Part 1
Philip barely had time to catch his breath in the hallway before Lydia materialized beside him like a particularly efficient specter. Without a word, she began attacking his appearance with the focused intensity of a battlefield surgeon.
"Hold still," she commanded, producing a comb from thin air and wrestling his hair into submission. "Honestly, Master Philip, you cannot greet Lady Elora looking like you've been… wrestling."
"I wasn't wrestling, I was—ow!" Philip yelped as she yanked a particularly stubborn cowlick into place. "How did you even know Elora was here?"
"I am old, but I can still hear quite well," Lydia said dryly, now attacking his cravat with nimble fingers. "And I can hear the rather distinctive sound of two people involved in certain… endeavors. Really, Master Philip, the drawing room has excellent acoustics."
Philip's face burned. "We weren't—it wasn't—"
"Of course not," Lydia agreed with the tone of someone who absolutely didn't believe him. She produced a clothes brush and began removing invisible specks from his jacket with violent efficiency. "Just as your father never—," she caught herself, coughing delicately.
"Wait, my father?" Philip tried to turn his head, but Lydia grabbed his chin and forcibly straightened it.
"I misspoke," she said quickly, now doing something to his collar that felt like origami.
Philip caught his reflection in the hallway mirror. He looked… exactly like himself, only somehow neater. Every hair was in place; his cravat sat perfectly; his jacket hung without a single wrinkle. It was as if the last few minutes of embarrassing entanglement had been surgically erased from his appearance.
"How did you do that in two minutes?" Philip asked, amazed.
"Practice," Lydia said crisply.
She spun him around to face her, her expression deadly serious. "Now then, Master Philip: not a word about what just transpired with Miss Natalia. Not. One. Word."
"Unless you wish to have no peace of mind for the next while," she continued, her eyes glinting dangerously. "Because I assure you, the deeper someone loves, the crazier their sensitivities get."
Philip blanched. "Right. Not a word."
"Excellent. Now go. Lady Elora is approaching, and whatever has brought her here at this hour cannot be pleasant," Lydia said, already turning back toward the drawing room. "I need to return to Miss Natalia before she decides to create a comprehensive taxonomy of human emotional responses complete with detailed physiological measurements."
"Is that likely?"
"Yes," Lydia called over her shoulder. "Go!"
Philip went, hurrying down the main staircase while trying to process what had just happened. Lydia did this for his father? But that would mean…
His thought evaporated as he caught sight of Elora in the entrance hall.
Even in distress, she was stunning. The pale blue silk complemented her complexion perfectly, and her golden hair had been arranged in a style that managed to look both elaborate and as if she'd just risen from bed. But Philip's attention was captured by her expression—her usually bright eyes were wide with what looked like genuine fear, and her perfectly painted lips were pressed into a thin line.
"Elora," Philip called as he reached the bottom of the stairs. "What's happened?"
She spun toward him, and for a moment, something flickered across her face—relief? Hope?—before she practically flew across the marble floor and threw herself into his arms.
"Oh, Philip!" she exclaimed, her voice muffled against his chest, and he could feel her trembling. "I'm sorry, I'm so sorry to have to leave your amazing party right now. But Mia said—but then the message came, and I couldn't—"
"Elora, breathe," Philip said gently, his arms coming up automatically to hold her. She felt smaller than he remembered, more fragile. "What message? What's happened?"
She pulled back just enough to look up at him, and Philip was shocked to see her eyes glistening with unshed tears. "It's Kendrick. Something's happened in Vakeria. The compound hosting the negotiations was bombed by hypersonic missiles from unknown sources!"
"Currently, all communication is lost!" Her voice broke. "And Kendrick—" Elora fell to her knees before she could even finish the sentence.
Part 2
The moon hung vast and silver above the forgotten corners of the Cordillera, where civilization had retreated like a tide abandoning shells upon a desolate shore. Here, in what had once been a thriving manufacturing hub, stood a monument to both opulence and oblivion—the Teatro Grande de San Cordillario. Once the favored opera house of local elites, it now loomed as a reputedly haunted ruin, standing sentinel amidst a sprawling cemetery in an abandoned tract of land dozens of kilometers from the new city's outskirts.
