Aris stayed there for a few moments, completely confused, not knowing what to say or what to do. The hall eventually resumed its conversations. However, they all revolved around the drama that had just unfolded between the king and the duke's daughter. Ana returned to her usual state, while the well-dressed servers continued their work as if nothing had happened.
After a while, it was the King of Koran who came to sit at the bar beside Aris. The king's serious, cold face didn't change despite the situation, but Aris knew he hadn't missed a single second of the drama.
Finally, the King of Koran took a glass — not of orquet — and addressed Aris as if they were at a funeral.
"I can see you've had a complicated moment, dear Aris Ronegard. Women are difficult to understand. Nevertheless, rest assured, you have likely hosted one of the best Balls of Peace since its very beginning. Let us drink to that."
Aris looked at him, thinking that there was something not quite right about the King of Koran either. Still, he raised his glass and clinked it with his.
"To your health."
The two remained there for a good while in silence. Then they spoke a little about the situation in their respective countries, about their families, and at last, the King of Koran joined the other guests and melted into the crowd.
Aris stood as well to enjoy the ball. The earlier event had left him in a strange mood, and he wanted to unwind.
But suddenly, he felt something abnormal in the air.
The entire crowd fell silent. The guests struggled to breathe. Everything seemed to slow down, and a crushing pressure weighed heavily on every shoulder present in the room. Even the kings and the duke didn't seem able to withstand it.
Aris froze for a moment. His blood turned to ice, and all his senses were paralyzed — or rather, the very thing triggering them forced them to focus entirely on it.
"Impossible…"
And that was when Aris truly felt it. Once his senses had identified the source of that pressure, he looked toward the upper floor. Toward the very place where he had entered earlier.
"He shouldn't be here..."
There, at the top of the stairs, stood the Emperor of Light. His glowing green eyes swept over the hall with a blank, superior gaze. His short gray hair moved as if caught by a wind that did not exist.
His hair was a cold, metallic silver, leaning toward a pale gray, falling in smooth, disciplined strands that framed his face with neither excess nor disorder.
The color was unusual, evoking something distant, almost inhuman. It was not the gray of an old man, nor the white of a noble — it was a shade suspended in time, as if age itself no longer touched him. Under certain lights, one might think it shimmered faintly, but it was merely a trick of contrast against his crimson eyes, which made everything else about him seem even colder.
His extremely pale complexion made him look like a vampire, which only made his presence more ghostly.
His long white cape wrapped halfway around him, covering his left arm, though one could still see the imperial uniform beneath.
The blinding white jacket formed a pure, almost ceremonial base, over which spread intricate golden embroidery. Each pattern seemed hand-engraved, winding across the sleeves and chest like the roots of an ancient tree — a symbol of authority and tradition.
Across his shoulder, a wide sash of pale velvet green crossed diagonally over his chest, adorned with medallions and precious stones — jade, malachite, and bottle-green, each catching the light.
The high, rigid collar framed his neck with near-military precision. Perfectly aligned golden buttons glimmered under the light, each engraved with an imperial crest. The white trousers were cut with flawless rigor, without a single crease, and lined with golden trim echoing the patterns of the jacket.
This was the full splendor of the Grand Ventis and also the full weight of the fear he inspired. Even at the Ball of Peace, this incredible man, who hardly seemed human, never appeared.
Aris stood frozen for a long time. Seeing that no one dared address him, he sighed inwardly and fulfilled his duty as host.
Turning fully to face him, he met that terrible gaze. Then, spreading his arms slightly to indicate the hall around him, he spoke.
"Welcome, Emperor Ventis. Please, make yourself at home. This ball is for you as well."
And against all expectations, Ventis smiled. Some of the coldness left his eyes as he replied:
"Well then, I shall. It's a beautiful hall you have here. I think I'll enjoy it."
At those words, the world seemed to shake. No one in the hall had ever heard the voice of the Emperor of Light. It was melodious, cold, authoritative, dark, and utterly commanding. No one had wanted to be the first to hear such a voice within these walls.
It wasn't just that his voice was strange — it was the fact that this was the man whose very name people feared to speak aloud, in case he might somehow hear them. The man everyone feared. The man no one wished to see move. The man who had once slain a dragon without lifting a hand.
And now, to hear his voice was perhaps the greatest shock of the year. Perhaps even of a lifetime. A secret people would carry with them to their graves.
No one moved as Ventis began to walk, descending the stairs Aris had gone down earlier. No one even wondered how he had ended up on the upper floor in the first place.
The servants all stepped aside to let him pass — and not just them. Everyone parted to give him space.
Ventis had brought no one from his empire. Perhaps he didn't need to. But the fact that he strolled around without any bodyguards or noble entourage was deeply unsettling. Perhaps he didn't need them after all.
The entire hall remained silent when he stepped onto the main floor and when he finally sat in one of the empty chairs someone had vacated ahead of time, not daring to cross the Emperor's path.
For long minutes, no one spoke, unsure of where to look. Eventually, little by little, they began to talk again. At first in whispers, then louder and louder — as though to drown out the presence of the Great Ventis seated among them.
Even Aris moved quietly toward Ana, keeping his eyes on the Emperor, and leaned close to speak in her ear.
"You never told me he was coming."
His voice was faint, panicked.
"How could I have known?"
Aris remained there for a few moments beside his advisor while most of the people slowly edged away from Ventis. A wide circle had formed around him, and no one dared step into it — not even by accident.
Eventually, a servant was forced to enter the circle, compelled by duty. The poor man trembled like a leaf as he asked the Emperor of Light what he wished to drink.
Aris, never taking his eyes off him, spoke quietly to his dear advisor.
"I should probably help the poor man."
Ana gave him a brief glance before replying in her usual flat tone.
"Yes. That would be wise."
Aris pushed himself off the wall and, walking with the calm, deliberate stride he wanted to project, approached the servant from behind. He gently placed his hands on the man's shoulders, making him flinch, then offered Ventis a faint smile.
"May I sit with you, Your Majesty?"
Ventis slowly turned his cold, commanding gaze toward Aris. Then, with a trace of courtesy, his piercing green eyes narrowed slightly as he replied:
"Of course."
The response was short and sharp, but Aris didn't back down. He sat opposite the Emperor and ordered the servant to fetch him an orquet before turning his attention back to the Grand Ventis.
"It's quite the pleasant surprise to see you here. I thought you never left your court."
Ventis, who had seemed almost uninterested until then, suddenly looked straight into Aris's eyes with overwhelming intensity. His glowing green irises seemed to flare every time he spoke.
"That's true. But I wished to come today."
Aris nodded slightly.
"I see."
The servant returned soon after, carefully setting the drinks before the two imposing rulers before leaving in a near-panic.
And so, it was just Aris and the Emperor of Light, face to face.