The grand hall of the Weton Palace gleamed under the light of countless crystal chandeliers, casting prismatic reflections across the polished marble floor. Velvet banners embroidered with the sigils of the Zeheir royal clan fluttered gently in the soft breeze flowing from open balconies, blending the scent of blooming nightflowers with the faint whisper of distant horns signaling the arrival of guests.
Tonight was no ordinary night — it was the much-anticipated royal ball, an event that had drawn nobles from every corner of the Western Kingdom of Mystra. The four kingdoms—Weton, Lysoria, Voren, and Caelros—each held their own customs and traditions, but tonight, Weton's grandeur shone brightest.
Inside the hall, clusters of nobles mingled, their finely embroidered garments whispering secrets of lineage and power. Among them were the Zeheir family — rulers of Weton, masters of the arcane Magnus, and keepers of secrets buried deep beneath the polished surface of courtly civility.
Kev, now known as Keal within the palace walls, stood near a tall window, his black hair stark against the silver of his changed white locks, his eyes — one red, one purple — surveying the scene with a calculating gaze.
He watched as Zack, the younger nephew of Zeckline Zel Zeheir, weaved through the crowd, laughter bubbling freely from the boy as he flirted and joked. Zack's easy charm was a stark contrast to the solemn faces surrounding him, but there was an edge to him — a hidden strength wrapped in youthful exuberance.
Keal noted this quietly. Zack was strong, though he kept much concealed — his unique ability, the rare Void skill, was whispered only between Zack and his aunt Zeckline. The secrecy was thick, yet Keal's shadow eyes — able to pierce through emotions and hidden clues — sensed the weight of hidden power around Zack, blending with the air like a faint but potent scent.
Magnus energy permeated the hall, a tangible hum vibrating through the air. The Magnus users here were divided between two factions — the Mage class, who wielded spells with fluid grace and devastating power, and the Physical Magnus practitioners, who enhanced their bodies with arcane buffs, transforming flesh into living weapons. Both were respected, both feared.
The Zeheir clan embodied both sides, their power consolidated over generations. Queen Zellene, the matriarch, was the pinnacle of this might.
When she entered, the room seemed to still. Her presence commanded attention — tall, regal, with hair like flowing obsidian and eyes that held the weight of countless battles and untold sorrows. Dressed in a gown woven from midnight silk threaded with silver runes, she moved with the grace of a sovereign born to rule.
Whispers spread like wildfire. Some called her cold; others, a force of nature. But all acknowledged that the queen was the true heart of Weton.
Keal observed her from a distance, curious and wary. The queen's reputation preceded her, yet there was a mystery around her — a secret guarded even by those within the palace walls. Her eyes flickered toward him for a brief moment, as if sensing something beneath his carefully crafted veil.
Magnus energy permeated the hall, a tangible hum vibrating through the air. The Magnus users here were divided between two factions — the Mage class, who wielded spells with fluid grace and devastating power, and the Physical Magnus practitioners, who enhanced their bodies with arcane buffs, transforming flesh into living weapons. Both were respected, both feared.
The Zeheir clan embodied both sides, their power consolidated over generations. Queen Zellene, the matriarch, was the pinnacle of this might.
When she entered, the room seemed to still. Her presence commanded attention — tall, regal, with hair like flowing obsidian and eyes that held the weight of countless battles and untold sorrows. Dressed in a gown woven from midnight silk threaded with silver runes, she moved with the grace of a sovereign born to rule.
Whispers spread like wildfire. Some called her cold; others, a force of nature. But all acknowledged that the queen was the true heart of Weton.
Keal observed her from a distance, curious and wary. The queen's reputation preceded her, yet there was a mystery around her — a secret guarded even by those within the palace walls. Her eyes flickered toward him for a brief moment, as if sensing something beneath his carefully crafted veil.
Across the room, the first prince of Weton stood — a figure of cold calm, his demeanor as calculated as a blade's edge. At twenty years old, he had not been chosen by the system, a fact that made him an enigma and a source of whispered scorn. Many nobles regarded the children of Queen Zellene as weak, given that neither prince bore the mark of selection. The first prince's silent fury burned beneath his composed exterior, a secret fire few dared approach.
