Earlier that day…
The hours before the feast unfolded in fleeting snapshots—brief moments of movement, color, and controlled chaos. Starfania carried stacks of crimson linens down the hall, nearly tripping as Ren shouted instructions over her shoulder. The two of them adjusted the placement of VulcanFire banners, Ren squinting one eye and saying, " High—no, lower—no, higher again."
Starfania stood on a ladder polishing obsidian torches, smearing soot across her cheek with every swipe. They argued (in good fun) about whether the volcanic spice tray should be on the left or right side of the table.
Ren waved a wooden spoon at a panicking chief saying, " No, Caylen, it's dragon pepper, not pepper dragon—that's an entirely different dish!"
Starfania lugged the decorative dragon spine at the centerpiece into the hall, muttering under her breath, " Why is this thing heavier than Drogo?"
By the time the chandeliers were lit and the feast table stood gleaming with polished crests, Ren and Starfania exchanged a breathless, shared look. Not quite pride. Not quite exhaustion. Somewhere in between.
Present Moment—Evening Feast
The dining-room door swung open. A wave of lively conversation swept in, warm and vibrant, filing the hall beneath the amber glow of the chandeliers. Starfania stiffened instinctively, her eyes darting toward the group entering. Tall silhouettes, confident steps, elaborate attire that radiated authority—she was caught staring. Quickly, she glanced away, trying to look busy with a napkin she didn't actually need to fix. But inside, nervousness twisted tight in her stomach. These were the people Ren had spoken of. The ones her father trusted. The ones she'd soon have to face.
She took a deep breath, forcing her heartbeat to steady. And then—she felt it. Ren's gaze is on her. When she turned, Ren's expression had shifted—still soft, still supportive, but carrying an additional weight. Seriously. Steady. Almost ceremonial.
" Starfania," Ren said quietly, her voice resolute, " I think it's time you understood who your father's alliances are—and why they matter so deeply."
The room's atmosphere shifted immediately—like the air before a storm. Not dangerous. But charged with importance. " The people you'll see tonight…we'll just say they're more interesting than you might imagine."
Before Starfania could question her, Ren tilted her head subtly toward the far end of the table, where three figures had already taken their seats. One of them—a tall, sharp-featured man with a presence that commanded the room—tapped the shoulder of his companion and gestured discreetly toward Ren and Starfania. Starfania felt their attention settle on her like a spotlight. She froze. Not because she was scared—but because their gaze was unwavering, intentional, as if they already knew something about her she didn't yet understand. Ren's voice lowered, adopting a narrator's cadence—as if she were unveiling the first chapter of a legend.
" Allow me to introduce the key players," she murmured. Her eyes shifted to the figure cloaked in dark elegance. " Felix Nightshade of the Dread Spire Kingdom. Which was once known as the Ruin Nation."
Starfania followed her gaze. Felix Nightshade reclined with the ease of a predator at rest—controlled, calculating. His attire was dark but refined, adorned with subtle runic patterns. His eyes—piercing, unnervingly sharp—scanned the room with the precision of someone always four steps ahead. He radiated quiet dominance. Ren's tone softened but carried unshakable respect.
" Felix is a strategic genius. The kind of mind that only appears once in a century." A pause. " He's the reason we're still standing. Without him, Lyam would have already succeeded in tearing your father's plans apart."
Felix lifted his glass as though he'd heard her—offering Starfania a faint, knowing nod. And in that single gesture, she felt it: This dinner was not just a meal. It was an initiation. The world was shifting around her…and she was expected to step into it.