The locals crossed themselves whenever forced to speak of it. They whispered of lights dancing between broken windows on moonless nights, of music echoing from supposedly collapsed halls. The surrounding cemetery, with its baroque mausoleums and weeping-angel statuary, had expanded over the decades until marble tombstones pressed against the opera's very foundations like supplicants at a dark altar. The wise stayed away. The desperate who ventured too close reported feeling watched by nonexistent eyes, hearing whispers in languages that predated civilization itself.
Which was, Aurora mused as she surveyed the gathering masses from her elevated position, precisely what she wanted the locals to believe.
The theater's exterior maintained its careful illusion of decay—walls stained with what appeared to be nearly a century of relentless tropical rain, vines choking neo-baroque columns, the grand entrance ostensibly blocked by fallen masonry. Inside, however… inside told an entirely different story.
The opera house's interior gleamed with grandeur that would shame most modern theaters. Three tiers of boxes rose in horseshoe magnificence around a central floor polished to mirror brightness. Crystal chandeliers—each worth more than a small city's annual revenue—cast prismatic light across surfaces of gold leaf and crimson velvet. The very air shimmered with barely contained power from sources that predated local government by centuries.
Aurora stood at the edge of the highest box, wings spread slightly for balance—though beings of her nature required no such mundane support. She appeared as she had been painted in thousands of churches across the globe: ethereally beautiful, with features seemingly carved from moonlight itself. Raven curls cascaded past her shoulders, and her eyes held equal measures of judgment and compassion. The sole difference between the paintings and her current form lay in the wings. Rather than the pristine white depicted in religious artworks, the dragon-like appendages emerging from her back were something far more unsettling—they shifted between colors that possessed no names, catching light from no visible source.
"Lady Aurelia shall arrive within the hour," she announced, her voice carrying perfectly through the theater's flawless acoustics.
Five hundred figures stirred in response. Each wore a mask—some simple dominoes of black silk, others elaborate constructions of feathers and gems that transformed their wearers into birds of paradise or demons of the pit. They filled the main floor and every box save three at the horseshoe's apex. These three boxes remained empty, their red velvet chairs waiting like thrones above the masses. The central throne sat directly beneath a magnificent skylight that would, when the moment arrived, bathe its occupant in celestial radiance.
The gathering represented power accumulated over millennia. Here stood those touched by eternity—granted life unending through various intimate encounters, all with the same entity. Among them were supposedly deceased bankers whose family trusts had funded both sides in wars deemed necessary by Aurora on Aurelia's behalf; scientists whose "deaths" had been carefully staged to allow unencumbered research beyond ethical oversight; and artists whose styles had mysteriously evolved through multiple "generations" of suspiciously similar protégés. Perhaps one in five were women—mostly newer recruits from Aurelia's few decades as Aurelius. All waited in reverent silence for their patron's arrival.
A figure in an elaborately feathered mask that rendered her as some tropical bird of paradise stepped forward. Despite the disguise, her bearing marked her as one accustomed to reporting—shoulders square, voice clear and carrying.
"As Lady Aurelia anticipated, an Arussian-backed organization initiated an untraceable attack to disrupt the peace negotiations. Although it appears that the Vakerians detected the incoming assault in advance, they destroyed all evidence of their foreknowledge, allowing the attack to proceed. Neither side could accept the terms proposed by the other, yet both were unwilling to appear uncooperative before the global community."
"Moreover," she paused briefly before continuing, "our sources within the Arussian government indicate that both the government and the Emperor himself were surprised by the attack."
"As expected," murmured a man whose mask bore a grinning skull's visage. "Likely sponsored by the Yulenov faction. They've always wanted Prince Vlan dead."
The bird-woman continued, undeterred. "More concerning is the proliferation of summoning facilities. The Continental Republic and the United Eastern States remain locked in a race for mass deployment of summoned entities, creating a noticeable surge in blue mana demand that threatens the ongoing energy transition."
"How noticeable?" Aurora's voice sliced through the growing murmur like a blade through silk.
