I'm an Extra, so What?

The golden hall of the Imperial Citadel was nothing like the Academy.

Where the academy was practical, built for the training and housing of hundreds, the Imperial Citadel was made to awe.

Its walls stretched high above, carved with the stories of humanity's greatest triumphs—some real, others, perhaps, aspirational.

The floors shimmered like mirror-polished obsidian, and towering windows spilled sunlight across elegant crimson carpets.

Every step echoed like a declaration.

And yet, the hall was quiet.

No procession. No guards. No advisors.

Only a single man waited at the far end, seated on a simple but imposing throne, vines of silver curling along its arms.

He looked young—mid-thirties, perhaps—but his gaze carried the weight of centuries.

His uniform was crisp and unadorned, save for the golden seal of the Empire on one shoulder.

His dark hair was swept back, and though he bore no crown, his presence alone bent the air around him.

He stood as they approached, folding his gloved hands behind his back.

"I am Eternity," he said. "And I welcome you."

The group bowed—deeply.

Even Gregor looked serious for once.

Luka gave a formal nod, eyes calm.

Emperor Eternity stepped forward, smiling faintly.

"I must apologize for the absence of my family. The Empress is currently tending to diplomatic affairs in the north, and my children are attending to noble obligations. I assure you, if they could be here, they would."

He studied them carefully—almost gently.

"You have done humanity proud. Word of your matches with the elves has traveled fast, and your names are already being whispered beyond these walls. Not just in the Empire, but in the border kingdoms and among the merchant clans as well."

Luka's mouth twitched slightly, but he said nothing.

Eternity looked to each of them in turn. "You stood not only as champions, but as ambassadors. The games may be sport, but what you've accomplished will ripple far beyond the arena. You brought us dignity, strength—and unity."

He paused.

"I do not offer such praise lightly."

Gregor muttered, "Bloody hell," under his breath.

The Emperor smiled knowingly. "Which is why I would like to extend a personal invitation."

He raised a hand, and from a side door, a servant stepped in with a silver tray bearing elegant parchment scrolls sealed with gold wax.

"The noble houses are eager to meet you. Some, I imagine, to boast and flatter. Others… to measure."

He accepted one of the scrolls and handed it directly to Luka.

"But I believe in celebrating victories before calculating the politics behind them. So we shall hold a ball—a grand one—here, in the Imperial Gardens, under moonlight and music. A chance for you to be recognized not as students, but as future heroes of our people."

Serene's eyes sparkled faintly.

Eternity turned, walking slowly back to his throne, speaking as he went.

"There will be nobles from every province. Dukes, barons, merchant princes, warlords… and yes, even the occasional elf emissary. If there is ever a time to make impressions, to solidify futures… it will be there."

He sat down, steepling his fingers before him.

"You've earned your moment. Now let the world see you."

A stillness followed—thick, thoughtful.

Luka held the scroll loosely in his hand. "When will it be?"

"In five days' time," the Emperor replied. "Enough for you to rest, but not forget the pace of things."

He leaned back.

"Until then, enjoy the peace you've won. It is not a gift our world gives often."

With that, the doors opened behind them once more.

The audience was over.

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Outside--

The citadel's stone façade cast long shadows across the sunlit courtyard.

Guards stood in rigid silence.

A soft breeze rustled the tall imperial banners above them.

The team walked in silence for a few moments, the weight of the encounter slowly lifting.

Then Gregor turned, disbelief written across his face. "Alright, what was that?"

Luka raised an eyebrow. "What?"

"What? What?" Gregor repeated. "That was the freakin' Emperor! The Emperor Eternity. And you just stood there like you were ordering lunch."

The Mage scoffed. "He didn't even bow properly. The Emperor gave him a scroll and he held it like it was a grocery list."

The healer chuckled nervously. "He didn't even smile. Not once. Luka, come on—weren't you even a little impressed?"

Luka looked up at the grand towers behind them, expression unreadable. Then he gave a small shrug.

"I'm just glad it was quick."

"You're what?" the healer blurted.

Luka walked ahead, hands in his pockets. "I didn't want to be in there longer than I had to. All the formality, the way everyone talks like they're delivering prophecies. It's suffocating."

Gregor threw his arms up. "Unbelievable. We just got a personal invite to a royal ball, were praised by the literal ruler of humanity, and you're acting like it was some boring lecture!"

Luka didn't even turn. "I just don't care."

The silence that followed was mixed—shock, amusement, even a bit of respect. But none of it felt hostile.

They knew Luka by now. This was just how he was.

