[This chapter is 3289 words long.]
The sky rumbled, dark and glimmering of crystallic raindrops ready to fall.
The moon was merely a silver lantern, casting its bright light over the building of fine, pristine white walls. Arched roofs pointed to the midnight sky, each holding up a statue of stars. Three huge, white buildings kept these roofs atop of the world, two on either side of the main building's squared build and one behind, barely seeable if you're not in the right position.
Shadows danced on the creieves and sculptured drawings of roses on the main building's front walls, pillars engraved with symbols of peace and serenity.
Milky yellow light glowed softly from candles that flickered, covering the building in a surreal light.
Inside, the calm scenery of the build was shattered as a roar of celebration broke the image.
Music blasted around the building, not missing a single crack, filling up the air with a melody demanding dance.
Heels cracked onto the marble flooring as nobles danced, flushed faces of red hinting the influence of strong wine.
Servants edged the clearing where nobles bustled, masked faces boring markings of the goddess of peace in gold.
Neat hairstyles became a norm, and desserts holding too much sugar was the trending delicacy.
Trays filled in sugary sweets and others of towering drinks adorned the hands of servants, who served them to seated individuals that looked down at the scene with joy and happiness.
There wasn't anything healthy in sight, but simply having that at your Ball would be boring, no?
The floor was etched with gold rhumbuses, small stairs taking nobles away from the dance floor to tables set around the squared flooring. They were covered in cloths of white, pink flowers held in vases of expensive material.
Windows of cyber designs were shadowed with curtains, overhung by a porch above.
Stairs led upwards, opening up to a grand show of tables, each and every one of them adorned with desserts of every region, waffing aromas promising a exquisite taste to your mouth.
Advertisements of different events plastered itself to walls, all hosted by the same person.
Talk about greedy.
Then, a tap of static microtransportation wavered, and a voice spoke over the music.
"The magic show is going to start! Make your way upstairs and into the second chamber of the building if you want to watch!"
Gasps followed the words of the man, and instantly, people started to make their way to the staircases that planted itself in the entrance room.
"I recommend you watch it! It will be marvelous, more exciting than the last ball's performance! This time, it's led by none other than the Host's fiancé!"
More made their way over, the staircases packed with guests.
Their expressions sealed behind masks, it was quite obvious they were all excited. The chatter that drifted through the air was filled to the brim with enthusiasm.
- "I'm envious of his magic!"
- "the host has always fulfilled in such good shows, I hope this is going to exceed my expectations."
- "The Financé of the Host is so handsome himself!"
- "We have to strike some deals with the mages that come on stage .. the host certainly won't allow anyone to get close to her most winsome prize."
Inside of the chamber, lights blazed. Red curtains layered with claret cloth hung still, closed so that the eye could not see beyond.
Guests gathered in seats, all bedecked in jewelry they could barely afford.
The auditorium seats were set in rows and rows, almost endless till it halted at the large, pristine doors that were starting to close. That's where the normal nobles sat.
But above ...
Numerous balconies hung suspended in the air, not exactly attached to anything. They had faint, glowing marks that fluttered from bright to a dull, deemed light.
Any rank higher than Marquess had the option to be in one of these, and it was certainly rare.
Some looked up, but they barely had the time to squint as the lights flickered off.
Darkness engulfed the auditorium, and a wave of silence followed. The curtains swept open, and suddenly, balls of light twinkled in the theater. Lines shot from them, connecting to other balls. At first, it was like it was randomized, but it slowly made a pattern.
Stairs.
The house gasped as someone began to descend the stairs. A screen fixated on the man.
His wore a sophisticated and ornate ensemble featuring a high-collared, ruffled white blouse with intricate lace details, paired with black trousers and a cinched waist. The outfit is accented by a black and white cape adorned with embroidered patterns of red and a gold brooch. White gloves and a chalice completed the look, which was placed onto another glowing platform.
He flashes a smile, teeth sterile in the light. It wasn't a full smile, just something to please the audience.
His hair was a show of white and chestnut black, like it couldn't settle on a singular scheme.
