Aether is it?

The Winter Solstice Ball had always been more than just an extravagant celebration—it was a political showcase. A place where alliances were hinted at with a glance, rivalries danced just behind polite smiles, and ambition hid beneath silk gloves and sparkling wine.

As the grand ballroom unfurled before them—crystal chandeliers reflecting gold light across ivory columns—Lyra and Vale entered arm-in-arm, drawing several curious glances. Dressed in moon-silver and midnight blue, they looked like they belonged at the very heart of this world.

"I think we're being watched," Lyra whispered, her smile tight.

"Correction," Vale muttered, eyes scanning the crowd. "You're being watched."

A pair of unfamiliar yet well-dressed students approached them through the crowd. One was a boy with tawny skin, dark curls, and an open, easygoing grin. His outfit was elegant but understated, embroidered in forest green and silver. The girl beside him wore a flowing red gown, her auburn hair plaited over one shoulder. Her expression was calm, composed, and analytical behind a pair of delicate spectacles.

"Vale Lumire," the boy said warmly, offering a casual bow. "And Lyra Albert, if I'm not mistaken. It's a pleasure. I'm Corin D'Sylva, second-year, House D'Sylva—minor barony in the northern mountains."

The girl gave a graceful nod. "And I'm Mirelle Fenar, daughter of an archmagister. My parents are civilians, but I've been studying at the Academy since I was ten."

"Friendly faces at last," Vale said with a smirk.

"We've heard of you two," Mirelle said to Lyra. "Not often someone skips through first-quarter advancement trials."

Lyra blinked. "We… didn't realize people talked about that."

"Oh, they do," Corin laughed. "You'd be amazed how many second-years are watching the first-years like hawks. It's all part of the posturing."

Corin was charming in a way that felt honest—his posture was relaxed, and his gaze never lingered inappropriately. Mirelle, by contrast, was far more reserved, often watching Vale and Lyra with a critical gaze that suggested she was weighing their potential with every word.

Before more could be said, a new presence interrupted the gathering.

A young man strode toward them, dressed in clothing that screamed wealth trying a bit too hard—sapphire trim, an unnecessary number of gold pins, and an expression that oozed smugness.

He didn't bother greeting the group. His gaze fell directly on Lyra.

"Well, well, well," he drawled, "they told me the Viscount's daughter was beautiful, but I didn't expect this."

Lyra's smile thinned. "And you are?"

"Damon Velhurst. Son of Viscount Velhurst, of the Eastern Marches," he said with faux elegance, giving a bow that somehow felt like a sneer. "And future heir, once my brother inevitably fails."

"How charming," Lyra replied flatly.

Damon ignored her tone. "I must say, it's rare to find such… enchanting company in a room full of stale nobles and half-witted courtiers."

Corin glanced at Vale, silently checking if he needed to step in. Vale shook his head subtly. This was his to handle.

Damon stepped closer. "Surely, a lady like yourself doesn't enjoy hiding behind someone else's name?" His eyes flicked to Vale, mocking. "Especially not someone who looks like a commoner playing noble."

Vale exhaled slowly, then tilted his head. "You don't know who I am, do you?"

Damon laughed. "Why, should I?"

"I'm Vale Lumire," he said, voice cool. "Third son of Count Lumire. And unlike you, I don't need to wear my father's estate on my sleeve to be noticed."

A pause. Several nobles nearby had turned to listen.

"More importantly," Vale continued, "I don't have a reputation for nearly killing the Duke's son in a horse accident last summer. What was it again? You tried to race in the gardens and lost control? Embarrassing."

Damon's face flushed crimson. "That was—"

"A temporary lapse in judgment? Sure," Vale said. "But even a lapse gets you banned from riding for life. I wonder what else your family covered up."

A small chime echoed in the back of Vale's mind. He blinked, and his personal status window flickered briefly.

Quest Update: PENDING

Objective: Humiliate anyone who flirts with Lyra without facing backlash.

Progress: 0/10

Vale's lips quirked into a smile. "Tell me, Damon—did your father buy your invitation to this ball? I know the Duke doesn't usually extend courtesy to bottom-rung nobles without strings attached."

Mirelle coughed to hide her amusement. Corin didn't bother. He laughed out loud.

Damon's mouth opened—and closed—just in time for disaster to strike.

A maid passed by with a tray of wine goblets, and Damon, stepping back in frustration, bumped directly into her. Red wine splashed across his garishly embroidered coat.

"You idiot!" he hissed, then—before anyone could stop him—slapped the maid across the face.

The room froze.

Vale's smile vanished.

A voice rang out, sharp and cold: "Guards."

Selene Vharis, who had been watching from across the room, strode forward like a blade. "That maid belongs to the Crown Prince's household."

Damon paled.

Two guards approached at once, seizing him without ceremony.

"Wait—no—I didn't know—!"

"You struck the Crown's property," Selene said. "There is no excuse."

Damon's protests were drowned in murmurs as he was dragged from the ballroom. The nobles parted like water, unwilling to be near him.

The moment his footsteps vanished down the corridor, Vale's status window blinked again.

Quest Complete: Task 1/10 — Humiliate without backlash.

Reward: Progress Saved.

Lyra blinked at him. "That was… convenient."

Vale arched a brow. "Call it well-timed justice."

Corin grinned. "Remind me not to get on your bad side."

"I don't enjoy it," Vale said. "But if someone disrespects Lyra again… I won't need a quest to act."

Lyra glanced down, cheeks slightly pink. "I didn't need saving."

"No," Vale said quietly, "but you deserved it."

Behind them, the ball's music swelled again—but something had shifted in the air. The name Lumire had reasserted itself in the room. And though only Vale and Lyra saw the flickering quest in their personal status windows, a path had begun—one marked not just by Aether, but by the bonds they refused to let break.