It was an unusually grand feast the House of Phenex held that year to celebrate the overcoming of the tribulation. It seemed as if the whole capital had gathered. The overcoming of tribulation held deep significance for all the peoples living within the domain of House Phenex, and so the celebrations were a vivid hodgepodge of ceremony and song, feasting and dance.
When the sun finally sank, leaving the sky awash in purples and blues, the annulet in the castle of House Phenex began, and the noble houses arrived at the Great Hall for the feast. Rare and sumptuous dishes were prepared, meat from unique beasts found only in the Underworld, alongside delicacies that displayed the vast wealth of the Phenex family. There were countless drinks: expensive millennia-old wine, aged and divine on the tongue, and other rare spirits imported from the other Pillar territories or brewed in secret within their own domain.
Singers entertained them as they dined. First, a quintet of devils from Lilith, the great city, led by House Phenex's own Bruri, intoned a chant in floor-rumbling harmony that seemed as if armies were marching for war. Then a bard from the court of House Bael rose and recounted the story of how the devils were created by Lucifer. He was a fine singer, strong-voiced and clear of thought, and those in the hall saw that long-ago world through Lucifer's eyes, then through the eyes of the Founders of the Pillar Houses, and each felt anew that ancient wonder and pride.
When the first courses were done, the heroes of the tribulation were announced one by one by the herald of Lord Aurelius Phenex. First came the minor heroes, sworn to lesser houses; then the greater, such as Seorin Phenex and her father, the Warden of the North, who was welcomed as the greatest hero save one. And at last came the greatest of them all, announced as the one who had single-handedly ended the tribulation by defeating the Shadow Warlocks alone. The hall fell silent, perhaps in awe of the deeds of Riser Phenex, still an infant in the eyes of the ancient devils, or perhaps because the figure who entered the hall seemed nearly divine. He came like a breath of starlight, his robes shades of ice blue and silver trimmed with gold that caught the light with every step. Amethyst gems gleamed across his chest, set into cloth like fallen stars, and a sheer mantle trailed behind him like drifting mist. His regal garb, combined with an otherworldly beauty, made him seem as though he were the god of beauty himself, come to bless them with his presence.
When the feasting was done, the hour had grown late. The tables were pushed back to clear the central floor beneath the leaded glass dome. Goodwill and good wine did much to erase even the semblance of restraint, and the dancing began before the last platters had been carried away.
They danced late into the night beneath the moon, which shone through the glass dome and cast intricate patterns on the marble floor, old dances of grace and beauty. The round dances drew nearly everyone onto the floor: The Ashen Spiral, The Bael Requiem, The Steps of Lamashtu, The Lilin Gilde.
Rias Gremory, however, categorically refused to dance any of the steps that originated from the domains of House Phenex, despite her mother Venelana Gremory's earnest requests. "I have attended the celebration of my betrothed's achievement, as is expected of me," Rias said venomously. "But it is not required that I dance to every tune, for that would be tiresome. It would be an insult if I did not perform at my best, after all." Her smile showed only her teeth, still bitter that she was betrothed to Riser Phenex without her consent. Her father did not look pleased.
⸻
POV: Rias Gremory
Inside the hall, the music rose and fell like a tide of gold and wine. Laughter clung to the banners overhead, dancers twirled in circles wide enough to catch the dying sun through the leaded glass dome. It was a dream of power. Too bright, too loud, too false.
Rias Gremory hated it.
So she slipped through the press of devils, ignoring the calls, "Lady Rias!" " Miss. Gremory!" and stepped out onto the high balcony that clung to the keep's western wing like a sentinel. Out here, the summer night sighed against her skin — soft and dark, scented with distant roses and wine spilt on flagstones. Below, the gardens burned with lanterns bound in pale blue flame, drifting among the hedges like captive ghosts.
She braced her arms on the marble railing, scarlet hair spilling forward like a defiant banner against the dusk. A caged heir, she thought sourly, staring into the violet sky where a comet dragged its tail across the horizon. Dressed in silk and chained in gold.
Behind her, the door creaked. She didn't turn. She knew that voice too well. Too smooth, too easy.
"Beautiful, isn't it?" Riser's voice slid through the hush, melodic and infuriatingly calm.
"The view, or your party?" Rias asked without looking back.
She could hear his chuckle — warm, intimate, infuriating. She hated that her pulse jumped at its softness.
"Whatever makes you less inclined to fly off the balcony."
"I considered it," she said dryly. "But I wouldn't want to make a scene."
She felt him step closer, close enough that the wind carried his scent, sandalwood and something faintly floral, like an orchard in bloom.
"Ah, yes. How dutiful of you."
