Étienne de Valeroche had just left the grand hall, his steps heavy yet composed, leaving behind cracks in the wooden floor and candles nearly extinguished from the gravity he unintentionally radiated. In a nearby room, he sat in a plush chair, half-split—an effect of his own gravitas, of course—gazing out the large window at the lilac sunset beyond the castle walls. He paid no mind to the minor chaos in the hall, the scurrying servants, or the whispering guests—for Étienne, the world always moved according to the gravitational law he imposed.
Meanwhile, in the royal council chamber, the Council convened. A long table draped in red fabric looked like a battlefield of diplomacy, each seat occupied by nobles wearing anxious expressions. They discussed Étienne's increasingly uncontrollable power, a mixture of fear and awe hanging in the air. Some even speculated that if Étienne merely walked across the palace grounds, the smallest trees might bow as if in reverence—or terror.
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"If the young Duke becomes even slightly angry or nervous," said an elderly noble, voice trembling, "even a gentle breeze could trigger abnormal gravitational effects. What if he stares at us too long?"
"Consider it as being in his orbit," replied another, suppressing a smile—half nervous, half amused. "We are merely powerless satellites."
The Council chuckled awkwardly, yet beneath the laughter was a genuine tension. Everyone realized Étienne's power was no mere legend—the gravitational effects he emitted were a fact, and that fact could turn the simplest royal event into a small disaster.
Vivienne de Bellacourt stood at the head of the table, her elegant attire catching the candlelight, eyes sharp with both vigilance and strategy. She raised her hand, and her soft yet commanding voice filled the room: "We cannot fight this power, but we can guide it… and perhaps even exploit a bit of its drama."
The Council stared, partly startled, partly enchanted. Vivienne spoke in a way that soothed while captivating, weaving chaos into an opportunity for politics. "If we harness the Duke's abilities correctly, not only will the palace remain safe, but we could capture the attention of the people—without a single enemy daring to approach."
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One council member, pale with a shadow of fear, tapped the table with trembling hands. "But… if he becomes too emotional, even reading a document could crack the floor! What do we do if he stands before the public?"
Vivienne smiled faintly, her gaze sweeping the room. "We must change our perspective. Don't think about destruction, think about… the elegance of destruction."
Her words sparked whispers of admiration in the corners of the table. Lucien, who was not present but often observing from afar, would undoubtedly have noted this as "dramatic politics, combining disaster and charm."
Meanwhile, in the adjoining room connected to the hall, Étienne remained seated, expressionless, arms crossed over his chest, eyes fixed on the evening sky. The chair behind him had cracked further, yet he remained unconcerned. To Étienne, chairs were meaningless objects; what mattered was the balance of gravity he controlled perfectly—or so he believed.
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The Council's discussion grew more intense. A young noble with a thin beard complained, "If Duke Valeroche turns toward us during this meeting, how are we supposed to stay standing without toppling over?"
Vivienne, graceful as ever, raised a hand as if calming a storm. "If we position ourselves correctly, the Duke will regulate gravity naturally. And we… simply adjust our steps. Think of it as… a strategic dance."
A small laugh escaped from the corner of the table, followed by murmurs from several members: "Strategic dance or royal circus? I can no longer tell the difference."
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Outside the window, the sunset dimmed, casting long shadows across the council chamber floor. Vivienne used the fading light to emphasize her gestures, her gaze piercing each council member. "We must acknowledge one thing," she said seriously, "Duke de Valeroche is not a threat. He is a phenomenon. And this phenomenon could be our greatest ally—if we know how to use it."
Several members exchanged uncertain glances, unsure whether Vivienne was serious or merely playing with words. "Phenomenon or disaster, the line is often thin," muttered an elderly noble, hiding a smile behind his beard.
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Étienne, still silent in the adjoining room, occasionally glanced toward the council through the half-open door. He heard their words about "phenomenon" and "disaster," and without moving, he responded inwardly: 'Phenomenon is correct. Yet they are too afraid to face reality.'
When he exhaled, the air around him felt denser. A few books on the nearby shelf shifted slightly, sliding down in neat rows without a sound. Pierre, the loyal servant, quickly bent down to gather them, as if terrified that the Duke's gravity might suddenly escalate into something far worse.
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Vivienne continued her strategy, instructing each council member to study the "safe zones" within the hall. She provided diagrams of seating positions, directions of movement, even warnings not to look into Étienne's eyes for too long. "A single glance could break your chair—or pull you into unnecessary gravity," she explained with a faint, knowing smile.
A young noble whispered to his neighbor, loud enough to be heard: "If this is a political meeting, I am more afraid of gravity than intrigue."
His companion nodded, eyes tracing the cracked floor: "Here, even the air is untrustworthy."
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As the Council busied itself with strategy, Vivienne added her final note: "We cannot control Duke Valeroche. We can only… dance with him."
The words ended the meeting with dramatic resonance, though several members smiled wryly. They realized that not only physical disasters awaited, but also the "social drama" that would follow every step Étienne took.
In the adjoining room, Étienne gazed at a large mirror reflecting his own silhouette. His body looked like a living sculpture, his expression unchanged, yet his eyes seemed to pierce the council chamber. He pondered Vivienne's words: dancing with him. Unintentionally, the gravity around him increased slightly—chairs cracked further, some books jumped from the shelves, as if silently affirming his presence.
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A servant entering to deliver tea nearly choked at the subtle shift in gravity. Cups trembled on the tray, a few drops of tea falling to the floor. Pierre looked at Étienne with a mixture of fear and awe. "Your Grace… I… I will place the cups elsewhere…"
Étienne simply nodded, calm and composed, without another word. The situational comedy forced Pierre to bow, arrange the tray, and retreat slowly, moving as if performing a carefully choreographed dance with the unyielding law of gravity.
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Night spread across the castle. Candlelight in the council chamber dimmed, yet discussions continued. They weighed the next steps: how to establish protocol, maintain stability, and ensure that every guest, servant, and noble remained safe from the mysterious Duke's gravity.
Vivienne concluded the meeting with a single word, simple yet profound: "Balance."
The Council members exchanged glances, a faint relief in the air. At least for tonight, they believed that with strategy and Vivienne's cleverness, even seemingly impossible power could be managed—or at least compromised.
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In the adjoining room, Étienne remained seated calmly, eyes fixed on the sunset fading behind the castle hills. He considered Vivienne's words: dancing with him. Meanwhile, the chair behind him cracked further, some books leapt slightly from the shelf, and he allowed himself a faint, private smile. The world may be chaotic, but this world, with all its absurdity and drama, was still a place he could inhabit—in a way only he truly understood.
And high above the hall, on the distant balcony, Lucien, observing from afar, would surely record this day as the beginning of a tale about a Duke who could shatter floors merely by sitting. A story both comical and epic, destined to become legend.