Helix knew how to put on a spectacle.
Not in the vulgar sense of ostentation, but in the kind of grandeur that made people forget who was paying the price.
The gala hall occupied the heart of an old rebuilt cathedral—or rather, reinterpreted. The original walls were still there, centuries-old stone marked by symbols erased by time, but now they were pierced by translucent structures: reflective glass panels suspended in the air, like motionless blades capturing fragments of the environment.
Chandeliers floated without chains.
The music did not come from a visible orchestra, but from some diffuse point in space, as if the hall itself breathed in long, elegant chords.
Elowen crossed the main entrance with the rehearsed calm of someone who knew exactly where she did not belong.
She was dressed according to the event's code—dark silk, simple lines, no explicit symbols of affiliation—but her senses were far from relaxed. Each step was accompanied by layers of perception she had learned to hide from a very young age.
Don't look like a hunter.
Don't think like a foreigner.
Observe as if you were part of the reflection.
It worked. Partly.
— Impressive, isn't it? — commented a man beside her, holding a glass of liquid crystal. — Helix calls this "aesthetic neutrality."
Elowen smiled politely.
— Neutrality is never neutral — she replied.
The man laughed, assuming it was just social philosophy.
She made a mental note: Public Relations Director, mid-level, far too uncomfortable to be merely decorative.
A good start.
The ball brought together every layer that mattered.
Representatives of the Veiled Initiative, wearing symbols so discreet that only the trained would notice. Independent researchers trying to look harmless. Post-Revelation politicians with calibrated smiles. Investors who didn't understand Mana, but understood power.
And above all, the reflections.
Some surfaces in the hall did not reflect those who passed before them exactly. Small delays. Slightly incorrect angles. Faces that blinked a second after the original.
Elowen felt the familiar chill.
— They're forcing reflective layers in a social environment — she murmured to herself. — They want to see who reacts.
She adjusted her internal flow, stabilizing her presence. Not disappearing—that would draw too much attention—just… softening.
That was when she felt it.
Not a direct gaze.
But attention.
Coming from afar.
From something that didn't need to turn its head to perceive changes in space.
Hector Virell was present.
Not at the center of the hall. Not in the spotlight.
He occupied a lateral position, near one of the cathedral's old columns, speaking with two individuals Elowen recognized as Initiative operatives, though here they wore civilian clothes.
He seemed… displaced.
Not uncomfortable.
Temporally misaligned, like an old painting hung in a modern gallery.
Elowen did not look at him directly.
But something within her—something that did not belong to this world—reacted to his presence.
And Hector felt it.
The conversation ceased for half a second.
He did not turn his head.
He merely curled his fingers slightly behind his back.
Curious, he thought.
This was not in the calculations.
On the other side of the hall, Caliban Drexler was doing exactly what he did best: existing as the center without seeming like the center.
He laughed. He talked. He circulated.
Each group left the interaction with the uncomfortable feeling of having said a little more than they intended.
— Helix believes transparency builds trust — he said to a diplomat, smiling. — Even if that transparency is… carefully shaped.
His eyes, however, swept the hall constantly.
And then they stopped.
For an instant.
On Elowen.
Not because she stood out—she made a point of not standing out.
But because something about her did not reflect correctly in one of the suspended surfaces.
The reflection lagged.
Not due to a technical failure.
But due to hesitation.
Caliban felt his heart quicken slightly.
— Interesting… — he murmured.
— Sir? — the diplomat asked.
— Nothing. — He smiled. — Just modern art too much to my taste.
But it was already too late.
He had marked Elowen.
And, almost at the same time, he realized that Hector had too.
Two fixed points.
The same focus.
So it's you, Caliban thought.
The variable.
Elowen passed a group of Helix researchers discussing advances in liquid Mana containment.
— …stability increases when the fluid responds to conscious intent — said a silver-haired woman.
Elowen feigned casual interest.
— Whose intent? — she asked.
The researcher smiled, amused.
— That's the wrong question. The real question is: who believes they're in control.
Elowen stored that like a blade.
She moved deeper into the hall.
She could now clearly feel it: two overlapping fields of attention.
One was dense, ancient, patient.
The other sharp, curious, hungry.
She maintained her posture.
But inside, something vibrated.
They know.
Not who she was. Not yet.
But they knew that she should not be there.
Hector finally turned his face.
His eyes met Elowen's across the hall, over dozens of bodies, reflections, and layers.
There was no shock.
There was recognition.
Not personal.
Ontological.
— Fascinating… — he murmured. — So there is something crossing through.
Seraphine, at his side, followed his gaze.
— That woman?
— What sustains her — Hector corrected. — Was not born here.
At that same moment, Caliban Drexler raised his glass toward the hall, calling for general attention.
— Friends, partners, curious observers — he said, his voice clear and warm. — Tonight celebrates cooperation, the future, and possibilities.
The music softened.
— But above all — he continued — it celebrates improbable encounters.
His eyes passed over Hector.
Then over Elowen.
— Enjoy the ball — he concluded. — Some conversations only happen when we believe we are safe.
The music returned.
The lights shifted subtly.
And Elowen understood, with icy clarity:
the event had truly begun now.
Two immortals were watching her.
Each for opposite reasons.
Both deeply intrigued.
And for the first time since she had crossed into this world, Elowen felt something dangerously close to excitement.
Because sometimes, she thought,
the safest place for a being from another world
is precisely at the center of the attention of gods pretending to be men.