The most unique thing about him was his eyes. It was like his eyes were cracked glass. They shimmered with grace, authority and dominance. Encased by a darker gray, it was shadowed by longish eyelashes of white and brown, patterned like a zebra's fur, each fiber making it look enchanting.
His alluring gaze was brutally interrupted by something that striked his left eye. Etched to the skin like a burdening vow, a singular velvet red streak snaked atop of his whitened eyebrow and halted shortly after passing over his eye. A burst of markings, like a child's messed tapestry, scattered over the eye. A wing stood out, graceful and feathered, leading to the head that was a flower. Plants of white ablazed across the eye, showing more signs of feathers than its petaled figure. They pulled back to his ears, both glimmering with midnight red earrings framed with lingered vintage gold.
He raised a gloved hand to his inscribed eye, he waved his free hand as cheers came from the crowd.
A microphone floated to his pale lips, and he accepted it, fingers wrapping around the black metal.
"Hello everyone," he said, his voice melodic. Wisps of lilting laced his sing-song voice like a sword, enforcing the practiced sound taught to capture your target perfectly.
"Let me introduce myself. My name is Lyle, second prince of the Opalinte Kingdom."
"I'm your co-host for today, and the host of this magic show!" His arm swung as he bowed deeply, adding to his charm. "I am delighted to show off this cast, and I hope you enjoy your evening."
Righting himself, he gave another smile, this time smaller than the first one. "Now, are you ready to watch a performance never seen before?"
Before anyone could respond, his hand moved from his eye, and the stairs which helped him down instantly vanished. The house was engulfed by darkness once again.
And again, something stirred. The show has begun.
Fire darted across the roof's lighting, weaving through the beams and candles of chandeliers, careful not to set any on fire.
Its orange and yellow color swept back towards a mage that stood on the stage, her hands expertly lacing the edges of the ball. As she did, more appeared doing the same trick. They merged with the fireball that already was growing huge in the mage's hand, red now radiant in the flame. She threw it in the air, her face that was lit with red and orange shadowing again.
A arrow shot right through the center. It crackled with energy, supported by wind magic. Dispersing, embers flicked out. Then words formed.
'Cecil and Aaron.'
The girl smiled as a man dropped down beside her. Cheers came from the crowd as they finally started their real show.
Blink.
Cinereous eyes coruscated from light nictated. Their depths darkened more from the shift of the body.
A man sat, one arm planted on a small table beside him, and the other on the armrest. A leg was swung onto the other, giving him a look of grimness.
His hair was slicked back, some locks free from the gel. Strands shadowed his face like persisting animals.
A scar snaked his neck, starting from underneath his chin, branching off as it thinned to a halt smoothly at his collarbone. Thickish eyebrows twitched with mild amusement, his chest covered with a black blazer, cloaked by a long black overcoat that clung loosely to his large shoulders. The three-piece suit compressed a white collared shirt, a black tie nestled in the small, available space.
Tailored trousers covered his legs, a noir belt strapped over his waist with glimmering silver locks. Silver buttons sprouted down his blazer, matching the belt's perfectly.
Black gloves masked his hands, and a watch glittering of gray completed the look.
He watched in silence, his face not showing the slightest hint of emotion.
A hand moved to his face, covering his mouth as a calculating look entered his eyes.
Light trickled throughout the dark filter that was placed over his glass window, but he didn't move.
"Sir," a voice sounded. A servant walked in, dressed in a neat, clean suit. Her hair was pulled to a bun, and hands with transparent gloves. She held a tray, charted with randomized foods. Sweets sat in the corner, whereas two drinks and a plate of steak dominated the tray.
"This is a special order for you, Marquess." She dipped her head as she showed the tray to him.
The Marquess's eyes trailed over to the tray. "I don't want it." He said simply, waving away the tray. "Give it to someone else."
"It's a special order..." The servant's voice was laced with nervousness.
His eyes narrowed as he said, "I don't want it."
Sighing, she turned away. The door closed behind her as the balcony started to move. The man then fixed his posture. From a more relaxed one to something that suggested work.
