walls gleamed with sleek silver panels etched in delicate patterns, alive with flickering candlelight. Between the panels, enormous mirrors reflected the grandeur, doubling the splendor until the hall seemed infinite.
The marble floor shone like glass, inlaid with swirling veins of onyx and silver.
Fresh flowers—roses, lilies, orchids in every color imaginable—stood in towering vases atop carved mahogany pedestals, their fragrance mingling faintly with the scent of wine and wax.
Banquet tables stretched long and proud, draped in white linen, weighed down with silver platters of delicacies. At their centers, silver candelabras held thick white candles, steady flames casting a warm glow over the spread.
Guests glittered as brightly as the chandeliers themselves. Men in tailored tuxedos and women in flowing gowns mingled gracefully, their laughter and conversation weaving a pleasant hum that filled the air.
Waiters in crisp uniforms glided seamlessly between them, balancing trays of champagne and delicate canapés.
At one end of the ballroom, a grand piano gleamed under the lights. A pianist's fingers danced across the keys, music twining through conversation like silk, adding elegance to the air.
And yet, amidst all the splendor, one woman commanded the room.
Her silver hair cascaded down her back in soft waves, catching the chandelier's glow until it shimmered like a river of molten moonlight. Her gown, a flowing cascade of silver, clung to her figure and drifted elegantly to the floor, reflecting the room's cool beauty.
Her eyes, clear grey and piercing, framed by lashes dark and long, seemed to drink in everything. Her lips, tinted faintly red, curved in a delicate smile that left hearts unsteady and lungs struggling for air.
No one needed to ask who she was.
Celestina Frost.
Princess of the great Frost Clan.
And soon-to-be elder sister.
"Congratulations, Celestina. I'm certain you'll make a wonderful elder sister."
"Thank you," Celestina replied, her voice chiming like silver bells—clear, pure, enchanting.
"Though I must admit… I'm hoping for a little sister rather than a brother."
Her smile remained gentle, but if Azriel had heard her words, he might've questioned his grip on reality more than he already did.
After all… in the book, there had been no mention of Celestina's mother being pregnant.
Which meant his survival had, somehow, altered the Frost Clan itself.
"Right? A little brother will just make you worry nonstop. I can't count how many times Azriel nearly drove me insane," Jasmine said suddenly.
Celestina's smile froze.
'Azriel…?'
Why mention him?
She wasn't the only one caught off guard. Caleus Nebula, prince of the Nebula Clan, stood beside her, his amethyst hair gleaming under the chandeliers, violet eyes deep as galaxies. He, too, stared in shock.
Everyone in the Four Great Clans knew Azriel Crimson was dead. And Jasmine? She never—ever— spoke of him. Not since that day.
Celestina admired Jasmine greatly. The Crimson Princess wasn't just a rival; she was a friend. Few could understand the weight of their titles, and Jasmine was one of them. She was already famed as the strongest of her year, destined for the student council presidency, the inevitable future head of the Crimson Clan.
A rival to surpass.
But also someone Celestina respected deeply.
So why now? Why bring up Azriel?
Caleus and Celestina exchanged a brief glance—a silent agreement to let it pass. Maybe it had been a slip of the tongue.
"Speaking of the devil," Jasmine muttered, "where the hell is he…? He's already half an hour late. If he shows up now, it'll be troublesome…"
Celestina blinked. Caleus nearly choked.
'Has she finally lost it?'
"Jasmine, are you feeling alright?" Caleus asked, concern softening his voice.
She snapped out of her daze, blinking at him.
"Ah, yes, I'm fine. Sorry."
Caleus wasn't convinced.
"If you're unwell, perhaps we should—"
But his words cut off abruptly.
The music stopped. The chatter silenced.
A hush fell over the hall, sharp and unnatural.
'What's happening?' Celestina wondered, her pulse quickening.
'A special announcement, maybe?'
Step—!
A single, thunderous step echoed through the ballroom.
Heads whipped toward the entrance. Gasps rippled like waves.
What they saw—
!?
Celestina's heart lurched.
'!?'
Standing in the grand doorway was a figure no one expected to ever see again.
Azriel Crimson.
The prince thought long dead, the boy who had fallen to the Void.
He stood tall, posture flawless, radiating confidence so tangible it pressed against the air itself.
Step—!
Each footfall rolled through the marble like distant thunder.
The black tuxedo fit him perfectly, melding with his dark hair, while his crimson eyes blazed like liquid fire.
Behind him, another figure lingered quietly, dressed in a pristine white tuxedo. His silver hair caught the light, crimson eyes gleaming faintly. Their resemblance was undeniable, yet no one could focus on him.
All eyes belonged to Azriel.
He advanced calmly, the crowd frozen in disbelief, every step shattering what they thought they knew.
He stopped at the center of the ballroom.
His crimson eyes swept the room, searing into those who dared meet them.
Then, suddenly, his gaze locked with Celestina's.
Just as quickly, he turned away, his lips curving into a soft, knowing smile as he looked at his sister.
"Why is everyone looking at me like I'm a ghost?"
His voice was soft, yet carried effortlessly through the silence.
"Today is Christmas, after all… the day of miracles."
He reached casually for a waiter's tray, the poor man paling as Azriel plucked a glass of red wine without hesitation.
"I'm sure you have questions. Where have I been? Did I die? Was I disowned? Did I run away?"
He smiled faintly, each rumor laid bare.
"The truth is… I wasn't dead, disowned, or fleeing."
The entire hall leaned closer, spellbound.
Instead of answering, Azriel turned his gaze toward his father.
Joaquin Crimson stood with Ragnar at his left and Aeliana at his right. All three watched him with proud, approving smiles.
Joaquin gave the slightest of nods.
Azriel raised his glass.
"For the past two years… I was in the Void Realm."
…!