"A fifteen percent surge in blue mana costs globally. Moreover, in areas near massive summoning facilities, some practitioners report occasional dips of up to forty percent in spellcraft potency." The reporter shifted uncomfortably. "The common people haven't connected the dots yet, but at this rate they'll soon see significantly higher utility bills and… significantly higher unemployment."
"They'll blame inflation first," suggested a figure whose mirror-mask reflected distorted versions of everyone who looked upon it. "They always do. Everything is inflation these days—the cost of bread, the cost of magic, the cost of existing."
Aurora sighed. "Were it not for Project Eden, this would be excellent news. But now… our priority must be maintaining the current order until Lady Aurelia completes the recruitment process."
"Understood." The figure bowed, signaling her report's conclusion. At Aurora's gesture, she retreated to her position.
"What of the Continental Republic's internal situation?" Aurora's voice echoed throughout the building.
A woman whose eagle-mask bore uncanny realism cleared her throat. "Protests continue in seventeen major cities. Deportations of foreign workers who've overstayed have spiked to decade-high levels. When magical entities can perform work at a fraction of the cost…"
"Immigration becomes unnecessary," Aurora finished. "As was always inevitable. Though I must admit, I didn't expect them to begin paving the way for change quite this early."
"Yet migration pressures build globally," reported a male figure in a plague doctor's mask, the elongated beak lending his words an oddly hollow quality. "While rich, technologically advanced nations continue their population decline, poorer nations maintain explosive growth trajectories. Global migration has mitigated this imbalance for several decades."
"But with increasing deployment of summoned entities, the risk-reward calculation for wealthy nations tips toward border closure," added someone in a fox mask. "Summoned entities ensure lower-cost labor without cultural-clash side effects."
Aurora nodded slowly, her wings rustling like distant thunder. "So poorer nations will soon face immense internal pressure to provide employment for their growing workforce or risk instability. Our timeline continues to shorten."
Nervous laughter rippled through the assembly before quickly stifling under Aurora's sweeping gaze.
"The fruit must ripen before harvest. We must control the timing… which is precisely why we've gathered." She let the sentence hang like a guillotine blade.
Suddenly, the theater's air began shifting, mana currents swirling in patterns that dropped the temperature several degrees instantly. The assembled five hundred, despite their considerable power and extended existences, felt a primordial chill.
She was coming.
The grand doors—supposedly sealed by rubble for decades—swung open with majestic silence. At that precise moment, the organ began playing of its own accord, a melody both grand and eerie.
Aurelia entered, drifting slightly above the ground, and the world held its breath.
She had chosen her true form tonight—a woman in her apparent twenties, heartbreakingly beautiful. Silver hair flowed like liquid moonlight to her waist, moving in a breeze that touched nothing else. Her eyes glowed crimson as fresh blood.
Her gown defied description—seemingly cut from shadow itself, it clung to her curves in ways that suggested rather than revealed, shifting between opacity and transparency with each movement. Diamonds that might have been stars caught in spider silk adorned her throat and wrists. Her skin was flawless porcelain, untouched by time despite the millennia weighing upon her existence.
But her presence truly commanded the room. She moved with the lazy grace of an apex predator who had never known fear, never encountered a true threat. Power radiated from her in waves that made the very air genuflect.
"Our Beloved Eternal Benefactor!" The cry rose from five hundred throats in perfect unison, and as one, the assembly dropped to their knees. Even Aurora, for all her glory and pride, inclined her head in deference, though she remained standing.
Aurelia drifted across the polished floor, ascending through the air without wings or visible effort until she occupied the central box. As she settled into the throne-like chair, moonlight poured through the skylight above, transforming her into something luminous and otherworldly. She surveyed the kneeling assembly with profound boredom.
"Rise," she commanded with a languid wave. "You know I find genuflection tedious."
The assembly rose as commanded, though none dared meet her eyes directly. The tension was palpable—five hundred immortals, each powerful in their own right, reduced to nervous children in her presence.
