The long-awaited night had come. Prince Zelion’s ball.

  Carriages by the hundreds lined the great avenues of Heful, wheels glimmering under lantern light, crests of royal families from across Domesria gleaming proudly upon polished doors. Some carriages bore guests from distant nations — monarchs, envoys, dukes, and nobles who would not miss such an occasion. Auses draped in silks stamped the cobbles, their hooves clattering like ceremonial drums, announcing the grandeur to come.

  ---

  Meanwhile, within Pungence’s estate, the Delindors prepared. They were all fully healed.

  Valerius knelt, tugging the laces of his polished shoes taut, before rising to the mirror.

  He was clad in a suit of black and green, cut with ruthless precision to his frame. The jacket bore wide green lapels, edged in golden thread, each stitch catching the light. Across his shoulders, embroidery of gold unfurled in the likeness of blooming vines. Beneath, a crisp white shirt gleamed, set with a silken green tie at his collar. A fitted vest of black, stitched with golden motifs, gave depth to his figure. Even the sleeves carried deliberate detail — white fabric bound with green bands high on the arms.

  It was a suit of elegance and authority, a garment that lent him the presence of nobility, yet left intact the edge of untamed youth.

  Eryndor, tall and composed, fastened the final button of his jacket.

  His suit was a harmony of regality and youth. Woven from deep black fabric, it carried white lapels edged with sharp golden trim, a contrast that drew the eye. Across the chest and shoulders, green vines blossomed into gold and white, as though the fabric itself had bloomed with life. A silk tie of vivid green lay against his shirt, echoing the embroidery’s flourish, while golden buttons shimmered faintly as he moved.

  Neither gaudy nor austere, it was balanced — a suit that shaped him into a figure of quiet dignity, his youthful aura sharpened by the grandeur of his attire.

  And Ziraiah, radiant, fastened the last clasp of her gown.

  Her gown was a vision of elegance, black silk woven with threads of green and white. The bodice clung with regal precision, curling green embroidery tracing across her form like living vines in moonlight. White accents traced the neckline and waist, drawing the eye to her poise. The skirt flowed in long, layered cascades, silk catching glimmers of light as though painted with emerald. White blossoms embroidered at the hem seemed a hidden garden blooming at her step.

  Her sleeves, sheer and flowing, whispered against her arms with each movement, fastened at the wrists by green bands. It was a gown of beauty and fire, mirroring her brothers’ attire yet distinct in its strength — a dress that made her both untouchable and unforgettable.

  ---

  The palace awaited.

  The Royal Palace of Heful shone like a jewel in the night. Its walls, white stone veined with silver, rose into towering spires crowned with emerald domes. Bridges of glass and crystal arched over vast courtyards, lanterns strung across them like constellations captured from the heavens. Waterfalls cascaded from the upper terraces into wide pools below, where lilies and glowing koi drifted.

  At the heart of the palace stood the Grand Hall, its golden gates towering three times the height of a man. Light spilled from within, chandeliers blazing with enchanted fire that glowed like stars. Music from harps and violins carried out into the night air, mingling with the murmurs of nobility awaiting their entrance.

  At the gates stood the Herald, garbed in robes of deep blue and silver, a scroll unfurled in his hands. His voice rang across the marble steps, strong and resonant, announcing each guest as their carriage arrived.

  “Announcing His Grace, Duke Arvel of House Veydor, Kingdom of Lanthros!”

  “Announcing Her Majesty, Queen Maradith of House Calvore, Kingdom of Silvane!”

  “Announcing Lord Relvin of House Thrayne, Kingdom of Damos!”

  “Announcing Prince Kaelor of House Zerath, Kingdom of Ferros!”

  “Announcing Duchess Elira of House Fynrel, Kingdom of Ovarra!”

  “Announcing Grand Duke Soren of House Branthil, Kingdom of Veyra!”

  “Announcing Lady Ysoria of House Kelvane, Kingdom of Orthell!”

  “And announcing His Majesty, King Dravon of House Maltrane, Kingdom of Aurisar!”

  Each name echoed as the nobles swept into the hall, silks trailing, jewels glittering, whispers following their steps. The air was charged — with wealth, with power, and with secrets hidden beneath velvet and lace.

  And so, the ball began.

  The Herald raised his staff, his voice resounding through the glittering hall:

  “Announcing His Majesty, King Gozay, Her Majesty, Queen Starla, and Her Highness, Princess Eliana, of House Zitry — Kingdom of Zitry!”

  The moment they stepped into the golden light of the ballroom, jaws dropped. Gasps rippled through the crowd.

  This story originates from Royal Road. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.

  No words were needed; their presence was overwhelming.