"Is it done?"
"Yes, sir," a cheerful voice responded back to him. In his right ear, something blinked of blue light. "Everything is ready."
"We only need your sign to continue." Another voice came, more laid-back and masculine. "Do you want us to start?"
About two performances had finished, and they were quite entertaining. Their orders were to impress the audience, but hold back. After all, the real show was about to start. Lyle walked on stage again, passing by the mages that had just finished their performance. He held the microphone to his mouth again, raising an arm into the air.
- "The prince is up!"
- "Finally!"
- "He's got something new for us to see, and I can't wait for it."
"As you may know," he started. "I-"
He said, "Start."
'Heh.' The blue light spun off, and the man closed his eyes. A sudden blast of light erupted in his eyelids. Keeping his eyes closed, the man stood up, crossing his arms. He kept them closed for a few seconds, the sounds of screams drifting in his ears. Opening them, he gazed down at the scene that unfolded beneath him.
Nobles were splayed about the seats, everyone frantically moving. Their shouts were muffled by the glass, but it was obvious that they were terrified beyond comprehension.
Big, full barriers of green and blue pulsed as they surrounded the prince, who's smile had dropped, and his expression sharp.
A light bomb.
Bombs of light, a rare ability, where the user has the skills to shape their light magic into a ball, either sending it to explode or doing so on command. It can be planted anywhere, and the only trigger is to shatter the circle of magic for it to dianate.
And the man had that on his side.
As the doors to the theater opened, guests spilled out to the hallways. Nobody froze in panic, nor questioned if it was supposed to a part of the show.
They already knew exactly what it was.
Too bad.
Snapping his fingers together, a screen of his own popped up in front of him. He watched as the crowd of chaos trampled anything in their wake: vases toppled over, curtains ruffled, security baffled.
In the chaos, a figure moved towards the place of concern. They were dressed as a security guard, looking casual and blended in.
Reaching the doors, lingering guests pushed them as they fled out.
Their steps echoed in the now damaged theater. Damaged, but not at the same time.
Looking up, the guard's eyes were set upon the prince that stood on the now dusted stage.
His expression of disdain was obvious.
"Guard-"
"I'm not a guard," the person said, and a whirlwind of black encased the figure, dispersing as new, darker clothes adorned them.
"Mafia," Lyle said, eyes narrowing.
The person offered a toothy grin.
"Why did you crash the Ball?" His hand slid to his chin. "And where's the rest of you?" His eyes darted to the seats, then atop the balconies.
"Are they hiding?"
"You're acting like I'll tell you," the person said, starting to walk towards the stage. Lyle's face became guarded, but he didn't move an inch from his spot.
"We only have a message for you."
It didn't look like the Prince expected that. "A message?" He said, his voice edged with distrust.
"A message that nobody else needs to hear."
The Marquess laid a hand onto the glass before him, and the filter shattered, bringing the transparent material with it. Instantly, the prince's eyes locked onto the man.
It was clear that his brain started to work the possibilities. Marquess and up. Marquess and up. 5 Marquesses in the kingdom. A fake? Or the actual case?
He glided down to the floor, hands in his pockets. As he touched the ground, his mouth opened.
"The second prince to Opalinte's throne, the one racing against his surprisingly younger brother, Marcus."
"I have this message just for you, and you only."
Blinking, the face of the Marquess changed. From a black haired, green eyed man to a brown haired, brown eyed man with more refined, but blurred features. He picked glasses from his suit pocket, their rims of rhinestone and gold. Fixing it onto his nosebridge, he gave a vague smile. "We are moving."
"War would be unavoidable, and this kingdom would fall."
"Why're we telling you this?"
"You don't need to know."
"But this is what you should know."
"The Saint of the Dead is coming."
"He's prepared, has plans, and will take over this place."
"But you are quite the threat, I must say."
"Not as much as to get recognized from him."
"The Saint."
"You have two options." The new face raised an arm, two fingers up.
"One, you can back out and leave this place. Call off the engagement, and don't interfere."
"You can live, after all." He tilted his head, smiling. Lyle's mouth tightened at that.
