Mercy approached with a shy smile, her gown shimmering under the chandeliers.

  “You look positively handsome in that attire. It flatters you most fittingly.”

  Eryndor glanced down at his attire, a faint smirk tugging at his lips.

  “Ah, and the proper term for this attire is a suit.”

  “Truly? I’ve never encountered garments of that sort before.”

  Mercy replied, curiosity sparkling in her eyes.

  “It is commonplace where I hail from.” Eryndor said.

  She tilted her head. “Well then, you ought to wear it more often. It accentuates your character most perfectly.”

  Eryndor’s expression gentled. “Thank you.” He took her hand with measured grace, bowing ever so slightly as he brushed it with his lips. “But you, my lady, are yourself possessed of an exquisiteness that far eclipses mine.”

  Mercy giggled, her cheeks flushed. “Oh, thank you, kind sir.”

  Across the room, Ziraiah and Valerius observed them.

  “Told you he had a crush on her,” Ziraiah muttered.

  Valerius smirked. “Clear as day.”

  Her eyes narrowed. “Why am I even talking to you? I hate you right now.” She turned sharply and walked away.

  ---

  The ballroom hushed as King Juval strode forward, voice booming with ease over the crowd.

  “Tonight, you gather not only to celebrate a ball, but to witness history. For my son — Prince Zelion of Zitry — has awakjened.”

  A ripple surged across the nobles like wind over grass. Gasps followed as Queen Zeliona advanced, cradling the infant prince. His hair gleamed like spun gold, his eyes deep, crystalline blue — Aurellian through and through, yet uniquely Zitry.

  Though only a year old, his tiny body radiated a subtle weight, a ripple of mana that made seasoned mages shift uneasily in their seats.

  “A year old?”

  “Impossible!”

  “A child awakening this young—?”

  The whispers rolled, but no one dared look away.

  Queen Zeliona’s voice rang clear as crystal. “Behold the future of Zitry. Behold Prince Zelion.”

  She lifted the boy gently. His tiny hand clutched at her gown — and with that single gesture, a current of mana stirred the air.

  Juval’s grin widened. “Drink deep, my friends. This sight will not come twice in a lifetime.”

  At his gesture, music swelled. Zeliona handed Zelion to Princess Isabela, and Juval spun his queen into the first dance. The nobles applauded, clapping in rhythm, until the floor filled with swirling gowns and dark suits. Yet, even as they danced, eyes drifted back to the child who had just shaken their world.

  Eryndor extended his hand, bowing with courtly grace.

  “My lady, may I have this dance?”

  Mercy’s smile deepened. She placed her hand in his.

  “You may, my good sir.”

  They moved onto the floor, their steps weaving into the tide of dancers. Eryndor’s movements were firm but elegant, leading Mercy with surprising refinement for someone of his immense size. The two became a picture of contrast — a colossus and a maiden, moving in perfect synchrony, their motions a balance of power and grace.

  ---

  Valerius leaned toward Eliana, voice low.

  “Can you dance?”

  Eliana arched a brow. “Are you joking? I’m a princess.”

  “That doesn’t mean you know how to dance,” he teased, smirking.

  She shot him a glare edged with amusement. “Of course I do.”

  Valerius chuckled. “Then prove it.”

  They stepped onto the stage. Valerius scanned the room, unimpressed, as the waltz continued.

  “This song’s a bust,” he muttered.

  His voice rang like a command.

  “Tromba. Tubae. Percussio. Violinae. Castaneda. Come forth.”

  The air split with a deafening BOOM, and a portal of flared open above the stage. Nine small spirits less than 6ft tall descended in arcs of shimmering flame and mist.

  Tromba: Two lean, tall spirits, their skin metallic bronze, horns shaped like gilded trumpets fused to their arms. Their eyes burned gold as they lifted the instruments, ready to blare.

  Tubae: Towering figures, their backs broad as fortress gates. From their chests extended tuba and trombone, carved of living brass. Each step they took made the floor hum with thunder.

  Percussio: One spirit strode forward with arms of stone, a great bass drum strapped across his torso, mallets fused into his fists. Another followed, slender, lightning dancing across his arms as he twirled spectral sticks over a snare that cracked with every spark.

  Violinae: Two elegant wraiths cloaked in flowing white. Violins hovered at their chins as their bows, glowing threads of mana, drew taut across the strings. Their faces were serene masks, eyes closed as if already hearing the music before it began.

  Castaneda: Last came a crimson spirit, slender and sharp. His hands clutched castanets of obsidian rimmed with fire, snapping once with a crack like lightning that silenced the hall.

  The crowd drew breath as the nine spirits stood in perfect formation, their instruments gleaming. They moved away out of fear.

