The ballroom was exactly what Astra expected from someone like Reid—excessive without being garish, expensive without being tasteless. Crystal chandeliers cast prismatic light across marble floors that reflected like still water. The walls were covered in silk tapestries depicting historical battles where everyone looked far too clean and heroic. Long tables groaned under imported delicacies arranged in patterns that probably had names and definitely had price tags that would make a mercenary weep.
Astra stood at his assigned column position, seemingly relaxed, just another well-dressed attendant who happened to be near the wall. His bandaged hand rested naturally at his side, drawing occasional sympathetic glances but no real attention. His water-sense extended through the ballroom like invisible threads, picking up humidity changes that indicated magical activity, tracking the subtle moisture of nervous perspiration, feeling the vibrations of conversation and movement through the water vapor that filled the crowded space.
Princess Roxene held court near the center of the room, surrounded by a careful orbit of nobles and merchants who maintained exactly the correct distance—close enough to seem engaged, far enough to respect royal space. She wore that deep blue gown like armor, every movement calculated, every smile measured, every word chosen for maximum political impact.
Lord Reid positioned himself at her side—not possessively, but strategically, like a general securing an allied position. His body language suggested partnership rather than courtship, and when they spoke, it was with the kind of focused intensity that suggested serious business wrapped in social pleasantries.
"The Crown's stability requires strong financial anchors, Princess," Reid was saying, his voice carrying clearly despite the background noise. "I see this expedition as an opportunity to demonstrate the strategic depth my company can provide your realm. I am prepared to commit significant resources to your research."
"Your confidence is appreciated, Lord Reid." Roxene's tone was warm but controlled. "Though I wonder if you fully understand the scope of what I'm investigating. Academic research can be... unpredictable in its resource requirements."
"Which is precisely why flexible capital access becomes crucial." Reid gestured subtly to a servant, who immediately appeared with fresh wine. "My financial instruments extend throughout the northern ports. Should your research require specialized equipment, rare materials, or simply the ability to move resources quickly and discretely, I can facilitate arrangements that would take the royal treasury weeks to coordinate."
From his position, Astra watched this exchange with professional detachment. Reid wasn't just offering money—he was offering infrastructure. The kind of support system that could make someone dangerously independent of traditional royal oversight. Whether that was opportunity or trap remained to be seen.
Across the room, he spotted Sera and Gareth positioned on the balcony level, their elevated vantage providing clear sightlines across the entire ballroom. They were professionals—their attention never stayed fixed on any one location for more than a few seconds, constantly scanning, constantly assessing.
Sera leaned slightly toward Gareth, her voice pitched low. "Too rigid. She's prioritizing courtesy over situational awareness. A single lapse..."
Gareth's response was barely audible, a low rumble that suggested skepticism. "Let's see the fire beneath the porcelain."
They were evaluating Roxene the same way they'd evaluated Astra—looking for proof that she deserved the expensive security rather than simply commanded it by birthright. They saw a pampered princess playing at summer holidays, protected because her bloodline made her valuable, not because she herself was capable.
If only they knew.
Near the refreshment tables, the A-rank party Reid had hired for additional security clustered together, their conversation less discrete than the S-ranks' professional assessment. They were younger, hungrier, their envy practically radiating off them in waves.
"Look at that dress," one of them muttered, a lean man with wind-mage colors on his guild badge. "More money than we'll see in ten years for a vacation."
"And she gets a dedicated bodyguard," another added, a woman with a water-aspected staff. "We're just the padding. Decorative security to make Lord Reid look thorough."
Their resentment was palpable. They saw Roxene as everything they risked their lives for but could never achieve—wealth, status, security, the luxury of treating dangerous expeditions as "summer holidays." The fact that she'd hired someone like Astra only made it worse.
"Look at him," an A-ranker said, his gaze fixed on Astra's position. "Standing there like a statue. I bet he's getting five times our day rate just to look intimidating. Low-key presence, high-pay contract."
"Yeah, high-pay, low-skill," another agreed. "If a noble wants a shield, they pay top coin for some brute's reputation. We're doing the real work, scanning the room for cheap wine and cheaper blades."
Astra ignored them. Their opinions didn't matter. What mattered was the job—keeping Roxene alive despite the architectural vulnerabilities, the unknown variables in the guest list, and the storm building outside that would provide perfect cover for anyone with hostile intentions.
Sou and Zora maintained positions flanking the main entrance, their expensive armor catching light as they performed periodic scans of the crowd. They moved in coordinated patterns, covering each other's blind spots, maintaining awareness of guest positions and movement patterns. Professional, efficient, and clearly expensive.
