A BUTLER AMONG BIG SHOT
Few people in the hall could quite understand it.
Why would —that Kael, heir-adjacent to one of the oldest merchant dynasties on the continent be standing beside a man no one recognized?
Whispers threaded through the air like silk-bound blades.
"Who is that with him?"
"I've never seen him before."
"Did Kael lose a bet?"
Juno stood calmly at Kael's side, hands loosely clasped behind his back, posture relaxed enough to read as confidence rather than ignorance. He wore one of the outfits he had purchased earlier clean lines, restrained luxury. Nothing ostentatious. Nothing that begged attention.
Which only made the attention sharper.
Kael, on the other hand, looked amused.
He leaned slightly toward Juno and murmured, "You don't seem bothered."
Juno replied without moving his lips. "Being underestimated is useful."
Kael chuckled softly. "True. Still, they're curious. I don't usually talk to nobodies."
Juno turned his head just enough to meet Kael's eyes. "We've only met once."
"And yet," Kael said lightly, "that once was… memorable."
That, more than anything, unsettled the onlookers.
Because Kael Mayflower did not remember people casually.
Juno's attention drifted not to the crowd, but upward.
For a brief moment, his breath stalled.
There it was again.
That pressure.
Not hostile. Not benevolent.
Watching.
Not with eyes, but with existence.
His vision blurred for half a second as something vast brushed past his awareness, like a shadow crossing the sun far above the clouds.
Juno's fingers twitched.
Then....
It vanished.
As though it had never been there.
He exhaled slowly, grounding himself.
"I'll soon recover my lost strength," he murmured under his breath, words meant for no one but himself.
Kael glanced at him. "You say something?"
"No," Juno replied smoothly. "Just reminding myself."
Kael studied him for a second longer than necessary, then smiled and turned back to the crowd.
"Come," Kael said, raising his voice just enough to carry. "There are people you should meet."
The shift was immediate.
Conversations paused. Eyes sharpened.
Kael began introducing Juno mot loudly, not dramatically but deliberately.
"This is Chairman Volker."
"A pleasure."
"Director Shen."
"Interesting to meet you."
"Lady Aurelion."
Her gaze lingered on Juno for a moment, then she smiled thinly. "Ah. So you're the reason Kael canceled his luncheon."
Juno inclined his head. "I apologize for the inconvenience."
She laughed softly. "You don't sound sorry."
"I'm not," Juno replied pleasantly.
Kael laughed outright.
Each introduction landed like a stone dropped into still water.
Because Kael was lending something far more valuable than praise.
He was lending attention.
Across the hall, Zeyna Roman was doing the same though in a very different way.
She moved with elegance, her smile calculated, her words precise. She spoke to financiers, diplomats, heirs, and patrons of old blood. She listened more than she talked. She let people feel heard.
And slowly, imperceptibly, her circle grew.
She noticed the shift in Juno's orbit from across the room.
Not admiration.
Not jealousy.
Something closer to awe and caution.
What are you? she wondered.
The doors opened again.
Kingsley Arden arrived like he owned the space between steps.
His presence was loud in a way he would deny if accused confidence sharpened to arrogance, influence worn like a tailored coat. His laughter rang a little too freely, his gaze scanning the room for affirmation.
Then he saw Juno.
The scoff escaped him before he could stop it.
"Still here," Kingsley muttered.
Juno did not look at him.
Did not react.
Did not acknowledge his existence at all.
That stung more than any insult.
Kingsley's jaw tightened. He turned sharply and headed toward a woman near the eastern table elegant, older, her posture regal.
His aunt.
Lady Arden.
"Aunt," Kingsley said, leaning in to kiss her cheek. "I hope you haven't been bored."
She glanced past him almost immediately.
Her eyes narrowed slightly.
"…Interesting," she murmured.
Kingsley followed her gaze and felt his irritation flare.
Juno. Again.
A man near the refreshment table scoffed loudly, his voice carrying just enough to be heard.
"The Mayflower family only sent a butler?" he said with open disdain. "What do they take this gathering for?"
A few heads turned.
Then....
Movement.
The entrance doors opened once more.
A man stepped inside.
He wore a plain black suit. No insignia. No visible jewelry. His hair was neatly combed, his posture perfect. His expression neutral to the point of emptiness.
A butler.
But not just any butler.
Those who recognized him stiffened.
Smiles appeared fast, practiced, deferential.
"Welcome."
"It's an honor."
"I didn't expect you personally."
The scoffer paled.
Because the Mayflower "butler" was not a servant.
He was Albrecht.
The man who negotiated wars as logistics problems.
The man who once escorted a Mayflower patriarch through a battlefield while armies stopped fighting out of sheer uncertainty.
Albrecht inclined his head slightly, acknowledging the greetings without warmth.
His gaze moved through the hall.
And stopped.
On Juno.
For half a second, something unreadable flickered in his eyes.
Then he smiled.
Just barely.
Elsewhere: The Ancient Hall
Far removed from silk and crystal, beneath stone that had never known polish, an ancient hall lay hidden from the modern world.
No banners. No lights.
Only darkness, broken by cold white flames.
Numerous figures in black hoods stood in perfect stillness, their faces concealed, their presence heavy with devotion and fear.
At the far end of the hall stood three thrones carved from pale stone.
Upon them sat three men in white robes.
Their faces were visible.
Ageless.
Not young. Not old.
Simply… there.
The Three Great Gods' Priests of the Ancient Gods Church.
"The aura has spread too far," said the priest on the left, his voice echoing unnaturally.
"Even sealed lands have felt it."
"It has disrupted balances long held," said the one on the right. "Several dormant entities have stirred."
The central priest opened his eyes.
When he did, the flames bowed.
"The god is unknown," he said calmly. "That alone is unacceptable."
A black-hooded figure stepped forward and knelt. "Great Ones, what are your instructions?"
"Find it," said the central priest.
"Observe it," said the left.
"And if necessary," said the right, "bind or destroy it."
The hall trembled faintly as the words settled into reality.
The hooded figures bowed deeply.
They did not notice...
....that someone else stood among them.
No hood.
No shadow.
No presence at all.
An intrusion so complete it bypassed perception itself.
A god agent.
Invisible not by illusion, but by irrelevance.
The agent stood only a few steps from the thrones, head slightly tilted, listening.
So, the agent thought silently, the old gods have truly awakened.
The priests continued speaking, unaware.
"They believe us to be centuries old," one said.
The agent's lips curved faintly.
If only they knew.
The agent turned, stepping backward and vanished without disturbing a single flame.
Convergence
Back at the gala, laughter and conversation swelled again.
Juno felt the pressure return faint, distant.
The world was narrowing.
Zeyna glanced toward him, catching his eye across the room.
For the briefest instant, something passed between them.
Understanding.