~Where Even Pride Bows to Power~
The last of the noble ladies stepped away, leaving behind a hushed air and a trail of soft fragrances. Kel remained by the side of the hall, having just demonstrated grace where many expected weakness.
He exhaled slowly.
Not relief.
Not satisfaction.
Precision.
Nights like this were not won; they were managed.
He gently placed his glass onto the silver table beside him.
I've planted enough threads for tonight. No need to pull them early.
A soft murmur spread in waves across the Lunar Hall. Not from gossip now—but from alertness.
Something was coming.
The kind of silence that falls before a shift.
It began with the guards straightening outside the great doors. Then courtiers fixing their posture. Conversations reduced to whispers. Heads turned toward the main entrance, eyes sharpening with anticipation—or calculation.
A noblewoman near the center paused mid-sip, eyes widening slightly.
"He's arrived."
And the entire hall reacted as if a storm front had just stepped into their borders.
The Doors Open
The blackened oak doors of the Grand Lunar Hall parted once more.
But unlike Kel's silent entry…
This one resonated with weight.
The sound was deliberate.
Slow.
Like an ancient judge opening the pages of a long-forgotten ledger.
Two lines of Rosenfeld knights stood to full attention at the hallway. Their armor, ceremonial yet combat-tempered, gleamed under moonstone light.
From the shadows beyond the threshold…
A figure stepped forward.
Duke Arcturus von Rosenfeld enters the hall
He wore no ostentatious attire — only a black high-collared coat reinforced with military leather along shoulders and sleeves. A cloak hung from his left side, trimmed subtly in dark crimson.
His hair, jet black streaked with a faint thread of iron-gray, was tied back neatly. His expression was unreadable… but his presence was like weight manifest.
Eyes of steel — quiet, severe — cutting through the hall with unbroken composure.
He did not walk.
He advanced.
With the precision of a blade that had never known failure.
Behind him marched his command officers — disciplined, unspeaking. Their steps mirrored his rhythm like silent thunder.
Every noble straightened — some bowed, some merely inclined their heads — but none ignored him.
Because ignoring Duke Arcturus Rosenfeld… was like ignoring a sword at your throat.
The Atmosphere Freezes
Conversations died completely.
No orchestra.
No laughter.
Only the echo of his boots.
Classical hierarchy recognition at work.
He was not king.
But here…
He was dominance.
Near the balcony, Prince Adrian Aurelius observed quietly.
"…So the rumors were true."
"Rosenfeld walks like he carries continents on his shoulders."
The prince smirked faintly.
"…Now I see where that boy gets his eyes."
Duke's Eyes Scan the Hall
Arcturus's gaze moved slowly across the nobles — measuring them without interest.
Those who feared lowered their chin first.
Those ambitious stiffened, maintaining composure.
Those truly powerful simply nodded.
He acknowledged none of it.
Until…
His eyes landed on a lone figure standing quietly near the side of the hall.
Not at the center.
Not seeking visibility.
Just existing—steadily.
Father and Son
Kel did not avert his gaze.
He did not bow first.
He merely straightened his posture slightly more.
Four years since the game's beginning sequence, he thought.
Two lifetimes since I watched this moment happen on a screen.
In every game timeline, the duke ignored Kel.
Tonight…
Arcturus's gaze lingered.
For three seconds.
Not long.
But longer than ever before.
Kel's mental voice sharpened.
So he remembers I exist.
Then he bowed.
Exactly the minimum depth required to greet one's father in public as a noble heir.
No deeper.
No shallower.
"Welcome home, Father," Kel said softly.
Formality held perfectly.
Noble Reactions
"He addressed the duke properly."
"His voice did not waver…"
"Was that… confidence?"
"Has he always greeted the duke like that?"
"No. He used to rush or tremble."
Lady Maelina Ravensong's fan paused mid-air.
"…A measured bow. Not seeking approval."
"…Interesting."
Duke's Response
The duke's eyes held Kel for one… two…
Then he gave a slight nod.
No word.
No expression.
Just — acknowledgment.
But in noble language…
That single nod struck louder than thunder.
For nobles, acknowledgment from a man like Arcturus Rosenfeld — especially to the heir believed useless — meant re-evaluation.
It meant the boy still counted.
For now.
Kel's Inner Thoughts
His heartbeat remained slow.
Calculated.
That was his public acceptance of my presence.
Not approval.
Not recognition.
But permission.
And that was enough.
Kel breathed in once.
He looked down at the reflected marble beneath his boots.
I made a good presence of mine tonight.
A faint exhale.
I did not bow too low.
Nor did I stand too tall.
He lifted his chin slightly again.
Then looked around.
The hall's attention had shifted.
Not entirely to him… but toward him.
A difference.
A beginning.
Closing Scene – Atmosphere Shift
As the duke moved deeper into the hall, nobles parted before him, reforming paths like water restructuring around stone.
Kel observed.
He did not follow.
He stayed where he stood.
Position chosen.
Presence not pushed.
He silently returned to his glass of wine.
But this time…
When people glanced his way…
It wasn't curiosity or pity.
It was calibrating.
Final Lines
The dragon arrived.
And the hall bowed.
But somewhere in the quiet corner…
A seed stood unbroken.
Kel's fingers traced the rim of the glass silently.
Tonight, I entered as a forgotten chapter.
I will leave as a page they will remember.
He turned slightly toward the noble clusters.
Eyes calm.
Now… let them wonder.
If the duke returns with such presence…
what will the heir be when he returns with strength?