The second prince, in stark contrast, seemed timid and withdrawn. His eyes flicked nervously toward his brother, a young man burdened by fear but guarded by his aunt Zeckline's protective gaze. The boy's secret was safe for now, shared only between him and Zeckline.
As the night deepened, the nobles mingled — powerful barons from the western provinces, dukes from the surrounding realms, and influential families from far beyond. They all came bearing ambitions, alliances, and whispered promises.
The music of the ballroom had shifted to something softer, something elegant and old, filled with history and mourning. Keal stood by the polished silver fountain at the far corner, his white hair falling into his eyes. His mask of indifference didn't falter even as nobles buzzed about in gowns glowing with magic threads, and laughter coated in lies echoed across the crystal floor.
From behind him, Zack whispered, "Too stiff. You're going to crack your own spine if you keep standing like that."
Keal didn't flinch. "I'm not here to dance."
Zack grinned, swirling a glass of green-gold wine. "Of course not, Mr. Mysterious-Butler-With-No-Past. But try to look a little less like you're planning a coup."
Before Keal could reply, a sudden shift in the air silenced the entire room.
The announcement rang like divine thunder:
"Her Majesty, Queen Zellene Zeheir of the Western Mystra Realm."
All stood still. All bowed.
Keal turned, his shadow instincts surging uncontrollably.
Before she could press, an announcement rang out:
"The House of Caelros has arrived."
A noble woman entered — radiant with golden markings around her eyes, glowing with floating crystals. Keal could feel the ripple of interest around the hall.
Velric's face shifted — the smallest change, but Keal saw it. Interest. Regret. Longing?
'So even ice remembers fire,' Keal thought.
The ball continued, masks and glances, fake toasts and real tensions. Keal kept watching. Listening.
Until, toward the final hour, he noticed something wrong.
A maid — no older than twenty — was standing too close to the royal pillar. Her mana was… flat. Fabricated.
"That one reeks of shadow silk," the voice inside him growled. "Koran breed. False loyalty."
Keal's red and purple eyes glimmered under the shadows. He didn't move, but he memorized her face.
And far above, on a terrace cloaked in moonlight, a figure hidden in robes made a small gesture with their gloved hand — a signal. The spy nodded slightly.
Keal's lips curled just slightly.
So the Koran clan was already digging.
Let them dig. Let them fall into the pit.
As the ball wound down, Zack stumbled to Keal's side, half-drunk and fully dramatic. "I swear on my nonexistent chastity, tonight was boring."
"You call that boring?"
Behind her came the two princes.
First, the one most people didn't notice: Zack Zeheir, dressed simply, laughing with two noble girls, waving at a shocked baron. He played the fool.
But then came Velric Zeheir, the First Prince — tall, sharp-eyed, and dressed in a military-cut robe laced with silver filigree. His aura was heavy. Controlled. Cold.
He didn't laugh. He didn't glance. He simply walked with the poise of a blade that knew it would be drawn eventually.
When he passed near Keal, something strange happened.
A flicker.
Velric stopped. His eyes narrowed slightly at Keal, as if noticing a tear in a perfect illusion. But then Zack grabbed his arm with a smile, pulling him toward the center.
Keal's heart beat once — too loud.
The shadow in him stirred.
"That one… has seen true war," it whispered in bold shadow-speech.
"Keal," Zackline's voice called out like a tether. She approached alone now, her hair shining under the chandeliers, her posture sharp.
"Yes?" he answered, tone level.
She stared for a heartbeat longer than necessary. "You're still watching everyone. You haven't touched your wine. And your right hand never moves far from your side."
Keal smiled faintly. "Force of habit."
"I see," she said. But her eyes told him she saw more.
"Of course. No one even fought. But hey—" he elbowed Keal, "—you blushed at my aunt again. I saw it."
Keal didn't respond. But his ears turned slightly red.
Zack laughed. "One day, you'll loosen up. I'll make it my life's mission."