  Valerius’s lips curved into a grin. “Now… let’s really dance.”

  ---

  The nine spirits raised their instruments in unison.

  A breath of silence… then BOOOOM.

  The sound struck like thunder. Brass flared as Tromba and Tubae blasted the opening, their horns roaring like war calls across a battlefield. The floor shook beneath the weight of their notes. Percussio followed, his drumbeat hammering like the march of soldiers, each strike rippling through the hall like cannon fire.

  Then Violinae wept into the air, their bows slicing strings with sharp precision, adding a searing melody — fierce, defiant, alive.

  And above it all, Castaneda snapped his obsidian castanets, each crack sharp as lightning, punctuating the rhythm with fire.

  The nobles jolted, their murmurs swallowed. This was no courtly waltz, no gentle ballad — this was the Paso Doble, music of challenge and fire.

  The ballroom blazed with sound.

  Valerius and Eliana stepped forward.

  Valerius’ emerald eyes gleamed as he bowed low, hand extended. Eliana placed her hand into his with practiced grace, her chin lifted in defiance.

  And then, they moved.

  The Paso Doble was no dance of courtly love. It was war in rhythm, battle set to music.

  Valerius advanced, his steps sharp, commanding, his body cutting through the rhythm like a blade. Eliana countered with sweeping spins, her gown unfurling like fire around her, her every movement daring him to match her fury.

  The crowd gasped — this was no polite glide. This was a duel.

  He lunged, she evaded. He spun, she snapped back, her skirts cracking the air like whips. Their bodies circled one another, predator and prey switching places with every beat.

  The spirits played harder, faster. Brass roared, strings screamed, drums thundered like warhorses charging. Castaneda’s castanets snapped in perfect rhythm to Eliana’s footwork, every click a spark to her flame.

  At the climax, Valerius seized her wrist, pulling her into him — only for Eliana to whirl free in a blaze of silk, her hair flashing gold under the chandeliers. She struck a pose, arms spread like a matador before the bull.

  Valerius grinned, teeth bared, answering with a flourish of his own — a sweeping stance that mirrored her challenge.

  The hall erupted in applause, nobles shouting in disbelief, some standing from their seats.

  Gasps, whispers, awe.

  “By the heavens—!”

  “What kind of dance is this?!”

  “They move like they’re fighting!”

  If you discover this tale on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the violation.

  But the music was not yet done.

  The spirits surged into the finale — brass and drums in violent harmony, violins shrieking, castanets snapping with fire.

  Valerius and Eliana clashed in the final step, their bodies meeting in perfect unison, his arm tight around her waist, her hand thrust defiantly forward.

  The music snapped into silence.

  And in that silence, their pose burned itself into memory — the bull and the matador, locked together, daring the world to look away.

  Then—

  The ballroom exploded in thunderous applause. Nobles screamed, stomped, clapped until the chandeliers shook.

  Valerius and Eliana had already stolen the night.

  One by one, the spirits were pulled backward into the swirling portal that had birthed them, until silence reclaimed the hall.

  Murmurs rippled like wildfire.

  “Who summoned them?”

  “That wasn’t ordinary music…”

  “Those weren’t like us—they were spirits.”

  Eyes darted across the ballroom, searching. No answers came.

  From the balcony, Ziraiah crossed her arms, watching her brother. Her lips curved in a wry smirk.

  “Always showing off.”

  Eryndor said nothing, only smiled faintly.

  At his side, Mercy leaned closer. “What kind of dance was that?”

  Eryndor answered smoothly, “That… is Paso Doble.”

  Her eyes widened. “Paso… what?”

  “A duel disguised as a dance,” Eryndor observed, his tone calm, edged with a faint note of pride. “Yet make no mistake—this is Valerius’ craft. Dancing is his pastime, and he has mastered every pattern known. Though…” His emerald eyes lingered on the stage, narrowing with quiet intrigue. “…how curious, that the elf princess mirrors him with such flawless precision.”

  On the floor, Valerius straightened his jacket. He looked at Eliana with a half-smile.

  “Well, I guess you weren’t kidding. But how could you follow my movements?”

  Eliana’s smile was sly. She raised her hand, lightly brushing his chin.

  “Magic,” she whispered. “Too bad you can’t use it, hm?”

  She turned and walked away, her golden hair swaying like fire in the light.

  Valerius stood frozen for a beat, then laughed under his breath. His eyes glinted as he muttered, “Cheeky princess.”

  From the dais, King Gozay leaned toward Queen Starla, his brow furrowed.

  “When did she learn such movements?”

  Starla’s eyes narrowed. “She didn’t. She used magic.”

