The air crackled with anticipation, a palpable tension threading through the opulent hall of House Fistria. Tapestries of enchanted silk adorned the walls, shimmering in hues of deep emerald and gold, their intricate patterns weaving tales of ancient glories and lost battles. The ceiling soared high above, a canvas of celestial constellations that twinkled in the flickering light of crystal chandeliers. Yet, for all its grandeur, the atmosphere felt thick, heavy with a sense of unease that even the most extravagant birthday celebration could not dispel.
Everett Vis Fistria, a name that had once been nothing but a footnote in a popular novel, now belonged to Kumire Kumota. He blinked, staring at the reflection in a polished mirror—a pale face framed by dark hair, sharp features that seemed to belong to someone far more important than he ever felt. The high collar of his midnight blue vest scratched at his neck, and he fidgeted with the cuffs of his white shirt, trying to remember how to breathe amidst the swirl of nobles and their laughter.
"Everett!" a voice called, sharp and clear. Kumire turned to see Mirin Lawlis, the daughter of the current queen and the novel's main character, striding toward him. Her golden hair flowed like liquid sunlight, and her gown, embroidered with delicate silver threads, shimmered as she moved. "You look positively ghastly. Are you unwell?"
"Just—uh, just a bit nervous, I suppose," he managed, forcing a smile that felt more like a grimace. The truth was, he was terrified. He had read the novel enough times to know that his character was destined for a minor role, a mere extra in the grand scheme of things. But here he was, standing in the midst of a party that could very well be the catalyst for a series of events that would lead to the downfall of House Fistria.
Mirin's brow furrowed in concern, her eyes sparkling with genuine interest. "You should be enjoying yourself, not fretting over the past." She leaned closer, lowering her voice conspiratorially. "I've heard whispers of something brewing—something that threatens our way of life."
Kumire's heart raced. He hadn't anticipated that he would be thrust into a web of intrigue so soon. "What do you mean?" he asked, trying to keep his tone casual, though his pulse betrayed him.
Before she could answer, a loud crash echoed from the entrance. The grand doors swung open, revealing a group of figures cloaked in shadows. Clad in dark leather and adorned with menacing masks, they stepped into the hall with an air of authority that sent a ripple of fear through the crowd. Gasps and murmurs erupted as the guests recoiled, their laughter dying in their throats.
Kumire's mind raced. This was not how the story was supposed to unfold. The rogues—the party crashers—were meant to arrive later in the plot, and he was supposed to be watching from the sidelines, not standing there like a deer caught in the lantern light.
"Stay close," Mirin whispered, her expression shifting from concern to steely determination. "We need to get to safety."
As she pulled him toward the edge of the hall, Kumire felt a surge of panic. He had no experience in combat, no magical abilities to speak of—at least, none that he had harnessed yet. Yet, something deep within him stirred, a flicker of the power he had felt since arriving in this world. The echoes of the Nexus hummed in his veins, urging him to tap into their potential.
"Mirin," he said, his voice barely above a whisper, "if we can't run, maybe we can—"
A sudden commotion interrupted him. One of the rogues raised a hand, and with a flick of his wrist, a wave of dark energy surged through the hall. It crackled like lightning, striking the nearest chandelier. The crystal shattered, raining down shards that glinted like fallen stars. Screams erupted, and chaos poured into the once-celebratory atmosphere.
Kumire's instincts kicked in. He had to do something. He couldn't just stand by as the world he had read about began to crumble around him. "Mirin! I can't just hide!" he shouted over the chaos, his heart thundering in his chest.
"Everett, please!" she urged, pulling him closer to a side alcove. "You're not a fighter!"
"Not yet," he replied, determination hardening his resolve. "But I can learn."
He stepped away from her grasp, feeling the energy thrumming in his core. He had read about the Echo Manipulation technique, a basic form of magic that allowed users to create illusions or shields. It was a novice