"Or two,"
"Die."
"Die, and your kingdom falls also. Your name, that's glamored and adored, will be dragged in mud, as your existence will be the sole reason your citizens dies. Even after death, they will not let you rest. And we'll make sure of that."
"Choose."
The ' Marquess's ' words were met with deadly silence. The prince's face was now dark. His fists were tight, and he looked like he was trembling from rage.
He already knew what was going to happen. If he chose one, his actions would go with backlash, but not much. As the events of whatever the Mafia had planned unfolded, so will the intent behind his cutting of ties will be too.
He would have to live with the shame, being talked behind his back, and looked upon for being the coward of the kingdom.
If he decided not to leave...
He's going to gain respect, honor, and praise for not backing out out of fear, but that, realistically, is the worst opinion.
He's going to die, after all.
If he chooses two, all of the bliss is going to be short lived. The kingdom is going to go under attack from the Mafia, and every plan the generals of Opalinte makes, hts going to be proven useless.
Him, being the genius of the kingdom, isn't actually that. He leeches off of other's reasoning, twisting their words to a half original statement with credits to him. He hears about the opposing plans from spies, and can't make any prediction without the whispers of 'rumors' floating in the heads of the generals as well.
The moment he fails, the kingdom is going to descend into ruin.
He is going to be blamed for citizens deaths,
He is going to be hated for staying by his finacee's side.
Either he will be hunted down by people of his own kingdom, or he's going to be finished off by the Mafia.
Even after his death, the hatred won't seize.
And why he's fearing all of this?
Easy.
It's Him.
The Saint never speaks lies.
Gritting his teeth, he looked up. So the possibility of that happening, everything, is true. Very true.
Then he smiled. A shaky, uncertain smile, that was apparent- if it wasn't for the darkness.
The man with glasses noticed that, and his look of vague amusement disappeared as he gazed at the prince with distaste.
"What?"
"You know exactly what I'm choosing," he said, raising his head. The room was still dark, the lights off.
But it did shine down on him.
"I'm choosing option two," he said, his voice filled with confidence.
"You have no concern of your kingdom?" The man asked, eyes casted upward, voice strangled as if he was holding back a laugh. He tapped his lips, a smile cascading over the thin line as he waited for a response.
Lyle returned the smile, confidence radiating off of him. "Of course I am," he said, arms raising to the sky. Then he dropped them- mildly, suspending them in air, fingers spread as he stepped up, his posture now relaxed. "There's only one problem on your end-" suddenly, a blast of feathers scattered from above. In a split second, the two people backed off, the person adorned in deep black scoffing, as the other with glasses held onto the spectacles with two fingers, gaze never leaving the prince's frame.
A divine light, blazing yet dazzlingly diaphanous, washed the stage with a gentle grace, enveloping the scene completely- casting the shadows away without much resistance. As the prince glowed in the light, a figure emerged from the radiance-- no, materialized, arms out, skin white.
Color swam in, soaking the person-- beautiful- pale skin, long, flowy hair of a cherry-platinum blonde, eyelashes that pertained to an almost white,
Slim, fit body swathed in the hues of a newborn star, gossamer silk fluttering as it came to rest mid-air,
And piercing, beautifully harmonized features, fit with eyes that only stared at Lyle.
Plus, Lyle with the most boastful smile in history.
Was that his summon?
"That problem is me," he said, hand resting on his chest as arms gently brushed his neck, the woman clung to him- still in the air, as he spoke, saying, " and if you can ever catch me, "
"Me amor."
He disappeared-- just like that. The feathers faded with the presence of the being, the light scattering into tiny, yet noticable particles at the absence of a host.
Silence engulfed the theater after the scene.
..
"He said that phrase wrong," the brown haired man said, brushing off his suit. Placing his hands in his pockets, he looked around, eyes sharp before glancing at the other person. "What are you doing, Xanthe?"
The void-cladded figure had a hand to their ear, eyes wide and stance frozen. Then they lifted their head, saying, "fucking hell, Reign,"
"The Saint disappeared."