The mansion shone like a palace made by heaven's own hand. Golden chandeliers floated by unseen threads, spilling warm light over marble floors veined with silver. Curtains of snow-white silk hung from crystal pillars, and the scent of blooming lilies drifted through the air. The world had never seen such splendor, for this was the wedding of the Prince of Solvane Empire and the Princess of Lumeria Kingdom — two of the seven great powers that ruled the continent of Artheria.
It was a union meant to end decades of tension between their nations. Kings, emperors, and nobles from across the land filled the grand hall, whispering behind jeweled masks. The air was thick with perfume, music, and politics.
The prince stood before the altar, his silver hair shining like light itself. Prince Caelum of Solvane, known as the Child of the Six Spirits, was the only man alive who could command all elemental powers — fire, ice, water, earth, air, and greenery. His sword, Elyzion, was sheathed beside him, faintly glowing in six hues. The nobles called him God's Chosen.
But behind those golden eyes, there was no joy. Only emptiness.
He looked at his reflection on the blade's polished surface. A ceremony of peace, they said. But to him, it was a gilded cage.
"Your Highness," said a servant, bowing. "The princess will arrive shortly."
Caelum gave a hollow nod. "Let's hope she's as enthusiastic as I am."
When the grand doors opened, a ripple spread through the hall. Princess Lysandra of Lumeria entered, every step a portrait of grace. Her hair, pink as dawn, shimmered in the light; her emerald eyes were calm, yet distant. She wore a gown woven with moon-thread, each motion scattering flecks of silver dust.
"By the gods…" whispered one of the nobles. "She truly is blessed with beauty."
Caelum's lips curved faintly. "Beautiful, yes," he murmured. "But look closely — she wears chains made of silk."
When Lysandra reached him, she gave the faintest of smiles. "Prince Caelum," she greeted softly.
"Princess Lysandra." His reply was courteous, cold. "Ready to unite our nations in holy misery?"
Her smile didn't falter, but her voice lowered. "You think I have a choice?"
Their eyes met — two strangers bound by duty, not affection.
The high priest stepped forward, his voice echoing through the vast hall. "Before the gods of Artheria, we gather this day to bind two empires in everlasting harmony…"
But far above, where the grand hall's ceiling curved into arches of painted light—
Six figures clung to the rafters, silent as shadows.
Two hours earlier, they had slipped through the guards on the outer walls, scaling the marble spires in the dark. Now, they crouched above the main hall, the golden ceremony unfolding below them.
"Six of us," whispered one, adjusting the blade at his hip. "Against an entire empire. Sounds fun."
The leader — a scarred man with pale eyes — raised a gloved hand. "We're not here to fight, rook. We're here to destroy that treaty before they sign it. Once it's gone, they've got nothing binding."
The rightmost figure — a younger man with short black hair and a nervous grin — muttered under his breath, "No pressure, huh? Just ruin the most important event in the continent. Totally normal Tuesday."
His name was Ryn, though the world didn't know it yet.
He was known among the rebels as the "Ice Fox."
Though his spirit affinity was with ice, he was considered the weakest among the spirit users. Still, somehow, through tricks, luck, and a lot of talk, he'd convinced everyone he was terrifyingly powerful.
Now, crouched on the mansion's roof beam, he wiped sweat from his forehead and peered down at the golden-haired prince.
"Yup," he whispered. "There he is — Mr. Perfect. Six elements, divine sword, blessed by gods, perfect hair. And here I am… blessed by cold feet."
He looked to his left. The others were checking their gear. To his right — the drop was at least fifty feet down. Below that, a sea of nobles, guards, and magic barriers.
"Easy mission, they said," he muttered. "Quick in and out, they said. And if I die, no one will remember to feed my cat."
"Ryn," hissed the man beside him. "Focus."
"Focusing," Ryn whispered, eyes fixed below. "Focusing on how much I don't want to die."
Then the leader's voice came through their link crystal. "Positions. When the ceremony starts, we move."
Back below, the priest's chanting grew deeper, his hands glowing with sacred light. The air trembled — a divine blessing descending upon the hall.
"The gods bind this union with their eternal grace—"
The glass above shattered.
Six shadows dropped from the ceiling like arrows. Shards rained down as they landed in formation — silent, fluid, deadly. Gasps rippled through the crowd. Nobles screamed, guards unsheathed their swords, and the orchestra fell into chaos.
"Protect the prince!" shouted the captain.
The leader of the black-suited intruders stepped forward, voice ringing clear.
"This ceremony is a lie! The so-called treaty is nothing but a sale of souls — a surrender of Lumeria's freedom!"