  King Gozay carried the weight of ice and command, his towering form wrapped in regal blue and silver. Queen Starla shone with grace, her beauty radiant yet serene, a living embodiment of poise. And beside them, Princess Eliana — her blue eyes gleaming, her blonde hair cascading like a waterfall — walked with the quiet elegance of dawn.

  Murmurs swept like fire across the hall:

  “Elves… the elves are here.”

  “Who knew the King of Zitry had such ties?”

  “By the heavens… such beauty! I’ve never seen—”

  A sharp thud. One noble’s wife jabbed her husband hard in the ribs, silencing his admiration.

  For it was known across the world: elves were unmatched in beauty, their allure stirring desire and envy in every race. None hungered more fiercely for them than the Aurellians. It was why, since the dawn of memory, elves and Aurellians had stood as enemies eternal.

  ---

  The Herald lifted his voice again.

  “Announcing Lady Fiona Marclair and Lord and Lady Marclair of Zitry!”

  The Marclair family entered, draped in emerald silks and fine jewels, their name long respected among Zitry’s nobility. Mercy, radiant in a gown of pale gold, curtsied lightly, her parents following with composed dignity.

  “Announcing Lord Cassian De Jermiah, with Lord Alvin De Jermiah and Lady Selene De Jermiah, nobles of Zitry!”

  The De Jermiah family stepped forth, their crest embroidered in silver thread upon their dark coats. Cassian, broad and stoic, walked with a soldier’s posture, while Selene, graceful and tall, wore a gown of white and sapphire. Alvin followed, his eyes sharp, his smile polite, drawing nods of recognition from his peers.

  “Announcing Lady Sierra Valemont, with Lord Gareth Valemont and Lady Isolde Valemont, nobles of Zitry!”

  The Valemont family arrived next, their attire steeped in deep crimson and gold. Gareth’s proud frame bore the air of command, while Isolde’s dark beauty turned heads as easily as Sierra’s youthful grace.

  “Announcing the House of Targreen, nobles of Zitry!”

  A hush swept through the hall as the Targreen carriage arrived. David Targreen was wheeled forward in a chair, his body bound in casts, his face pale but proud. His parents flanked him, their expressions tense under the scrutiny of the hall. The whispers stirred again, pity mixing with curiosity.

  ---

  And then—

  The Herald struck his staff once more. His voice carried with weight and finality:

  “Announcing Lord Pungence Dibronze, accompanied by the Delindors, Eryndor, Valerius and Ziraiah!”

  The golden gates flung wide.

  Pungence strode forward first, clad in a resplendent suit of pure gold. His presence was a storm unto itself, and the hall bowed in silence as he passed. His very name carried awe, and the shimmer of his attire reflected it, each step radiating command.

  Behind him came the Delindors.

  Eryndor. Ziraiah. Valerius.

  They walked side by side, perfectly measured, their confidence unmistakable.

  Valerius, fully healed, smiled faintly as he adjusted his sleeve, his emerald eyes catching the light. The sight of him stole breath from the crowd — his beauty sharp and almost otherworldly.

  Beside him towered Eryndor, his sheer size and presence rivaling even Pungence’s. Nobles gasped as they beheld him, a colossus whose calm expression could not hide the vastness of his aura.

  And Ziraiah — her beauty rivaled Princess Eliana herself. Draped in her black-and-green gown, her every step shimmered with fire and grace, and her aura pulsed with boundless vitality.

  Whispers flooded the hall like a tide:

  “By the heavens, look at them… they’re giants.”

  “Are they… Pungence’s children?”

  “No... Look at their skin, their height. They can't be Aurellian.”

  But those with gifts felt it — the surging, endless mana flowing from Eryndor and Ziraiah. It was calm, controlled, yet so abundant it seemed as though oceans of power slept within them.

  Even Pungence, walking ahead, felt it. His voice rumbled low, sharp.

  “What are you two doing?”

  Ziraiah’s lips curved into a smirk.

  “Relax. A little show-off won’t hurt anyone. These nobles can be irritating… better to remind them where they stand.”

  From across the hall, King Gozay’s eyes lingered on them, his voice low as he murmured to Queen Starla:

  “To think they’ve grown so much in only three years. The word prodigy does them no justice.”

  Starla’s lips curved faintly, her gaze steady.

  “I’m not surprised. They are Elvheins, after all.”

  But not all eyes shone with admiration.

  For scattered among the nobles were shadows — men and women whose faces were borrowed, whose laughter and gestures were masks. The Unbound had come, cloaked in silks and jewels, hiding their menace beneath false identities.

  And the ball, glittering with music and light, had already become a battlefield waiting to ignite.

  ---

  To Be Continued...