The kind of obvious security presence that told any real threat exactly where not to strike.
"Many in the capital will dismiss this as frivolous vacationing, Princess," Reid continued his conversation with Roxene. "But this territory is critical. I find your choice to combine necessary relaxation with this level of strategic intelligence gathering a masterstroke of statecraft. It shows foresight."
Roxene's expression didn't change, but Astra caught the subtle shift in her posture through his water-sense—the slight increase in skin temperature that suggested genuine interest.
"Discipline requires varied study, Lord Reid. The court demands a certain perception—a princess must appear both dedicated and relaxed. This arrangement allows me to focus on my true research objectives with minimal political overhead."
"Indeed." Reid's smile widened slightly. "And should your research require any specialized archival access or financial instruments near the Northern Ports, please consider my resources entirely at your disposal. My company is your greatest auxiliary."
Astra's jaw tightened imperceptibly. Reid was either brilliantly perceptive about Roxene's true situation or dangerously well-informed. Either way, offering that level of independent support to a princess with forbidden abilities was playing with fire that could burn down kingdoms.
The storm outside intensified. Thunder crashed loud enough to make the crystal chandeliers sing. Rain hammered against the tall windows with increasing violence, and the temperature in the ballroom dropped as cold air seeped through the expensive architecture.
Perfect weather for something to go wrong.
Astra's water-sense picked up something else—a pattern in the crowd's movement that didn't quite match normal social circulation. Guests were flowing around certain points with slightly more care than random chance would suggest. Three individuals, spread across the ballroom, maintaining positions that would be perfect for coordinated action.
His hand moved to his side, fingers brushing the concealed knife beneath his jacket. The movement was casual, natural, just a man adjusting his clothing.
But beneath his bandages, fungal networks stirred, responding to his heightened alertness. Spores began to drift from the fabric—invisible, undetectable, spreading through the ballroom air to map movement patterns and identify potential threats.
From the balcony, Sera's posture shifted subtly. She'd noticed something too—some detail that didn't fit the normal pattern of a noble reception. Her hand moved closer to her sword hilt, the gesture so minute that most observers would miss it entirely.
Gareth's weight shifted, his massive frame going still with the kind of readiness that preceded explosive action.
The S-ranks had spotted the pattern too.
Roxene continued her conversation with Reid, her aristocratic mask firmly in place, but Astra felt the slight tension in her through his water-sense—the barely perceptible increase in perspiration that suggested awareness of danger.
"Lord Reid," she said smoothly, her smile never faltering, "perhaps we should continue this discussion in a more private setting? I find ballroom acoustics rather interfere with serious strategic planning."
Reid's expression didn't change, but his posture shifted slightly, his own combat training recognizing the subtle warning. "Of course, Princess. I have a study that would serve perfectly—"
That's when the lights went out.
Not slowly, not flickering—just instant, absolute darkness as every chandelier died simultaneously. The kind of coordinated power disruption that only happened through deliberate magical interference or extremely professional sabotage.
Screams erupted from the crowd. Glass shattered. Bodies collided in the darkness as guests panicked and security personnel tried to maintain order.
Astra moved.
His fungal networks had already mapped the room's layout through spore distribution. He didn't need light—he had humidity gradients, air current changes, the distinctive moisture signatures of moving bodies. He covered the distance to Roxene in three seconds, his hand finding her shoulder in the darkness.
"Princess, with me. Now."
"Astra—"
"Move!"
Thunder crashed. Lightning flashed through the windows, providing brief, strobing illumination that revealed chaos—nobles fleeing in random directions, security personnel trying to organize a response, and three figures moving through the crowd with deliberate, coordinated purpose.
Moving toward Roxene's last position.
Astra's bandaged hand shot out, fungal scythes erupting from his wrist in pale, gleaming arcs. The blades caught one of the approaching figures across the chest—not a killing blow, but enough to send them stumbling back with a grunt of pain and surprise.
"Contact!" he shouted. "Princess has contact!"
More lightning. In the flash, Astra saw Sou and Zora fighting through the panicked crowd, their professional coordination struggling against the chaos of sixty terrified nobles. Saw Sera and Gareth moving from the balcony positions with professional speed, their weapons already drawn.
Saw the other two attackers closing in, weapons drawn, moving with the kind of precision that spoke of serious training and serious intent.
His first job. His entire reputation.
And someone was trying very hard to make sure he failed.
Astra's fungal scythes whirled in the darkness, spores spreading through the air like deadly snow, and the real night of blades began.