The Royal Festival Hall was in shambles—not physically, but socially.
The tension that had once hung like a blade was now replaced by wild gossip, awkward laughter, and the faint sound of a noble choking on his wine somewhere near the buffet.
The revelation that Raven—Velmoria's new hero—was not only with the princess of Velmoria but also with the young mistress of one of Zaraqt's strongest guilds had spread faster than wildfire on dry hay.
In less than ten minutes, three bards had already started arguing over how to turn the event into a song.
And in the middle of that chaos… sat Raven.
—Or rather, slouched behind a marble pillar, half-hidden from view, nursing a glass of something so potent the bartender had warned him thrice.
He downed it in one go.
No reaction.
"…Nothing," he muttered.