His voice curled around her spine like a silk ribbon. She stiffened, stubbornly fixed her gaze on the distant lanterns.
"I came here for air, not company."
"Then I'll be like air." His tone turned light, teasing. "Subtle. Essential. Occasionally annoying."
A reluctant breath escaped her nose, not quite a laugh, but too soft to be disdain alone.
"You're many things, Phenex. But subtle is not one of them."
"Not even a little?"
"You're still here, aren't you?"
She felt him smile without seeing it.
"I'm persistent. I've found it gets results."
Silence flickered between them, threaded by harp notes drifting up from the gardens below. The breeze tugged at the hem of her scarlet gown. A gown she wore like armor, every pinned curl a battle standard.
"You know," he said after a beat, almost conversational, "I didn't think you'd actually come tonight."
"Not like I had any choice."
"I figured." A pause. "But you came. That says something."
She shot him a sharp sideways look. "It says I didn't want to start a war."
He laughed, low and warm. "Fair enough. Still. A gesture. A small rebellion against yourself, perhaps?"
Her eyes narrowed. "Don't presume to know me."
His answer was mild, so mild it pricked at her anger again.
"I don't. That's what I'm here for."
Her arms crossed tighter, nails biting into silk.
"You have the gall to stand here and say that? After our parents bartered us like breeding stock?"
His smile faded, replaced by something cooler, not pity, but a flicker of understanding.
"I said I wanted to know you. I didn't say I approved of the contract."
That earned him another glance, brief, sharper now. Calculating. Does he mean it? she wondered, hating that she even wondered.
"I'd like to believe there's still some dignity left in choosing," he went on softly, "what we make of a bad situation. Or… who we make something with."
She scoffed, but her voice came out more tired than cutting. "You speak like a romantic."
He chuckled. "I speak like a realist who plays piano and reads poetry. Which is worse, do you think?"
Her lips twitched. She covered it with a sigh. "That depends. Do you quote poetry at every girl forced to tolerate you?"
He grinned, white teeth flashing in the dusk. "Only the ones who interest me."
Damn him.
"I don't want to be interesting. I want to be free."
This time, the silence between them softened instead of cutting. When he spoke, it was quieter than before and honest in a way that made her chest tighten.
"Being heir to a pillar house is a strange kind of cage, isn't it? You can walk its halls, wear gold, speak your mind… and still. It follows you."
Her breath caught, just for a moment. "Like a chain you're expected to polish."
He nodded, hair catching the lantern glow like molten gold.
A harp below struck a higher note, a quiet tether to the revelry they both fled.
He spoke again, voice as gentle as the wind. "You like Japanese literature, don't you?"
She frowned. "How do you know that?"
He smiled, not sly, not mocking. Just soft. "You mentioned Akutagawa once. At a gathering. Five months ago."
Her eyes widened. "You remember that?"
"I remember everything," Riser said, "about people who wear their fury like silk."
She laughed, a sharp, surprised sound that felt like breaking glass inside her ribs. She hated how it made her want to smile.
Rias (avoiding his gaze) said quietly, "Akutagawa's stories are ugly. Bleak. Full of suffering."
"Which is why they're honest," Riser replied. "No polite illusions. Just the mess beneath."
She looked down at the gardens, her voice barely more than a breath. "Most devils wouldn't bother to understand that."
"I'm not most devils," he said.
The wind shifted again, stirring the folds of her gown. Somewhere below, the harp resumed — faint, silken, like memory.
She leaned her arms on the stone railing, her face unreadable. "If you're trying to charm me," she said flatly, "it won't work."
"I'm trying to have a conversation."
"I'm trying to end it."
"Then I must be failing spectacularly," he said lightly. "Yet here you are. Still talking."
She let out a small, grudging sound. "...You're not as obnoxious as I thought."
"High praise," he said with a smirk. "I'll treasure it."
⸻
When they finally fell quiet again, the distance between them had changed. It wasn't gone but it no longer felt like a wall.
When he turned to her, the armor of his charm slipped. He spoke simply.
"Rias. I don't want this engagement if you don't. Truly. But I believe something can come of it, if not love, then perhaps… understanding."
She stared at him, eyes searching for the trick. For the hook beneath the silk.
"Why would you even try?"
He lifted a shoulder, calm, unbothered. "To know you. Not the heir of Gremory. Not the girl everyone compares to her brother. Just Rias."
And for once, the wind did not steal his words away.
He offered his hand, not to touch, just to make a promise.
"Five years," he said. "We meet once a week. Talk. Read. Get to know each other. Explore what we love. No pressure. No obligation. And if after five years there's nothing between us, no spark, no bond. I'll stand beside you when you ask our families to dissolve it."