Aurelia sighed, the sound carrying centuries' weight. "I heard your reports already, through Aurora's earpiece while flying here from the UES. The situation grows… inconvenient." She drummed her fingers on the armrest, a surprisingly human gesture. "I would prefer maintaining stability—at least until we've saved all those meant for Project Eden. But given these imbalances you've reported…" She shrugged elegantly. "Stability becomes increasingly difficult. Like balancing a pyramid on its point."
"My dear ones," she continued, her voice carrying what might have been hurt if such beings could truly feel, "why do you still fear me so? After all these years, centuries for some, have I ever been cruel without cause? Have I ever struck down one of you in a fit of pique?"
Silence greeted her words.
"I am not some unstable tyrant," she continued. "I am simply… rational. Completely, utterly rational. And yes, I know that can appear heartless, but there's a difference between heartlessness and clarity of purpose."
She leaned forward slightly, moonlight catching in her hair like trapped stars. "Let me offer an example. The Great Conflict—most of you remember it, don't you? It was just the other day…" She paused, frowning slightly. "No, wait. A century ago. Perhaps more. Time does blur so."
Nervous chuckles rippled through the assembly at her casual dismissal of a hundred years.
"I let it run its course," she continued. "Watched as that beautiful, bright age of empires tore itself apart. Some of you begged me to intervene. To use my influence preserving the old order. To reduce unnecessary suffering. But I didn't. Do you know why?"
The question hung like smoke.
"Because for all its beauty—achievements, glittering spires, and profound philosophies—that era was built on a fundamental lie. It was an era of great human achievement, but most of the benefits went to the nobility. For the vast majority? They lived without hope. Trapped permanently in their station of birth, by their geography of birth. No chance of advancement. No dreams beyond surviving another day of drudgery."
Her eyes swept the assembly. "Such a world isn't worth living in. Better to risk everything for a chance at a better world where common people could shape their own destinies."
"But the destruction—" someone ventured.
"Yes, there was destruction. Yes, progress was set back. Yes, some went too far in revolutionary fervor, committing cruelties that still echo today." Her voice hardened slightly. "But those cruelties were their folly, never my plan. I merely… removed my protection from a system that deserved to fall. The rest was human nature taking its course."
She settled back, seeming to diminish slightly, becoming less overwhelming and more… approachable wasn't the right word, but perhaps less cosmic.
"I have lived so long," she said quietly, "that I'd forgotten my own origins. Where I came from. Why I am what I am. Only recently did my Creator see fit to remind me." A strange expression crossed her face—something between reverence and irony. "Hence, Project Eden. Looking back, I realize I've been working toward it inadvertently for millennia. Gathering you all. Preparing. Even when I thought I was merely amusing myself."
She smiled then, almost warmly. "I haven't kept you in the dark, my dear ones. Everything we do now is simply the culmination of what we've always been building toward. I ask only that you trust me. After all, I'm the same woman—or man, depending on the era—who shared that unforgettable night with each of you on your special day."
The atmosphere shifted palpably. Several figures touched their masks unconsciously, remembering the face beneath, the moment when mortality had been exchanged for something else. The memory of Aurelia's touch, her kiss, her embrace—whatever form their transformation had taken—was seared into each of them.
"I am your master, yes," she continued, "but also your protector. Like the relationship between master and familiar that so many of you maintain."
Several figures shifted uncomfortably at this comparison, guilt flickering across visible features as they considered their treatment of their own summoned servants.
"And speaking of relationships," Aurelia added with a sudden shift suggesting embarrassment, "I realize some of you might feel I've been… distant. But you must understand, I'm still the same woman—or man—who pursued each of you so fervently in ages past."
She leaned forward conspiratorially. "It's not that I lost interest or wanted to distant myself. It's simply that time passes so differently for me. Sometimes I think 'Oh, I should check on Marcus' or 'I wonder how Elizaveta's research progresses,' and then I realize it's been a century or two since we last spoke."
Nervous chuckles rippled through the assembly.
"I mean, to me it feels like last Tuesday!" She gestured helplessly. "I've been terribly busy with recruitment. Project Eden doesn't populate itself. But please—" she looked around with what seemed like genuine concern, "—do call! Feel free! If I don't answer, it just means I'm busy, likely with another recruitment. Leave a message and I'll try to reply within a century. Two at most."