  Gozay’s expression darkened. “Little Eli… always concealing some clever trick up her sleeve. But my concern…” His gaze shifted toward Valerius, sharp yet thoughtful. “…is how those spirits were called forth. Intelligent enough to wield instruments, yet I sensed no incantation, no circle, not even a trace of spellwork.”

  Starla shook her head. “There must be a summoner here.”

  Gozay’s jaw tightened. “It’s him.”

  “Valerius?” Starla whispered. “He’s ungifted, Gozay. That makes no sense.”

  “Sense or not,” Gozay said grimly, “I know it was him.”

  ---

  Ziraiah knelt by David’s wheelchair, her gown pooling around her.

  “How are you feeling?”

  David offered a weak smile. “Better.”

  She squeezed his hand gently, her eyes soft, though fire still lingered in her aura.

  Across the hall, Valerius reached for a glass of wine. He had just lifted it when Eryndor’s hand appeared, plucking it from his grip.

  “What precisely are you doing?” Eryndor asked coolly.

  Valerius arched a brow. “What does it look like I’m doing? I’m having a drink.”

  Valerius took another glass. Eryndor’s hand closed around the glass just as Valerius lifted it. His voice was calm, but firm.

  “You are underage.”

  Valerius shot him a sharp look, irritation flashing in his eyes.

  “And so what?” he snapped. “This isn’t Earth, man.”

  He snatched another glass. It vanished instantly from his hand.

  His eyes narrowed. “You didn’t…”

  Another glass. Gone.

  Valerius’ movements blurred, super speed snapping through the tables, snatching glass after glass—each one disappearing into nothing before it could touch his lips.

  He froze, glaring at his brother. “You know, you’re really starting to piss me off.”

  ---

  Meanwhile.

  At Pungence’s mansion, the night was not as quiet as it seemed.

  Two figures stood outside a grand window, cloaked in the shadows of the trees. Daiel pressed his palms to the glass, peering in.

  “This place is too nice. You’d think a noble lived here.”

  Richard folded his arms, his voice low. “Get us inside.”

  “Patience,” Daiel whispered. “The palace is dark—I need to have seen where we’re going first.”

  He raised a small lantern, its beam cutting across the window. The light shimmered unnaturally, then split—becoming a tear in space itself. A portal opened behind them, humming with warped silence.

  They stepped through.

  Inside the mansion, the air was still, heavy with the faint scent of wood and incense.

  Richard asked quietly, “Where to?”

  Daiel spread a rolled blueprint across the polished floor, tracing the lines with his finger. His voice dropped to a whisper. “We’re here. If we follow this hall, we reach the stairs to the basement.”

  Richard frowned. “Why not just portal directly to it?”

  Daiel shot him a look. “I need to have seen the place first. That’s how my Seed works.”

  They crept along the corridor, boots silent on the stone, until they reached a reinforced door. Daiel knelt, pulling tools from his cloak. With a click and twist, the lock surrendered.

  They descended.

  At the bottom waited another door — larger, colder, futuristic. Its metallic silver gleamed unnaturally, etched with faint lines of light.

  Richard exhaled. “So. Can your toy tools get through this one?”

  Daiel smirked, but before he could answer, Richard placed a hand on his shoulder. His form shimmered faintly. “That’s why I’m here.”

  And then—he walked forward. His body phased straight through the metal, slipping like a ghost. On the other side, he reached back, pulling Daiel through.

  “You…” Daiel whispered. “You have a Seed?”

  Richard nodded once. “The Phase Seed. Nothing can bar my path.”

  The chamber before them was vast, alien in design. Silver walls gleamed. Crystalline tubes pulsed faintly with energy. To one side was a sprawling training hall, another corner dominated by a glass aquarium glowing with strange fish.

  But their eyes found it quickly.

  The Orb.

  A colossal sphere of radiant energy, floating at the chamber’s core. Its glow bathed the room in shifting blues and silvers, its pulse slow and steady — like the beating heart of the city itself.

  Daiel’s lips curled into a grin. “Jackpot.”

  He stepped forward — and slammed nose-first into something invisible.

  “Ugh!” He staggered back, clutching his face. “What the—?”

  His hands pressed against thin air. An unseen barrier rippled under his touch, solid as iron.

  Richard scowled. “Did you really think they’d leave something like this unguarded?” He pressed his hand forward, trying to phase. But the moment his form touched the barrier, a surge of energy flung him back. He landed hard, eyes narrowing.

  Daiel rubbed his nose. “Fine. That’s why I’m here.”

  His hand rose, tearing open another portal — this one glowing ominously, swirling with shadows.

  It opened on the other side of the barrier.

  And through it, the Orb pulsed brighter.

  ---

  To Be Continued...