She did not take his hand. But she didn't slap it away, either.
Her eyes narrowed slightly. "And they'll listen to you?"
"They will. If I make it clear." His tone remained steady. "I always get what I want, Rias. And if what I want is your freedom. I'll fight for it."
She looked at him then, truly looked at him, for the first time that night. The firelight from the hall caught in his hair like molten gold. His eyes were unreadable, but not cruel. Not dishonest. Maybe it was a trap. Maybe it was all a performance.
But maybe… not.
"…Fine." Her voice was soft, yet carried all the weight of old chains cracking. "Five years. We'll see."
Riser Phenex's smile returned, brighter now, less cutting. He bowed his head in mock solemnity.
"Excellent. So — likes, dislikes, hobbies, dreams for the future?"
She let out a sound that was halfway between a scoff and a laugh. And for the first time that night, she felt lighter.
"You're ridiculous."
His grin was a star falling into the garden's dark.
POV: Unknown
Later that evening, when the feasting had reached its height and the wine flowed like molten rubies, Lord Aurelius Phenex rose from his place at the head of the high table.
His expression was composed, his tone formal.
"I ask the attention of all gathered," he began, standing tall. "Tonight, we do more than celebrate the end of the recent crisis. We recognize the actions that brought it to a close."
He paused briefly, surveying the room.
"Zarakura Saeros, once a trusted ally of the House of phenex, committed treason. He conspired in secret against House Phenex and attempted to murder my son, Riser Phenex, during the height of the conflict."
A low murmur passed through the guests, but no one interrupted.
"Riser not only survived the attack — he defeated Zarakura in direct combat. The confrontation ended the Tribulation and exposed the full extent of Saeros's treachery. For this reason, and by right of conquest, Riser Phenex is to be formally rewarded."
Lord Aurelius turned slightly, gesturing toward his son.
"As recognition for his actions, and with the approval of I and my authority as the lord of the pillar house of phenex, I hereby name Riser Phenex the Lord of Emberhold, the former territory of House Saeros."
A stir ran through the room.
"He is now the youngest devil in recent history to be granted his own territory. Emberhold will be his to govern. Its restoration, its defense, its future, his responsibility."
There was a moment of silence, not of hesitation but absorption.
Then came the applause. It began at the high table, then spread quickly across the hall. Hands striking goblets, the sound of heels tapping the floor. Some shouted "Emberhold!" and raised their glasses.
Riser stood slowly, his expression unreadable. He gave a single, sharp nod, not boastful, not hesitant.
"To Emberhold," he said.
And the hall echoed him, louder this time:
"To Emberhold!"
The moment passed, and the celebration resumed but something had changed. A new title had been granted. A new power had been set in motion and another had fallen.
And every noble in the room understood: the third son of House Phenex was now a lord in his own right.
POV: Rias Gremory
Now she glanced down at end of the table, where Diodora Astaroth, very drunk, was haughtily importuning her betrothed.
"Why don't you play us one of the fabled phoenix songs that your House is known for?"
Rias immediately regretted having brought up the topic of music.
"Song?" riser echoed, with the perfervid clarity of intoxication. He waved the hand not flung around Yubellana's, his queen, shoulders at the moonlit floor, where the dancers were tracing the final figures of The Sable Grace.
"No, a dance!" Latia Astaroth said politely, her voice light but her eyes gleaming. "Lord of Emberhold, will you not give us one of the dances of the legendary bird of rebirth? The Phoenix!"
And as though that had been a signal, the young heirs of the devil pillar houses began to press him, calling for the famed dances of passion. The mythical movements that had once, it was said, enchanted gods themselves.
The Dance of the Phoenix, it was whispered, had been born before the rise of the heavens, when the spiritual world and material world was one. A rite of motion and fire, it was no simple performance, but a metaphysical ritual, an expression of becoming, of destruction and rebirth. It was said that in ancient days, when the Phoenix danced, even gods paused to listen. Some never recovered.
At last, Riser rose.
He walked to the edge of the dais, and the crowd fell into hush.
All eyes turned to the newly made Lord of Emberhold. But before any could react, he leapt — a blaze of gold and red — from the platform onto the dark stone floor.
There was no music.
And yet he began to dance.
At first, he moved slowly, turning in deliberate circles beneath the moon-drenched dome. Light and shadow slid across his robes, their trailing ends cutting ribbons through the air. As the dance grew swifter, his range widened. His body became the axis of something greater, as if the hall itself had become a stage for some hidden truth mapped into motion.
Rias could not look away.