The mage sighed, cracking a smile. "Well, at least now I don't have to be the weird one at the ball."

"Too late," Gregor muttered.

As the outer gates came into view, the mood shifted. They were leaving not just the citadel, but each other—for now.

One by one, the group slowed, splintering off toward waiting carriages and paths that led to different corners of the capital.

Goodbyes were offered in various tones—firm handshakes, casual waves, warm hugs.

Gregor clapped Luka on the back hard enough to rattle his bones.

"Don't disappear before the ball. If I have to suffer through it, so do you."

"I'll be there," Luka replied flatly.

The Healer said nothing, walking off.

Soon, only Luka remained, walking the familiar road back toward the Academy.

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Home came into view.

Luka stepped through the gate—and paused.

On the porch, Serene was sitting cross-legged in the grass, a soft smile on her face as she rolled a ball of light back and forth with a tiny white dragon.

Snow pounced at it with clumsy glee, her little wings flapping in excitement. The ball bounced, flickered, and popped in a sparkle that made the hatchling squeal with joy.

Serene looked up.

"Young Master," she said with a warm smile. "Welcome home."

Snow turned, saw him, and immediately scampered toward him—tripping over his feet halfway before scrambling upright and leaping into his arms with a delighted chirp.

Luka caught him easily, cradling him close.

"Missed me already?" he murmured, scratching behind his frilled ears.

Snow nuzzled against him, purring like a soft engine.

Serene stood, brushing grass off her skirt. "I trust the meeting went well?"

"It ended fast. That's good enough for me."

"Of course it is," she said with a teasing smile.

He gave her a half-smile back and stepped onto the porch.

There were no golden ceilings here.

No echoing thrones or formalities.

Just the scent of jasmine, the hum of wind through leaves, and the quiet, steady warmth of home.

He set Snow down, and he immediately tackled a fallen flower with draconic ferocity.

Serene opened the door, her voice gentle. "Would you like tea?"

"Yeah," Luka said. "That sounds perfect."

And as he stepped inside—boots off, burdens dropped—he realized just how glad he was to be out of that palace.

Luka settled into his usual seat by the low table, sighing as he leaned back.

Serene moved with practiced ease, placing a warm cup of tea before him. The steam curled gently into the air.

He accepted it wordlessly at first, watching the soft ripples on the surface.

Serene sat across from him, legs folded neatly beneath her. Snow flopped down beside her chair, curling into a sleepy coil.

They sat in companionable silence for a moment, until Serene tilted her head slightly. "So," she said, her voice light, "what did His Majesty have to say to you?"

Luka took a sip, then let the cup rest against his fingers. "The Emperor congratulated us. Praised our performance in the competition. Said the royal family's too busy to meet us, but he came personally."

Serene raised her eyebrows. "That's quite an honor."

"Maybe. It was all very formal," Luka said. "Lots of robes and titles. He gave us a commendation scroll and said nobles are interested in meeting us. So he's hosting a ball."

"A ball?" she echoed.

Luka nodded slowly. "Yeah. Apparently, it's easier to get everyone in one place and celebrate at the same time."

Serene smiled faintly. "A very imperial solution."

"He also said we'd each be allowed a plus-one," Luka added, his eyes lifting to meet hers. "I told them I already had mine."

Her smile deepened, surprise flashing in her eyes. "You mean…?"

"You're coming with me," Luka said simply, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world.

She blinked once. "Are you certain? The other nobles might expect you to bring someone… politically useful."

"I don't care about that."

Serene looked down at her teacup, then back up at him. "You'll get questions."

"I'll ignore them."

Her lips parted slightly, as if she had more to say, but then she closed them again—thoughtful, touched. "You're serious."

Luka nodded. "You're the one person I can stand having at my side through that kind of thing. Besides, I think you'll look good in noble clothes."

A soft laugh escaped her lips. "You don't think I look good now?"

He raised an eyebrow. "Don't fish for compliments."

"I'm your maid. I clean your floors. And you're bringing me to a ball at the Imperial Palace."

"You're not just my maid."

That silenced her more effectively than anything else. For a long moment, neither of them said anything. Then she looked down, fingers lightly tracing the rim of her cup.

"I'll… have to find something to wear," she murmured, cheeks slightly pink.

"I'll take care of that," Luka said. "Just be ready."

A quiet hum of contentment filled the room.

Snow snored faintly at their feet.

Luka took another sip of tea. "Still wish the meeting had been shorter."

Serene smiled. "But now we get to go to a ball."

"Unfortunately."

She laughed, and this time, he didn't stop the faint smile tugging at his lips.