Gerald Emerald was a man whose presence filled any room he entered. His dark hair, streaked faintly with silver at the temples, framed sharp features that radiated authority. But it was his eyes—deep violet, like the twilight sky—that carried the true weight of the Emerald family's legacy. Those eyes rarely softened, rarely bent, yet tonight, when he turned them toward Shellia, there was something unusual: the faintest trace of pride, buried under the cold mantle of responsibility.
"Shellia," Gerald said, voice calm but unyielding. "From this day forward, you will move into the Silver Wing."
Shellia blinked. Her mind did not immediately process the words. Her staff nearly slipped from her hands, and she gawked at him like he had just suggested she move into a dragon's nest.
"…Eh?"
It was the only sound she managed.
Gerald arched one regal eyebrow, clearly unimpressed. "Why are you reacting as if I asked you to marry the demon king?"
