The stillness of Darkness's private chamber was absolute. The world beyond its walls faded into irrelevance, swallowed by the perfect silence conjured within. Only the faintest breath of air stirred as a shadow, once laying in meditation upon the bed, slowly rose.
The figure that now stood before Darkness was no stranger. It was her alter ego, her second self—a creation born from the mastery of her ancient {Shadow} technique. Identical in form yet brimming with a presence that was alien even to its creator, the shadow was both a reflection and a guardian, bound to her will.
They stood facing one another, two halves of a single being. Then, with a soft shimmer of motion, the shadow stepped into her. Their forms merged seamlessly, like water folding into itself. A subtle ripple passed through Darkness's body as transformation overtook her—not illusionary, but physical, mental, and spiritual.
Her skin gleamed faintly, shifting to a deeper, richer tone. Muscles realigned under her flawless exterior. Her bones—elegant yet forged for battle—reformed to a balance of grace and lethality. Her long raven hair darkened into an even deeper abyss of black, lengthening by mere strands. Her aura, once coiled tight, now settled into its perfected concealment—a deadly resonance sheathed beneath layers of calm.
"Hah... It's always a strange sensation," she murmured, flexing her fingers, feeling the residual pulse of the fusion. "But I suppose it's necessary. Tomorrow's party demands perfection."
In the corner of the room, the last trace of her living shadow lingered, standing sentinel. Darkness approached, her gaze softening. "Thank you," she said simply, the words resonating with quiet sincerity. With a flick of her fingers, the shadow dissolved, melting back into the floor as if it had never existed.
The chamber returned to stillness. But within her chest, a storm brewed.
---
Tomorrow—no, later today—was the House Zeldard Gathering.
A house whose very name struck images of blood-streaked battlefields and indomitable warriors. For over a century, the Zeldard lineage had stood as the shield and spear of the Kingdom of Alzeder, their fierce Aura Arts spoken of in both reverence and fear. They were a clan of tradition—unyielding, uncompromising, respecting only strength in its purest form.
Darkness's expression tensed. "That lunatic house…" she muttered, pressing her fingers against her temple, easing the budding headache.
But it was not the house that weighed on her thoughts—it was her.
Lady Selphira Zeldard.
The tempest in noble attire. The unclaimed heir, who spurned marriage not out of politics, but for her insatiable craving for strength. Selphira had rejected countless suitors with brutal candor, dismissing those who failed to match her expectations—man or woman.
But Darkness was different.
Years ago, their paths had crossed in what should have been a fleeting duel. Instead, it had become a battle that ended in Selphira's decisive defeat, leaving an unhealable scar on her pride. Since then, the Zeldard heir had engineered countless "coincidences," staging opportunities to meet Darkness, each excuse more transparent than the last.
"Schemes within schemes…" Darkness sighed, a faint flush coloring her cheeks. "As if I can't see through their pitiful tricks."
She paced the length of her room, silent agitation simmering beneath her composed facade.
'They want to drag me into their political games. Lure me with admiration, provoke me with false confrontations. They think it's clever.' Her hand absently traced circles over her abdomen, where a dull ache throbbed—an irritation born of tangled emotions. 'But they are simple. They don't weave complex webs like other Nobles. They're wolves pretending to play chess.'
Her lips curled into a bitter smile. 'It's infuriating. Embarrassing. I despise dealing with such straightforward people... because I can't ignore them.'
Yet, buried beneath her irritation was a sliver of reluctant admiration. House Zeldard's influence was vast and their network potent. They were neither allies nor enemies. The only fragile bridge connecting their two families... was her.
"As annoying as they are," she conceded aloud, "a temporary alignment has its value."
But only on her terms.
"I'll play along—for now," she murmured, her reflection catching her smirk in the vanity mirror. "But I'll ensure they remember who controls the board."
____
Her eyes drifted to the ornate clock on the far wall. Time was slipping, but rest was a luxury she couldn't afford to dismiss entirely.
With calculated grace, Darkness moved to her polished vanity, where a box crafted from midnight-hued wood awaited her. Inside lay an array of meticulously designed accessories: enchanted rings, delicate ear cuffs laced with protective glyphs, and a choker capable of veiling her overwhelming aura. Each item had a singular purpose—not to hide her strength, but to cloak it beneath layers of controlled elegance.
Her gaze shifted to the folded suit draped atop the dresser—a masterwork of Obsidian Spider Silk. As light as air, yet resilient to blades and magic alike, it was a second skin of sleek elegance designed for both social maneuvering and battlefield readiness. She wouldn't suppress her power, but neither would she flaunt it needlessly. It would be displayed—sharp, precise, undeniable.
A sigh escaped her lips as she flicked her fingers, dimming the chamber's soft lights. "This is going to be exhausting," she whispered, slipping into her bed's cold embrace.
The room was a fortress of stillness, warded against intrusion. Only the emergency threads tied to Rubina, Lord Adrian, and Lady Royalle could breach her sanctum. No one else dared disturb the stillness she had conjured.
As her body relaxed, her mind remained sharp. The weight of the impending gathering pressed upon her. It was not a simple social affair. It was a final congregation—where all major noble houses would converge under the Royal Authority's watchful eye. Alliances would be struck, undercurrents would swirl, and subtle wars of influence would be fought behind every courteous smile.
Darkness knew her place. She would orchestrate from the shadows, weaving moves that nobles wouldn't recognize until their fate was already sealed.
"Rest for now," she whispered, closing her eyes, "because tomorrow… the hunt begins."
---
An hour passed. Her body, trained and conditioned, awakened her without fail. It wasn't an alarm. It was instinct—an unconscious rhythm honed by years of vigilance.
She rose in a fluid motion, dressed swiftly, and moved with silent precision. She wouldn't disturb anyone. Not now.
She made her way toward the Elfred Mansion's Grand Bathing Hall, a space that resembled a miniature aquatic sanctuary more than a bathroom. Five distinct bathing zones lay spread out across its expanse:
A hot water bath at its heart.
A mineral-infused bath for revitalizing the body.
A herbal bath, infused with alchemical blends.
A cold water bath, designed for tempering the body.
A Magic Healing Bath, radiating soft luminescence.
A separate pure water bath—simple yet pristine.
Nebula, the ever-attentive maid, was already present. Without instruction, she began preparing the bath according to Lady Royalle's preferences—blending oils, perfumes, and water from various baths into the central pool, ensuring Lady Royalle wouldn't need to shift between baths.
Satisfied, Darkness left Nebula to her task and crossed paths with Marie near the corridor.
"Awaken Lady Royalle if she's still asleep. Today is an important day," Darkness instructed, her tone gentle yet absolute. "The bath is prepared."
"Yes, Lady Darkness," Marie replied with a bow, swiftly moving to fulfill her duty.
'Lord Elfred will sleep longer today,' Darkness mused, her thoughts briefly pausing on him. 'He's overworked himself again. I'll need to check on him later.'
But for now, her priority was elsewhere.
'Today, Lord and Lady will be present, but the one who needs my support the most is Young Lady Rubina.'
Her stride didn't falter as she made her way toward Rubina's chambers. Without hesitation, without knocking, she entered