The Von Drakrion Estate rarely slept, but tonight — it held its breath.
The Sky Gala had returned. Ten years since it last unfurled its dangerous splendor. Ten years since the continent's elite had gathered under one roof, not for war, but for something quieter — and far more treacherous. Politics disguised as pleasantries. Assassins dressed in silk. Alliances hammered into place with nothing but words, wine, and razor smiles.
The estate itself seemed to rise to the occasion.
Towering glass-and-steel spires caught the twin moons above, casting shifting reflections on polished obsidian floors. Floating crystal chandeliers refracted soft gold light, moving as though to the slow, murmuring rhythm of the string quartet suspended mid-air. Holographic koi drifted lazily through the atrium's skybridge, shimmering faintly as guests passed beneath them.
It was beautiful. It was dangerous. It was exactly how Hiroshi Von Drakrion liked it.
He stood at the balcony's edge, hands resting lightly on the marble balustrade. His suit — dark as midnight but trimmed with muted gold filigree — fit him like a second skin. His gaze swept the ballroom below, cool and calculating, but tinged with something more distant. A quiet alertness, as if counting shadows rather than faces.
Next to him, Princess Evelyn was every inch a royal reborn. Her silver-backed gown fell in soft waves, sapphire threads woven through like veins of lightning. Though her posture was poised, her jaw held a subtle tension. Tonight was more than just a party for her — it was a claim. A declaration that she had survived, and she had returned.
"Hiroshi," she said quietly, her eyes not leaving the ballroom, "I feel like every glance down there weighs more than a blade."
He didn't smile, but there was a flicker of amusement.
"That's because it does."
A low chuckle came from behind them.
"Well, if you two are going to be this grim, at least pass the wine."
Kyo stepped into the light, rolling his shoulders with casual ease. He wore a navy velvet blazer, his black shirt unbuttoned just enough to hint rebellion but not scandal. A silver chain glinted faintly at his throat. His smile, as always, tilted toward mischief.
He slid between Hiroshi and Evelyn, propping his elbows on the balcony. His dark eyes danced as he surveyed the room.
"Gods, we clean up well," he mused. "Makes you wonder — do we look like heroes tonight, or villains?"
Hiroshi finally allowed a corner of his mouth to twitch. "Does it matter?"
Kyo shrugged. "Not to me. But if we're being honest…" He glanced slyly sideways. "Pretty sure half these nobles already think we're devils wrapped in designer fabric."
He turned slightly, as if remembering something, and grinned straight ahead.
"Oh, and by the way — to whoever's been reading our story this long…" He raised his glass toward the unseen, unseen audience. "Good taste. Hope you're comfy, because this party's just getting started. And if it gets boring? Don't worry, I'll slip in some jokes."
He winked. Somehow, neither Hiroshi nor Evelyn seemed fazed by the strange aside. Perhaps they'd simply grown used to Kyo being… Kyo.
Rosalyn arrived then, smooth as a blade drawn from velvet. Her white suit was immaculate, her dark red hair swept back in a clean knot. The datapad embedded into her holo-bracelet flickered faintly, but her sharp gray eyes were locked onto the crowd below.
"They're all here," she murmured. "Selene Raventhorn. Magnus Kaelstrom. Aria Voss. Even Lysandra Varelle has arrived, though she brought an entire regiment disguised as staff."
Kyo gave a low whistle. "Lysandra, huh? I always thought she preferred swords to hors d'oeuvres."
"She does," Rosalyn replied coolly. "But it seems Her Majesty's watchdog has a new hunt in mind tonight."
Evelyn's shoulders straightened. Her blue eyes hardened, the silver thread of her gown shimmering faintly with the movement.
"Let them watch," she said. "I'm tired of running. Let them see me."
Hiroshi's gaze flicked to her — assessing, weighing — then nodded once, subtly.
"We'll make sure they don't forget."
A Whisper From the Past
The crowd shifted. Conversation rippled like silk tearing.
A figure stood at the ballroom's threshold.
Tall, poised, wrapped in a deep green dress that shimmered like wet jade.
Her raven-black hair tumbled in gentle waves over one bare shoulder.
Emerald earrings caught the light, but it was her eyes — sharp, intelligent, hauntingly familiar — that stole the air from Hiroshi's lungs.
Althea Drakrion.
Dead five years. Buried, mourned… and now here. Smiling softly as though no time had passed.
Hiroshi stiffened. Beside him, Rosalyn's fingers stilled mid-swipe across her interface. Evelyn's breath hitched.
Kyo, after a long moment, exhaled sharply.
"Well. Didn't see that one coming."
Althea's lips curved faintly as she met Hiroshi's gaze across the room.
"Good evening," her voice carried, clear as crystal. "I heard you were hosting."
She ascended the staircase slowly. Graceful. Unhurried.
The crowd parted before her like shadows chased by dawn.
As she neared, Hiroshi's jaw flexed once — the only crack in his usual composure.
"You're supposed to be dead."
Althea smiled gently, though her emerald eyes held something harder beneath.
"Funny how often people tell me that."
Without another word, she crossed the final distance and stopped in front of Evelyn. Their gazes locked — fire against ice.
"Your Highness," Althea said smoothly, offering a small nod. "I've waited a long time to meet the real heir."
Evelyn didn't flinch. Slowly, she inclined her head in return, every inch the queen she would become.
"And I," she replied, voice cool, "have waited long enough to uncover who killed my mother."
The silence between them stretched taut as wire.
And then…
A low hum reverberated through the estate.
A pulse of energy rippled outward, rattling glass and extinguishing several floating lights.
Rosalyn's AI flared red on her wrist.
"Atmospheric breach detected. Unidentified vessel approaching."
Above the glass atrium, shadows coalesced into shape.
An obsidian airship descended — ancient runes glowing faintly along its hull.
Kyo's grin faded. His usual levity dropped, leaving something sharper.
"I know those markings…"
Eloen Starfall, the aged scholar from the Magitech academies, materialized from the lower levels, his robe swirling as he approached breathlessly.
"They're here," he rasped. "The Custodians of the First Throne."
Even Rosalyn, ever unflinching, paled slightly.
"The Queen called them in," she muttered. "We're no longer just playing chess, Hiroshi… Someone just flipped the entire board."
Kyo's Murmured Promise
As the estate prepared for a storm far worse than assassins or aristocrats, Kyo cracked his knuckles idly. His grin returned — smaller, quieter this time.
"Well," he muttered under his breath, almost as if to himself — or perhaps to you, the reader.
"I told you the best parts were still coming. Don't blink now."
Then he adjusted his jacket, stepping down into the rising tide of danger with the easy swagger of a man who had always danced best on the edge of a blade.
End of Chapter 23