The Imperial Banquet began with a grand flourish—music from stringed instruments echoed through the gilded halls, noblewomen in shimmering gowns twirled across polished marble floors, and fragrant dishes filled the air with the scent of decadence. The Empire's might was on full display, masked behind silk and gold.
A cluster of Walpurgis Academy attendees—professors in ceremonial robes, students froze mid-conversation. Recognition lit some faces. Others paled.
"That's Aden Vasco, isn't it?" one student spoke out.
"What's he doing here!?", another whispered.
"I heard he died in Dahaka", whispered another student.
They remained puzzled, unsure what to make of Aden's sudden entrance.
From his elevated seat, the Emperor rose, raising a crystal goblet.
"Tonight," he declared, voice smooth as polished obsidian, "we celebrate not only the founding of our great Empire and the birthday of our beloved Princess, but the triumph of those who returned from the darkest place we know."
His gaze swept the room, then landed on a figure below. "Aden Vasco. Step forward."
Aden moved through the crowd, each step sharp and deliberate. The chatter fell away, tension thickening with every strike of his boots against the marble floor. He stopped before the throne, posture straight, face cold.
The Emperor unraveled a scroll, voice cutting through the silence.
"Aden Vasco, and the Eighth Hounds, were sent to Dahaka. You all know the name. A cursed region, where even seasoned generals meet their end. There, they destroyed orc settlements, felled a High Orc, and reclaimed land thought lost for generations."
A wave of gasps passed through the hall.
"He's barely a day older than sixteen," a Count whispered, disbelief dripping from his voice.
"Dahaka..?" muttered a knight of Sael.
"And yet this boy returned?" said a noblewoman, her voice barely above a whisper.
The King of Sael leaned in close to his children, eyes fixed on Aden. "Make sure to keep an eye on him."
Aden stood silent and composed, his presence coiling like a drawn blade.
Bren, standing just behind, leaned in with a low voice, "They can't decide what to do. Dahaka was supposed to be your grave. Now that you came back, they can't help but be amazed."
Before more words could be traded, a new presence approached.
Ed Vasco.
He and Aden locked eyes. The silence that followed was almost reverent.
"You've changed," Ed said, tone unreadable.
"Had to."
Ed's gaze lingered a moment longer, searching. "We'll talk again. Once the echoes settle."
As he turned away, murmurs followed in his wake.
The King of Sael, watching, looked up at Ed Vasco and felt the past crawl back into his bones. A battlefield. Corpses like fallen leaves. A single man standing, soaked in blood, defiant beneath the storm.
His children leaned in.
"Father," the prince asked, "why were you so cautious around Duke Vasco?"
The King of Sael's eyes stayed fixed on Ed Vasco across the chamber. "Vasco isn't a name to be taken lightly," he said, his voice low. "I'll tell you more once we return."
Bren sidled up next to Aden, whispering, "Sael and Chronos are allies now, sure, but it's politics, not trust. The Dukes smile like old friends and eye each other like prey. This room? It's just a battlefield dressed in velvet."
A noblewoman clinked her glass too loud, eyes darting toward Aden, then away. Another whispered to her husband about the Hound of Dahaka. Fear spread quietly, like spilled ink.
The Emperor raised a hand. Silence returned instantly.
"Tonight, we honor those who fought. Those who endured."
A servant carried forward a silver case. The Emperor opened it, revealing a ceremonial sword—midnight black with runes engraved into the hilt.
"A gift," he announced. "To Aden Vasco, heir of House Vasco."
From the nobles stepped Lord Verrien, a lithe man whose gaze held the gleam of a blade half-drawn.
"If I may, Your Majesty," he said smoothly, bowing. "I propose we test this young hero's edge. A duel. Friendly, of course. A taste of steel, not blood."
A few laughed lightly, but most watched with rapt attention.
The Emperor looked to Aden. "Do you accept?"
Aden's gaze sharpened, voice low and controlled, "Bring it on."
Verrien's smirk twitched. "Then let's see if your scars match your stories."
Aden stepped forward, unsheathing his weapon with a hiss. "Stories? I've bled for every word."
The crowd circled them, breath held tight with anticipation.
The Emperor's voice echoed like thunder. "Begin."