I stood before a gilded mirror, my reflection framed by curtains of drifting incense. The private quarters allotted to me were far too grand—vaulted ceilings painted with celestial murals; marble floors etched in glowing script. I'd fought armies, slain beasts, and outwitted demonic wind and frozen heart cultivators but nothing in my life had prepared me for silk robes.
I tugged at the black and crimson ensemble draped across my frame—the formal regalia of a royal fiancé, tailored for someone who didn't normally fight in a glorified loincloth. The chest plate was etched with stylized flames, the shoulders threaded with faint qi-reactive fabric that shimmered when I breathed.
Felicity—my silver-blood phage symbiote and ever-present co-cultivator—manifested in the mirror as a silver reflection, arms crossed and eyes narrowed. "Don't you think things are moving a little fast!? she said flatly. "You look like an assassin attending a wedding! Which I guess that isn't too far from the truth."
I winced adjusting the collar, suppressing a grin. It was true, it was far too formal, and it made me feel odd. I remembered that I was in feminine will of Mystic Central and looking at my image in the gilded mirror, already so vastly stripped of my wild warrior monk appearance made me realize the profound truth of how subtle the influence of Mystic Central was. How fast it could change a person's aura and pool of mental energy. The Will of Mystic Central was subtle and pervasive, and I knew it would change me utterly if I didn't escape it.
My heart felt a pang of regret. For the wilds, for high adventure, for my dream of reaching the holy martial path and true immortal core realm. I knew then looking at my reflection that I did want to live out my life in Ichikawa's courts. Felicity cut in, "It's court attire, not a funeral shroud. Try not to brood so hard you turn the silk matte."
From beyond the carved doors came the low thunder of celebration—flutes, drums, and the hum of hundreds of qi signatures mingling like fireflies. The palace was alive with it: nobles drinking, generals boasting, and every cultivator whispering about the upstart from Beast Vein Continent who'd claimed the Emperor's daughter and her veil.
I exhaled, rolling my shoulders. "They're probably still deciding on if they really want me to claim Herja or collar me."
"Both," Felicity said, inspecting an imaginary manicure. "Likely in that order." There was a light foot step outside the door and Felicity quickly ''recalled'' into me through argent light.
The door slid open with a whisper. Herja Ichikawa stood there, framed in lantern light. She was shorter than me, but taller than Felicity. She wore a white and gold toga, her sun-fire hair unbound, cascading like liquid dawn. Her gaze flicked over me once, assessing, and a faint smile curved her lips.
"You look almost domesticated," she said, stepping inside without waiting for invitation. The scent of jasmine and frost followed her, a contradiction that seemed to define her.
"I'm still adjusting," I replied, tugging at my collar. "Silk feels more dangerous than steel."
Herja's laugh was low, melodic, but with an edge that could cut jade. "I don't think the suit suits you, no pun intended. The wild man polished into a prince. My father is very pleased."
I grunted, watching her glide closer, "He plans to keep us in this palace for the next six months" Herja Said flatly.
She stopped a few feet away, close enough that the air between us hummed with unspoken challenge. "That was his plan, but I have decided otherwise." My brow arched. "Decided otherwise?"
Herja tilted her head, the veil of command dropping for just a breath—revealing something almost conspiratorial. "You and I are to be wed, Ashriel of Beast Vein. But I have no intention of marrying a stranger."
"So what do you propose?"
Herja's eyes gleamed like twin green flames. "We travel. Together. Beyond Mystic Central's walls. I want to see what kind of man the continent calls its sovereign slayer—and I want you to see what kind of woman being an emperor's daughter made me." Felicity appeared faintly in the mirror, mouthing a silent "don't you dare." I pretended not to notice. "Your father will object," I said instead.
Herja smiled, slow and deliberate. "He'll object loudly. Which is why we'll leave quietly."
The corners of my mouth twitched. "You're asking me to elope before the wedding?"
Herja rolled her eyes, "Not elope," she corrected. "I want to see how dangerous you are." Herja took me in, looking me up and down. "You lifted the boulder of the Sun, fought with beasts, and the very laws of nature—but tell me, Ashriel, can you survive six months in my company?"
I met her gaze evenly, the fire in her eyes mirrored by the faint glow of my Glacial Soul. "I guess we're going to find out" I said evenly.
Herja's lips quirked, caught between amusement and exasperation. "Keep it packed. We leave at dawn."
She turned to go, her sun-fire hair catching the lantern light like the promise of a dangerous sunrise.
As the door slid shut behind her, Felicity muttered, "You're doomed."
I exhaled through a grin. "Probably."
The banquet hall of Mystic Central was an empire unto itself—vaulted like a cathedral, but alive with movement and sound. Lanterns of floating glass drifted beneath the ceiling and through the air, their flames fed by energizing origami arrays strategically placed throughout the mystic palace. The atmosphere shimmered in hues of blue and gold. Tables stretched like rivers of carved obsidian, laden with dishes from every continent—crimson beast fruit, steaming moon rice, cuts of leviathan meat that shimmered faintly with embedded qi.
Music, subtle and haunting, echoed from an ensemble of flautists. The scent of spiced lotus wine hung in the air like an enchantment.
I stood near Herja, half a step behind her—technically her equal now, but still the outsider. The court buzzed around us like a hive of jeweled insects: ministers, nobles, and cultivators bowing and whispering, eyes darting to me with a mix of curiosity and calculation.
