Secrets in silk. Trust in disguise. Kael steps into high-society politics cloaked in illusion, where every smile hides a dagger—and every mask might know his past.
Three days after the duel with Alaric Thorneveil, Kael found a letter beneath his pillow. No seal. No signature. Just ink that shimmered like starlight:
"You have been cordially summoned to the Hollow Flame. Midnight. Dress accordingly. Masks are required."
Lia found him holding the note.
"You got one too?" she asked. Her voice was tight. Serious.
"Yeah. What is it?"
"The Masquerade of the Hollow Flame. It's… not officially sanctioned. Only select students get invited. Old noble houses. Secretive factions. You don't just go there for dancing."
Kael raised an eyebrow. "So why go?"
She answered with a whisper:
"Because the next kings, traitors, and assassins of the empire are all made there."
At midnight, Kael and Lia followed a trail of crimson lanterns through the old ruins beneath Aurorium. The passage led into the Mirror Crypt—a vast cavern turned ballroom, covered in obsidian glass that reflected hundreds of masked faces in flickering candlelight.
Music swirled, strange and haunting, played by instruments that shimmered in and out of sight.
Kael wore a black and silver mask carved like a hawk.
Lia wore a jade serpent mask, her dress lined with hidden runes.
Riven arrived separately, dressed in void-black robes, a half-mask revealing only his mouth.
And floating above them all on a balcony: the Host. A figure in white, face obscured by a flawless porcelain mask shaped like a featureless god.
"Welcome, children of power," the Host's voice echoed. "Tonight, we dance with truths best left unspoken."
Kael barely stepped onto the floor before a group approached—cloaked in red and gold, masks shaped like lions.
House Thorneveil.
At their head was Mirielle Thorneveil, Alaric's elder cousin, a fourth-year enchantress known for using binding oaths as weapons. Her voice was velvet soaked in poison.
"Kael Veyrion. The boy with silver fire and no family tree."
Kael bowed slightly. "Mirielle Thorneveil. The girl with ten tongues and no truth."
Laughter rippled among the nearby crowd.
She smiled thinly. "Careful. The Hollow Flame burns sharper than steel."
A veiled threat. Duels were forbidden here—officially. But accidents happened.
Riven appeared behind Kael, silent as smoke.
"They touch you," he muttered, "and they'll vanish like ash."
As the masquerade progressed, students played subtle games of influence: secret trades of magical favors, whispered pacts under oath, ritual dances that served as symbolic contracts.
Kael was approached by members of:
House Virellan – Masked like ravens, offering "partnerships in shadow." Assassins.
House Myrundal – Masked like flames, offering a duel school slot—"for future generals."
The Seraphim Cult – Pale masks shaped like crying angels, offering "blessings from the skyborn." Insane zealots.
Kael declined all.
But one mask caught his attention.
She danced alone—graceful, measured, watching everything.
When Kael passed, she spoke without turning.
"You don't belong here, Kael Vaelorian."
The name hit like a hammer.
His blood froze. No one should know that name.
He turned.
Her mask was a fox made of mirror shards, reflecting his face a dozen different ways.
"Your secret won't stay buried," she whispered. "And when they learn you're the last of the Fallen Bloodline, you'll burn before you ascend."
Kael caught her wrist. "Who are you?"
She smiled beneath her mask. "A friend. Or an enemy. Depends on who kills you first."
She vanished into the crowd—literally, stepping between one mirror and another like a shadow.
As the Masquerade neared its end, chaos whispered behind the elegance.
Two masked figures began to argue in a hidden corner—then drew blades.
One of them tried to strike Kael by mistake. Or maybe on purpose.
He blocked it instinctively. His sword flashed out of his ring—brief, blinding.
In that single moment, all music stopped.
Every head turned.
"That blade…" someone gasped.
"Epochbrand."
Kael stood there, breathing hard.
The Host descended the staircase, slow, deliberate.
His voice was ice.
"This place is sacred. You brought war into it."
Kael raised his chin. "I ended war before it started."
The Host paused.
Then—smiled.
"Very well. But know this, Kael Veyrion…"
"Next time you draw that sword here—be ready to pay for it."
Kael, Lia, and Riven left the masquerade in silence.
Back in their dormitory, Kael sat by the window, watching the stars.
Lia approached. "You okay?"
"I don't know."
He held the silver feather from Chapter 5 in his hand.
"They know who I am. Someone does."
Lia sat beside him. "Then we stop hiding. You've got allies now. You've got us."
Kael looked at her.
Riven spoke from the shadows. "And we've got work to do. That girl with the fox mask? She's a shadow mage. Old blood. If she's moving…"
"It means the Council of Ashes is waking."
In the palace of House Thorneveil, Serenya Mal'Quen stood by a war table.
A new pawn had entered her board: Kael.
She smiled coldly.
"The Hollow Flame marks its prey."
She placed a silver fox mask on the board.
"Now we just wait for the gods to blink."