High above the kingdom of Asterion, where the moonlight stretched like silver cloth across mountains and valleys, the masked figure remained motionless.
The wind brushed past him, carrying scents of forest, stone, and distant city lanterns. For hours he had sat silently, as if carved into the mountain itself, eyes closed under the black wooden demon mask.
Then—
His eyes snapped open.
Twin ripples of blue star-light shivered across the mask's eye-slits.
Before the mountain breeze even moved, before the shadows shifted, a second figure materialized in front of him.
An identical presence.
An identical mask.
An identical pair of haunting, blue, star-like eyes.
Two of him now stood on the mountain peak.
Two storms wearing human form.
Two beings whose steps alone could warp Qi.
The second figure didn't speak.
Didn't bow.
Didn't ask for instruction.
He simply turned.
And vanished.
Not by running.
Not by leaping.
But by becoming lightning itself a streak of silent, blue light that cut across the sky and struck straight into the capital.
The spiritual dome surrounding the city shimmered at the moment of entry, its formation lines trembling, as if unsure whether an entity like him should even be allowed to exist.
The mountain became silent again.
The original masked figure remained still, as if waiting.
Or preparing.
Only the stars knew.
Only the night understood.
Only fate would soon learn.
The day of the banquet arrived.
Asterion stirred long before the sun rose.
Carriages moved across streets draped with banners.
Nobles rushed around like restless birds, servants scrambled, and rumors flew faster than pigeons.
For the capital, the banquet was a celebration.
For the factions, it was a battlefield.
For Crystal…
It was execution day.
Maybe hers.
Maybe Noah's.
Maybe both.
Inside her room at the Aserra mansion, Crystal stood before the polished bronze mirror. Her reflection shimmered elegant yet deceptive, like a serpent wrapped in silk.
She wore a glowing green gown, embroidered in threads that caught moon and lamplight.
A soft white ribbon wound through her dark hair.
Gold hairpins, shaped like slender falling leaves, glittered with every breath she took.
She looked ethereal.
Beautiful.
Young.
But nothing close to innocent.
On the bed behind her sat Aria wide-eyed, anxious, tiny and far too vulnerable to remain in the capital tonight.
Crystal turned slightly. "Take her," she said softly to the guards waiting at the door. "To the main Aserra estate. Do not bring her back until I send word."
The guards bowed deeply.
Aria reached out hesitantly, but Crystal cupped her cheek gently.
She leaned in, pressed a kiss to her sister's forehead, then lifted her chin with a small, reassuring smile.
"Go," she whispered. "Be safe."
When the guards left with Aria in their arms, the room fell silent.
And Crystal's smile vanished.
She turned back to the mirror.
But she wasn't looking at her reflection now.
She was looking through it deep into memories whose edges were still sharp enough to draw blood.
The banquet had destroyed everything in her past life.
Everything.
Her innocence.
Her clan's stability.
The kingdom's balance.
Her own future.
And all of it had begun with
Waking up in Noah's room.
She was fifteen.
Drunk, she thought.
Confused.
Used.
She assumed she had made a mistake in drunken naivety.
But now?
Now she knew.
Noah had drugged her.
Aphrodisiac poison.
A trap to bind her grandfather the General to Noah's faction through the chains of shame and obligation.
And she had walked blindly into it.
That Crystal had trusted too easily.
Loved too deeply.
Believed in a man who saw her as nothing but a stepping stone to power.
Crystal's eyes sharpened.
Not this time.
Next memory—
Lyra Valen.
Sweet, quiet Lyra.
The only noble girl who showed Crystal genuine kindness in her previous life.
Who died a week after the banquet.
Everyone believed it was suicide.
Crystal had not known Lyra in her past live since she was spoiled.
But now she knew.
It wasn't suicide.
It was a plan—quietly executed by the Valen matron—to break Lord Valen's spirit, tear apart the South Faction, and cause a domino collapse in political stability.
Crystal clenched her jaw.
Not this time either.
And finally—
The death of Third Prince Makhail.
A death that shattered the East Faction and triggered a chain reaction that spiraled into a civil war.
Crystal inhaled slowly.
Three tragedies.
Three turning points.
Three disasters.
All woven into one night.
And she had exactly one banquet left to alter the fates of everyone involved including herself.
She exhaled.
Then smiled.
"…Tonight, everything changes."
Elsewhere in the capital, the shadows moved differently.
In alleys, on rooftops, beneath bridges, behind merchant stalls—
Cloaked figures ran.
Leaping building to building.
Silent as ghosts.
Precise as assassins.
Invisible as a whisper in a storm.
They carried no swords.
Only discs flat, dark metal plates etched with complex formation lines.
One figure reached a clearing behind the Grand Hall.
He crouched, pressed a disc into the soil, and its symbols flickered once before disappearing into the earth.
Another figure placed a disc beneath the shadow of a merchant warehouse across from the banquet entrance.
Its runes dimmed and vanished instantly.
A third reached the edge of the Grand Hall's outer courtyard right beside the marble stairway where nobles would arrive.
The disc went down.
Another figure moved into the small forest bordering the banquet grounds, ducking under branches, leaping over roots without a sound. He found his mark a patch of undisturbed dirt near a fallen log.
The final disc sank beneath the ground, glowing once before burying itself in silence.
The figures rose.
And vanished.
The preparations were complete.
The stage for chaos was set.
And the banquet the great gathering of the kingdom's brightest heirs was now a powder keg waiting for a single spark.
Tonight would be the night destinies bent.
Tonight the kingdom would walk blindly into a storm disguised as celebration.
And somewhere in the capital, a masked figure with eyes like dying stars stepped quietly through the city streets, unseen by guards, untouched by formations, unnoticed by fate itself.
The banquet hadn't begun yet.
But the game?
It was already in motion.