Then the Emperor rose.
Tenzen Ichikawa , Heaven's Mandate made flesh, lifted his chalice. His smile was the kind that could warm the world or freeze it, depending on how it tilted. "Tonight," he declared, "we celebrate the joining of two great destinies—the fire of Ichikawa and the storm of Beast Vein. Let every continent bear witness to this union."
The hall erupted in applause. I bowed slightly, more out of instinct than etiquette. Herja stood unmoving, regal and unreadable beside me.
Then she appeared.
The Empress.
Lady Inari Ichikawa—Herja's mother—rose from her seat like the unfurling of a divine scroll. Her beauty was chilling, crystalline. Where the Emperor radiated celestial warmth, she was all polished ice and quiet gravity. Her hair was black as liquid obsidian, streaked faintly with threads of silver qi, her eyes a deep violet that carried the calm of a mind that had seen too much.
When she spoke, her voice was a bell wrapped in silk. "An impressive contest," she said, her gaze sweeping toward me. "Though I confess, my heart leaned toward Prince Edward of the Shrouded Mist. His Royal Mist Domain was… refined."
Herja's lips curved just slightly. "Mother, refinement doesn't always win battles." The Empress smiled thinly. "No. But it makes losing look elegant." A ripple of polite laughter moved through the court—careful, deferential laughter. I bowed slightly to her. "Prince Edward fought with honor. I was fortunate."
Her gaze lingered, assessing. "Fortune favors the bold, they say. Or the reckless."
"Sometimes they're the same thing," I said.
A dangerous spark flickered in her eyes, amusement and warning intertwined. "Then may your boldness serve the empire well, Ashriel of Beast Vein. My daughter's path is not a gentle one."
Herja interjected smoothly, "Nor is his."
The Emperor's laughter cut through the air, warm and resonant. "Enough of politics and preference. Tonight we drink not for victory, but for union!"
He raised his chalice. The court followed, a thousand voices echoing in unison, "Union and ascension!"
I lifted my own glass, the sweet burn of lotus wine hitting my tongue. But my mind lingered on the Empress—her gaze that never quite softened, the sense that she already knew more about me than I would ever be allowed to know about her. When the music swelled again, Herja leaned toward me, her voice just above the noise. "Don't be fooled by her serenity. My mother's will bends stars."
I smirked faintly. "So does yours."
She tilted her head, eyes glinting. "That's why she's wary of me."
Across the hall, the Empress sipped her wine without looking up, but I could have sworn the corner of her mouth curved—just barely.
The door to my quarters slid shut behind me with a hiss of sealing runes. The laughter and music of the banquet became a distant dream, muffled by the thick air of incense and silence.
A single lantern floated near the ceiling, its glow shifting between gold and indigo as if uncertain which realm it belonged to.
I exhaled and flicked my wrist—the air shimmered as my spirit ring pulsed. From that tiny pocket of dimensional space, my Dark Gear unfolded like the wings of a nocturnal beast. I undressed from the court attire and one by one, I armed myself.
The dark uwagi, woven from shadow-thread slid over my scales, feathers and crystal exterior and instantly dampened the ambient qi in the room. The chest plate, etched with hidden runes, locked into place with a soft chime, resonating with my pulse. Then the zubon's, followed by the gauntlets. Finally, the dark boots and dark helm with sliding face plate completing the armor's seamless unity of martial elegance and lethal purpose.
As I tightened the final strap, the world seemed to dim—the Dark Gear's field enveloped me, my aura collapsing inward until not even my own reflection in the mirror seemed certain of me.
Three seconds of total invisibility.
Three heartbeats to become a ghost.
Enough to kill a man—or vanish from the eyes of Heaven itself.
Felicity's reflection materialized behind me in the mirror, arms crossed, one silver eyebrow raised. Her tone was dry, but her eyes gleamed with mischief.
"So," she said, "when exactly do you plan to tell your fiery bride-to-be about me? Before or after she tries to purify you for harboring a symbiotic phage spirit in your soul sea?"
I smirked, fastening the last gauntlet. "You make it sound so scandalous. We've been through worse."
"Worse, yes. But not with a princess of Mystic Central. You realize Herja's type of qi could unmake me if she ever got curious enough to look too deep."
"She won't," I said, though I wasn't entirely certain. "Herja's perceptive—but she's not suspicious. Yet."
Felicity leaned forward through the mirror, her silver hair rippling like mercury. "You like her."
I was silent.
"You blushed when she called you out in the arena."
"That was qi backlash," I muttered.
She grinned. "Sure. Qi backlash. Classic symptom: turning crimson when the girl with sun-fire hair busts your chops."
I let the silence stretch, adjusting the hood of my uwagi. The armor's enchantments whispered faintly against my skin, harmonizing with my heartbeat.
Finally, I said, "Whatever this engagement is—it's politics. Once the Emperor's plan runs its course, she'll see me for what I am."
"And what are you?"
I glanced at the mirror. My reflection was already fading, the Dark Gear beginning to cloak me fully. Only my eyes remained visible, my right eye faint blue and sharp with glacial light.
"A wild beast" I said softly.
Felicity tilted her head with a sly grin, "We won't be surviving her for six months, she'll be surviving us."
Outside, the music of the celebration roared on, oblivious to the quiet war of secrets already unfolding.