A wave of murmurs spread through the hall. The priest stumbled back.
Prince Caelum's hand flew to his sword. "Assassins," he spat. "You dare defile sacred ground?"
Ryn, standing at the rightmost edge, raised his hands nervously. "Uh, technically speaking, it's more like a political statement than defilement…"
The leader glared at him. "Ryn!"
"Right! Sorry. Serious face." Ryn straightened, voice dropping to a low tone. "Fear us, for we are the— uh… the… oh gods, what was our name again?"
The man beside him groaned. "The Black Fang!"
"Right, right! Fear the Black Fang!" Ryn shouted. "For we… totally know what we're doing!"
Caelum's eyes narrowed. "Amateurs."
The prince unsheathed Elyzion. Six-colored light blazed along its blade. The temperature dropped, the air crackled, and the flames in the hall flickered. "Kneel, intruders. I'll give you mercy if you do."
"Mercy?" the leader barked. "You think we need mercy from the tyrant's son?"
The guards lunged, blades flashing — and chaos erupted.
The intruders moved fast, scattering to different corners. Spells lit the air like fireworks. Ryn drew his short sword, which gleamed faintly blue, the ice spirit flickering within.
He held it up dramatically. "All right, Frosty, don't embarrass me in front of the scary prince."
A faint cold aura pulsed around the blade, and he smiled nervously. "Good talk."
A blast of fire roared from Caelum's sword. It struck the marble, scattering shards. Ryn dove to the side, sliding behind a pillar. "Okay, definitely not a good time to joke. That guy's playing with divine power like it's confetti."
He peeked around the edge. The prince stood like a statue of light, golden aura swirling.
"Okay," Ryn muttered, "think, Ryn, think. You're not the strongest, but you're the smartest. Probably. Hopefully."
He darted forward, blade flashing — and tripped on the polished floor. He barely managed to regain balance, swinging his sword upward more by instinct than skill. A gust of icy wind burst from his blade, accidentally freezing part of the floor — and one of the guards.
"Oh! That worked?" He blinked. "Of course it worked. Totally intentional. I'm amazing."
The leader's voice shouted across the chaos. "Ryn! The treaty!"
"On it!" Ryn dashed toward the golden pedestal, sliding across the frozen floor like a skater. He reached the parchment — the divine contract between empires — and flicked his sword. Ice crystals danced along the edge, freezing the paper.
"Hope you like your marriage… on ice."
He struck. The contract shattered into brittle shards, breaking the sacred seal. A wave of divine backlash swept through the hall, sending a gust of light through the chandeliers. The priest screamed as the magic circle ruptured.
Caelum's golden eyes burned. "You—!"
He thrust his hand forward, summoning a massive flame spear. It roared across the hall toward Ryn.
"Okay, bad! Very bad!" Ryn yelped, jumping backward. He raised his sword, summoning ice to block it — but the heat shattered the frost instantly.
"This guy's got the power of six spirits and I'm here with an ice cube and optimism!"
The spear missed him — barely. It struck the wall behind, blowing out the stained-glass window in a burst of light and sound. Shards exploded outward, the cold air of the night rushing in.
"Missed me!" Ryn shouted instinctively, before realizing what that meant. The floor beneath him was still slick with ice.
He slipped.
"Wait—no no no no—!"
He slid backward, arms flailing wildly. "Smooth! Real smooth! Just what I needed in front of every royal in the continent — a dramatic ice-slide exit!"
The guards lunged, trying to grab him, but the frozen floor made them lose footing too. Ryn's momentum carried him straight toward the gaping twelve-foot window. He reached out desperately.
"Someone grab me!"
A hand caught his wrist.
"Ah, thanks! You're a life sav—"
He turned, expecting to see one of his comrades. Instead, emerald eyes met his.
The princess.
Lysandra had stumbled near the chaos, reaching out instinctively when he flew past. Now, both of them teetered at the edge of the shattered frame.
"Oh no," Ryn whispered. "This looks really bad."
She blinked at him, shocked. "Who are you—?"
He smiled weakly. "Uh… window inspector?"
The floor beneath their feet cracked, ice spreading faster.
"Let go!" she said, trying to pull away.
"Yeah, can't. My body's decided survival is optional."
The ice broke.
Both of them fell, a blur of silk, glass, and moonlight tumbling down from the twelfth-foot window.
Ryn shouted, "Why is gravity always so committed to its job?!"
Lysandra's hair fanned like pink fire in the air, her eyes wide. Wind rushed past, carrying shards of light.