A single wyvern should not have been able to ruin a party this quickly.
And yet, there it was—screeching, scaly, and extremely uninvited—perched on the shattered remains of the royal ballroom ceiling like it had RSVP'd with claws and bad intentions. Its wings beat furiously, scattering shards of enchanted glass in glittering arcs. Wind gusted in through the gaping hole in the sky-glass dome, sending enchanted lanterns spinning, ribbons tearing from their golden tethers, and noble dignity alike fluttering helplessly across the marble floor like upended party favors.
The nobles screamed. The orchestra vanished mid-measure. Someone performed a swan-dive faint directly into the fondue. Others scrambled for the exits with the coordination of panicked chickens in silk.
And in the center of it all, one very invisible divine fox shimmered fully into view like a forgotten boss mechanic suddenly activating.
Ninko landed on the floor with a soundless, silver arc, his paws tapping the marble like falling snow. All nine of his tails flared upward, aglow with frosted magic and celestial rage. A shockwave of reverent gasps rippled through the room like someone had just declared the chandelier cursed and the appetizers sentient.
"Is that—?"
"A divine Kitsune?!"
"That's a nine-tailed fox! Those don't just—exist!"
Lucien's sword, halfway out of its sheath, froze in place as his jaw dropped. Julian gasped so hard he nearly inhaled his cravat. Vincent dropped his glass, which shattered with appropriate dramatic timing. Darian just stared, eyes narrowed like the entire framework of magical reality had betrayed him personally.
"Lady Arila," Lira stammered, eyes wide, voice pitched somewhere between panic and awe, "Ninko is—he's—"
"Obviously fabulous," Arila said coolly, brushing a stray sequin off her shoulder like this sort of chaos was mildly inconvenient at best. "Lira, hold my wedges."
"What?"
"I said—" Arila kicked off her navy heels with the quiet fury of a woman whose dessert plans had been personally thwarted by a flying lizard, "—hold my wedges. I'm not about to save my sweet inspiration and then get eaten because of stupid footwear. This is vengeance. For the dessert table."
Lira fumbled the shoes like they were sacred relics. Arila stepped forward barefoot, the cold marble kissing her feet as her black cocktail dress swished like battle-ready silk around her knees. Her shoulders squared. Her expression hardened. Gone was the sarcastic noble girl dodging social expectations. In her place stood a heroine carved from divine spite and sugar withdrawal.
Julian blinked. "She's barefoot. She's beautiful. She's terrifying."
Vincent muttered, "She's going to do something stupidly brave, isn't she?"
"I love it already," Julian whispered like a man watching his favorite drama unfold in real time.
Arila raised one hand, fingers splayed. Magic flared to life around her in a shimmering cyclone, pulling her curled hair into a windblown halo. The breeze danced with the tension of a storm brewing on purpose.
"Ninko!" she called, voice sharp as lightning.
In a single graceful leap, Ninko landed on her shoulder, tails draping around her like a battle cloak stitched from moonlight. His eyes locked onto the wyvern above with primal focus, glowing with icy intensity.
"Freeze its wings."
He didn't answer. He didn't need to.
The divine fox opened his mouth and released a blast of pure frost magic—a crystalline torrent that streaked upward like a spear forged of winter. It struck the wyvern's wings mid-beat, encasing them in jagged ice. The beast shrieked in fury, flailing in the air as the frost spread. It crashed into a lower balcony in a glorious explosion of stone and royal confusion, sending nobles ducking under tables and one unfortunate countess sailing through a decorative potted fern.
Arila didn't wait.
With a surge of wind magic, she launched herself into the air. The updraft caught her effortlessly, lifting her like a summoned tempest. She hovered mid-flight, suspended above the ballroom like a vengeful painting come to life—hair wild, eyes sharp, arms glowing with swirling energy. Water formed in one hand, crackling blue lightning in the other. She drew them together, molding the elements into a glowing sphere of fusion magic that pulsed with destructive elegance.
"Combo spell time," she muttered to herself. "Let's see how you like elemental overkill, you overgrown feathered plot device."
With a cry of defiance, she hurled the magic downward. Water surged. Lightning sparked. Ninko added another flash of ice, weaving it into the mix with pinpoint accuracy. The combined spell roared toward the wyvern like a divine judgment with glittering wrath.
It struck.
There was a screech—a high, echoing, furious sound—and then a blinding flash. Silence fell, thick and total, broken only by the gentle drip of roasted wyvern scale hitting the floor with soft plops like cursed confetti.
The wyvern slumped, smoking, groaning faintly. One wing gave a final twitch. Then it was still.
Arila floated down slowly, feet landing with a graceful tap on the marble. Her expression didn't shift. She didn't glance around for applause. She didn't speak. She simply turned, walked back to the dessert table with the quiet dignity of a woman who had just won a magical boss fight and intended to reclaim her sugar-based reward.
She picked up a macaron. Took a thoughtful bite.
Ninko joined her, plucking a chocolate-dipped strawberry from the remains of a trampled display.
"Worth it," Arila said flatly, chewing with satisfaction.
Lucien was the first to move. Still holding his sword, he stepped forward cautiously. "That was…"
"A lot," Julian finished, beaming. "It was a lot. In the best possible way. I think I might be in love."
"Don't be ridiculous," Vincent said, though his voice was tight. "She just used a three-element fusion spell while airborne."
Darian stood frozen. "That fox is a divine-class familiar," he muttered, voice low and awed. "And she didn't even blink."
"I blinked," Arila said, licking frosting off her thumb. "Just internally."
Julian let out a bark of laughter. "Lady Arila, that was the most dramatic act of dessert-based vengeance I have ever witnessed."
"I had motivation," Arila said solemnly. "Macarons don't grow on trees."
Lira ran up, still clutching the heels like they were fragile truths. "Are you hurt?! Did the wyvern—"
"Only emotionally," Arila replied. "It got cake shrapnel on my dress. There will be trauma."
From the edge of the ballroom, Caelan and Evelaine approached through the scattered nobles like a duo of smug theater critics who had just watched their child perform a flawless tragedy with pyrotechnics.
"My daughter," Caelan said with a wistful sigh, "has become a barefoot goddess of confectionery rage."
"She's radiant," Evelaine said, practically glowing with maternal pride.
"I want to commission a statue," Caelan muttered.
Around them, nobles were still trying to recover from the chaos, whispering like gossiping squirrels.
"Did she tame a divine beast?"
"She obliterated a wyvern. In a cocktail dress!"
"Is she—oh stars—is she single?"
Ninko sneezed delicately.
Arila raised her macaron like a victory chalice. "Let this be a lesson," she declared, voice carrying just enough to be heard across the nearest dozen nobles. "Never interrupt a girl mid-dessert."
And with that, as if reality itself respected her dramatic timing, the enchanted music cautiously resumed, the shattered dome began to piece itself back together with a hum of restoration magic, and the shattered hierarchy of Vellitia's nobility quietly tried to make sense of what had just occurred.
Whatever came next, one thing was clear:
The political landscape would never be the same again.
To be continued...