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The scene shifted to the majestic Kazomaki Kingdom, where the morning sun filtered through sheer drapes, spilling molten gold across polished marble floors. The air shimmered faintly with the lingering chill of dawn, yet the palace already buzzed with restrained anticipation.
Kuradome stood before a tall mirror, his figure regal and striking. He was draped in a full-length, light silver robe layered with soft white undercloth, its glossy sheen catching the morning light. The fabric shimmered like calm moonlight, perfectly balanced between blinding brilliance and muted restraint.
His long silver hair, usually left loose, had been tied into a graceful half-knot, secured with a silver crown and a matching ribbon. It was a deliberate departure from his usual golden ornaments. Today demanded unity in design—an ensemble chosen not for vanity, but symbolism. Even the royal crest, which traditionally bore gold, gleamed in pure silver, as though the palace itself acknowledged the weight of the occasion.
Today was no ordinary day. It was Kazomaki Kingdom's Royal Guard Parade, a ceremony reserved for honoring alliances. But this year's parade bore heavier stakes: the arrival of Queen Bái Qíyuè, the famed Red Fox monarch of Yè Lián (夜涟)—the Night Ripple Domain. The kingdom's future balance rested upon her visit.
Kuradome touched his collar, adjusting it meticulously. A faint hiss escaped his lips as a dull headache throbbed from the indulgent wine of last night's banquet. His crimson eyes narrowed slightly in discomfort before regaining their usual calm, composed glint.
Then, a distant sound reached his ears—soft drumbeats laced with the melancholic whistle of a bamboo flute. It was no ordinary tune. It was the ancient signal, one reserved for honored guests within a three-hour approach to Baiyun Domain.
"They're near..." Kuradome murmured, his tone low, carrying both expectation and unease.
He turned from the mirror and strode into the palace corridors, his silver-heeled boots tapping against golden tiles. His very presence demanded attention; grace and authority flowed around him like a tide. Servants hurried below, their hands laden with silks, trays, and baskets of flowers. Yet Kuradome's sharp gaze barely registered the bustle. He sought two faces alone.
A tall black fox yokai in ceremonial armor stood at attention nearby, bowing deeply. His golden eyes gleamed with respect.
"You're looking magnificent, Your Highness."
Kuradome gave only a curt nod, folding his arms behind his back. His three majestic silver fox tails swayed, catching the morning light.
"Thank you. Tell me—where are Kyoren and Yurei? I don't see them."
The guard straightened nervously. "Apologies, Your Highness. Neither has been sighted. Perhaps… still in their quarters."
Kuradome's brow tightened. A whole month of careful planning, and on the most important morning, his heir and his heir's shadow were absent? His patience thinned like glass under fire.
"Fine. Check on Yurei. If he's awake and presentable—good. If not, drag him here by the collar. The Yè Lián delegation arrives within the hour. His absence will not be tolerated."
The guard bowed again, his armor clinking. "As you command."
Kuradome turned sharply, silver robes rippling behind him as he strode toward Kyoren's chamber. His voice dropped into an irritable growl, muttering as if to himself:
"If that boy isn't ready, I'll throw him out of the palace to sleep on a straw mat like a commoner. His tongue grows longer each week—soon I'll have to clip it before it wraps the whole court."
He grumbled more under his breath, but beneath the bite was an undertone of something else—fear, perhaps, or wounded pride.
"And Yurei... ever since Kyoren raised him up without my approval, he's floating above the clouds. Another night of arrogance, and I'll see him trussed in my own ceremonial robes by the very guards he commands."
His crimson eyes flashed sharply, but there was weight in them too. His son's boldness and his companion's unchecked loyalty—signs of a shifting balance of power. A balance he could no longer control with the same ease he once commanded.
Meanwhile, in a distant wing of the palace, a green-eyed youth peeked nervously from behind a marble pillar.
It was Sozai.
His high ponytail bounced as he leaned forward, cat ears twitching anxiously. His bright green eyes widened with horror.
"Oh no... he's really gonna fire Yurei this time!" he whispered, half-panicked. "Where's that idiot? Still snoring after drinking enough to drown a horse?!"
Sozai's tail lashed like a whip. Without hesitation, he darted into the hallway, black ceremonial robe billowing like a frantic banner. His boots skimmed the polished marble with reckless speed, making him look like a sea-skater darting across still waters.
"I gotta wake him up before Kuradome tosses him out the palace gates and into the fukaki swamps to live with raccoons and big bugs!"
His thoughts raced chaotically—Yurei's career, Kyoren's temper, Kuradome's infamous punishments.
But fate, as usual, cared little for his panic.
From around a corner, a servant stepped into the hallway. He was a ginger cat yokai in his fifties, carrying a large basket brimming with rose petals. His robes were pure white, embroidered with golden thread that shimmered under the sun. His name was Ennagiri—an elder servant, mild in manner but sharp in perception.
"MOVE!! I'm not stopping—" Sozai shouted, his voice cracking in a half-scream.
Ennagiri turned too late. Their eyes met for one heart-stopping second: Sozai's terrified green glare, Ennagiri's startled blue.
"SOZAI, WAIT—!!"
Too late.
Crash!
The basket upended, scattering petals like a sudden rain of red and white. Sozai slammed into Ennagiri, both tumbling into the marble floor with a graceless thud. Robes tangled, tails flailed, and the petals swirled down like a mocking applause.
Sozai groaned. Ennagiri wheezed. The once dignified corridor was now littered in petals and chaos.
And somewhere down the hall, Kuradome's steady footsteps echoed closer.