Chapter 29: The Shadow After the Storm
The ballroom was still draped in silence.
After Sirius had poured the crimson drink over the girl's trembling face and walked away with the same unbothered grace he always carried, the air had become thick—too heavy to breathe, too sharp to speak into. Nobles stood frozen in place, their carefully rehearsed smiles faltering, fans half-raised and forgotten, glasses trembling ever so slightly in stunned hands. Only the haunting echo of Sirius's footsteps remained in their ears, and the image of the wine dripping down the girl's pale gown seared into every gaze.
The orchestra had stopped playing without instruction. The dancers had long halted. All attention had been seized by that single moment—irreversible and unforgettable.
Some were shocked.
Some were thrilled.
And some were terrified.
Whispers erupted once the door closed behind him.
"Did you see the look in his eyes?"
"He didn't even raise his voice… yet the whole room froze."
"He didn't hesitate."
"And the girl—what was her name again?"
No one remembered. Or rather, no one dared to say it aloud.
Because by the end of that night, what had once been an ambitious noble daughter was now just a stain at the heart of an unforgettable scandal. Her name was irrelevant now—Sirius had ensured it.
The Emperor's men watched with narrowed eyes, but said nothing. The high-ranking nobles began reassessing their alliances. Some whispered that Sirius, now a Grand Swordmaster and a 9th Class Magician at only sixteen, had become someone even the Empire couldn't fully control.
"He's too powerful," muttered a marquis near the wine table. "Too cold."
"He didn't even flinch."
"Not even when his mother spoke."
But beneath the unease was fascination—deep, spellbound fascination. The kind reserved for legends. Gods. Monsters.
The nobles had seen prodigies before. But Sirius Farah Von Ross was something else. He didn't simply stand above the Empire.
He stood apart from it.
And unlike others who climbed high, Sirius never reached for approval, nor did he pretend to care for admiration. His strength was effortless, his silence loud, and his disdain for court niceties now evident to all.
While some feared him, others grew bold in their worship.
"He's like the blade of the moonlight," one lady murmured, gazing out the tall arched windows.
Her companion frowned. "Don't compare him to that. The moon is sacred."
She nodded quickly, correcting herself. "You're right. He's… only her follower."
The Grand Duke remained composed through the evening, though his jaw had tensed and his wine glass remained untouched.
The Grand Duchess, however, had turned pale, her smile frozen into something between a plea and a warning. She had looked at the girl—now whisked away by her embarrassed mother—and then toward the closed doors through which her son had vanished.
Her heart had cracked, though no one saw it.
The rift between mother and son had deepened, and all knew this wound would not heal easily.
Later that night, the party attempted to recover. The music returned. The wine continued to flow. The nobility laughed again—but it was a different laughter. More cautious. More strained. Every word was weighed. Every smile rehearsed.
And all the while, the moon above the Grand Duke's estate shone, still and watchful.
Sirius never returned to the ballroom.
Because he didn't need to.
He had already spoken—and the world had heard him.