The laughter that followed was more genuine, the room's atmosphere warming considerably.
"Oh, and do send my regards to your own bloodline servants," she added as an afterthought.
Several masked figures exchanged glances.
"By the way," Aurelia declared grandly, "Aurora and I maintain an open-door policy. Feel free to visit our bedrooms whenever you have time! We might not always be available, but we do try to accommodate." She glanced at the third empty throne beside hers. "Ecstasia has the same policy, theoretically, but she's currently busy with onboarding. Faking death for new recruits while helping them retain their de facto control over former connection and wealth isn't easy."
Aurora maintained her serene expression, though her wings rustled slightly at Aurelia's comment.
"So please," Aurelia said with a gesture that somehow dimmed the chandeliers slightly, creating a more intimate atmosphere, "relax. No one dies tonight for saying the wrong thing. We're all friends here."
The tension eased visibly. Shoulders relaxed, stances became less rigid. A few masks even tilted toward each other in whispered conversation.
Aurelia gestured broadly. "Each of you caught my attention for a reason. A moment of brilliance. An act of unexpected courage. Or simply being beautiful enough to make eternity more aesthetically pleasing."
"And together we serve a greater purpose," Aurora said carefully.
"Indeed. We will bring humanity back to paradise." Aurelia's tone carried rarely seen genuine excitement.
She straightened slightly, her gaze searching. "Speaking of plans, where's Marcus? The one with the global media conglomerate?"
A figure in a silver mask that shimmered with projected images stepped forward. "Here, My Lady."
"Ah, good. Report on Aurora's image management, would you?"
The masked man's posture straightened with pride. "My corporation has successfully ensured the younger generation continues knowing Aurora as the Angel of the Morning. Every March, they celebrate the Festival of Aurora in sixty-six nations worldwide. Some observe it as a secular holiday, others as religious, some as public holidays, others as private celebrations. But all successfully reinforce popular belief about Aurora, the Angel of Morning, to whom all suffering injustice should pray."
Aurelia smiled with satisfaction. "So all it took was a few centuries of media campaigns to instill unshakable belief in ten percent of the world's population. An angel whose existence was never once mentioned in the Holy Book of the religion she supposedly comes from." She laughed softly. "After all, when tradition conflicts with theological orthodoxy, most defer to popular media. This generation's youth are too busy to read their Holy Books thoroughly enough to notice the discrepancy."
Aurora raised her head gracefully, stretching her arms toward the audience while spreading her wings wide. "As always, Lady Aurelia was right from the start. Most people are eager to do the bare minimum securing their supposed afterlife ticket, and therein lay our opportunity to exploit."
"Yes, about that…" Aurelia's expression grew unexpectedly serious. She turned to Aurora with an intensity that made several nearby immortals step back. "Make sure to leverage your influence to delay 'that day' for as long as possible."
The assembly stirred.
"There are so many kind-hearted people in this dark world," Aurelia continued, her voice carrying an odd note of… tenderness? "I need to save as many as possible. Every day we delay is another day to identify and collect the worthy. Project Eden isn't about destruction—it's about preservation. Preserving humanity's best before it drowns in its own excess."
The revelation rippled through the assembly like a wave. Lady Aurelia, the dedicated hedonist, was actually trying to save people?
A disturbance at the theater's entrance drew her attention. One masked figure near the door was gesturing urgently to Aurora, who frowned and descended from her elevated position with a rustle of impossible wings.
"What is it?" Aurelia asked, sounding more curious than annoyed.
"My Lady," Aurora reported after a brief, whispered conference, "the host has arrived."
"Don Luis? How fashionably late." Her smile carried amusement. "Do bring him in."
The doors opened once more, and a figure stumbled through. Where the assembly moved with confidence transcending mortality's limitations, this man moved with the careful, pained gait of someone very much bound by flesh's frailties.
He was seventy years old, carrying those years with the dignity of someone once breathtakingly handsome in that particular way of Esbanian nobility. His features still held echoes of that beauty—aristocratic cheekbones, dark eyes that had once smoldered with passion, a jawline artists would have paid to sketch. His hair, once midnight black, had turned silver-white but remained thick and carefully styled. He wore evening dress that, while impeccable in cut and quality, showed signs of hasty arrangement. One cufflink was missing. His bow tie sat slightly askew.