She saw the forms he traced, patterns woven through the space around him, not random, not wild, but meaningful. The expression of some deeper logic, some cosmic geometry long forgotten. So this is how the Phoenix must have danced, she thought, in the age when gods still walked, when fire itself had memory.
But Riser's dance did not lull. It ignited.
It pulsed with every vein in the room, a silent heartbeat shared between all present. He wasn't merely performing. He was speaking, not to minds, but to matter. To blood, to breath, to being.
In his dancing, Riser spoke of power, of seeking and overcoming challenges, of transcending limits. Of the dance of stars above and atoms below. Of fire in the veins and water shaping stone. Of entropy and order interlaced.
He spoke of rebirth, again and again, of the cycle not as curse, but celebration. He showed them what it meant to burn and be remade. And in doing so, he pulled all of them into it. This furious weave of meaning and movement.
There was madness in it, Rias realized, not chaos but an ecstasy too great for rules. The ferocity of some deeper truth. She didn't know if it was beautiful or terrifying.
No music played, and yet every movement sang. A silent music echoed through him, fierce and exalted. And Rias wondered, dazed, if each person heard the same song or if Riser's dance called forth a unique melody from each of their hearts.
All were enspelled.
The musicians stared, instruments forgotten. Sona trembled beside Rias. At the other end of the table, Latia wept openly.
Then, something shifted.
The rhythm slowed. Riser's motions came to a breathless stillness at the foot of the dais. His chest rose and fell with effort. He bowed low. But it was not surrender, not submission. It was triumph.
Rias found herself mirroring him. Her head bowed, her breath unsteady. I would never fall in love with him, she had told herself in her pride. Never.
And now, something in her faltered.
She rose.
"The dance of the Phoenix is fair indeed," she said, her voice carrying. Genuine delight slipped past her pride.
"But is this a dance for one alone?"
A pause. Uncomfortably long. He looked at her.
"It need not be."
She pressed her advantage. "You dance without music, but our steps falter without it. What shall I ask the musicians to play?"
A flicker of something crossed his face. Anger? Amusement?
But Riser turned to the musicians, still silent with awe, and gave them no rhythm to follow. Only a complex set of interwoven patterns, a design more mathematical than musical..
They responded like waking creatures, hearts lit by the fire he'd ignited. The music rose. Rippling, bright, complex. It wasn't quite the music she had seen in his solo dance, but it was enough.
Riser sprang back to the floor.
And she followed.
It was not the same dance, now that it was shared but it had not diminished. No, it had evolved.
This was harder.
It demanded more of her — balance, speed, intuition. But there was joy in the difficulty. There always had been.
She spun across the stone, eyes fixed on her betrothed. There was nothing else but the motion, the fire, the air between them.
Their eyes met.
She matched him, not merely keeping pace, but layering her own meaning atop his. A dialogue of flame and will. He responded in kind, shifting his movement to meet hers. Not domination, not surrender. Collaboration.
She laughed aloud, not out of mockery, but sheer wonder. She caught his other hand and fell back, a variation of the old court figures. Far behind them, the musicians caught her cue and braided it into the weave — beauty and power rising like wind.
And then they were not alone.
From the high tables, devils began to move, to step forward, to join. Arms linked, dropped, linked again. Circle after circle spun outward, like ripples in some sacred pool.
The hall exploded into motion.
They danced, not as nobles performing rote ceremony, but as beings suddenly reminded of what it meant to be alive. Difficult, wholehearted, collective. And glorious.
Drums rang out. Voices lifted in wordless song. The sky paled. And the first rays of dawn shone through the dome above.
Still they danced.
When the motion finally slowed, Rias steadied herself against Riser.
She felt breathless. Drenched in something too large to name.
And though she could not say who had won, or what the victory was but she knew something had shifted.
Something had begun.
AN: So here we go again. New chapter, fresh off the chaos press. And honestly? I think this might be my best one yet. Sure, it's shorter than the previous monster of a chapter, but sometimes quality beats quantity. Or at least that's what I'm telling myself.
I really hope I nailed the Rias and Riser interaction. That part took me a while to write. I wanted to show two people stuck in a situation neither of them chose, without turning them into total jerks. Just two stubborn nobles politely gritting their teeth at destiny.
Now, you might be wondering why Riser is trying to win Rias's love when he could just shrug, sip wine, and move on. Well, that's because Riser is a man powered by ego and weird life choices. He loves a challenge, and Rias hating his guts? That's the ultimate side quest. He's not even sure if he likes her—he just finds the act of wooing someone who'd rather punch him incredibly entertaining.
Anyway, I'd love to hear what you think. Praise, critique, spicy roasts, or random yelling—it's all welcome. Let me know how I can improve or if I've accidentally written Riser as the devil world's most charming narcissist.