Most telling was how he held his left side, where a dark stain spread across a pristine white shirt despite his attempt to conceal it with his dinner jacket.
"Don Luis Santiago Esperanza de la Cruz," Aurelia announced, her voice surprisingly warm. "Grandson of Juan—the man for whose death I nearly cried my eyes out."
Don Luis attempted a bow, winced, and settled for a deep nod. When he spoke, his voice carried the cultured tones of old Esbanian colonial elite, though pain and fear roughened its edges.
"The Goddess of My Ancestors, My Goddess," he began formally, but Aurelia's gentle laughter cut him short.
"Please drop the formality. And going forward, call me Aurelia."
The old man's eyes widened in shock, and he actually gasped. Such familiarity in public was unprecedented.
"I… I couldn't possibly…" he stammered.
"Of course you could. I just told you to." Her tone remained gentle, almost affectionate. "Your grandfather called me by name, you know. On that first harbor encounter, when he was ready to throw himself into the sea rather than watch his family starve. Such a proud young man. So beautiful, even in desperation."
Don Luis swallowed hard. "He spoke of you often. Said you were his salvation."
"I was his opportunity," Aurelia corrected. "He made himself into a tycoon. I merely… removed a few obstacles. Such a pity about the assassination when he entered politics. I was a week too late to prevent it." A shadow crossed her face. "I've always regretted that. He would have made an interesting recruit."
"My family has served faithfully in his memory," Don Luis managed.
"Yes, you have. Even bleeding and terrified, you came when summoned." She studied him with those ancient eyes. "Tell me what happened."
Don Luis straightened as much as his injury allowed. "My vehicle was forced off the mountain road. Professional work—they knew exactly when and where to strike. The driver was killed. I barely escaped."
"Someone testing our defenses," Aurora suggested.
"Perhaps," Aurelia mused. "See that all who participated in the attack disappear. But be fair to their families. Leave each family with thirty years of average wage." She rose from her throne with fluid grace, descending through the air to stand before Don Luis. "Poor Luis. Seventy years old, bleeding, yet still making it here."
"I serve at your pleasure," he managed.
"Yes, you do. And you've served well. I think you deserve a reward." She turned to Aurora with a smile of pure mischief. "My dear Aurora, I have a gift for you. For all your hard work and dedication."
Aurora tilted her head, clearly not following.
"The man you've always wanted to try," Aurelia continued, gesturing to Don Luis. "Consider him yours for the evening."
Don Luis's eyes widened in shock, his mouth opening and closing soundlessly. Aurora's expression remained carefully neutral, though something flickered in her eyes.
"I… forgive me…" Don Luis stammered.
"But not without some preparations first," Aurelia said, her tone becoming almost playful. "After all, I can't give damaged goods."
She moved with impossible speed, closing the distance between them in a blink. Her presence overwhelmed his senses—roses and eternity, winter stars and ancient wine. Before he could react, she pressed her lips to his forehead in a kiss that seemed to last both forever and an instant.
Light bloomed where she touched—not warm but coldly beautiful, spreading across his skin in patterns defying perception. The blood staining his shirt slowed, then stopped. Age lines on his face began softening and fading. Years peeled away like old paint, revealing the man he had been in his prime.
When the light faded, Don Luis stood transformed. Seventy years had become perhaps thirty. His back was straight, his hair dark again. The classic Iberian beauty of his youth had returned—smoldering eyes, perfect cheekbones, the kind of masculine grace that had once made hearts race across three continents.
"There," Aurelia said with satisfaction, drifting back. "Much better. Aurora, darling, his form will last twenty-four hours. Do try to convince him to accept an eternity of it." She winked at the stunned man. "Aurora can be very persuasive when she wants to be. And Luis? Your grandfather didn't hesitate for even a second at my gift."
She paused, as if remembering something. "Oh, Aurora, one more thing. Please tone down your progressive projects, would you? Their destabilizing effects are becoming a nuisance."
Aurora nodded.