"Stand still, Young Master Luthian. Please... just a little longer."
Hilda's fingers were trembling. Normally, they moved with steady precision among lace and buttons. Today, however, they struggled with the final silver clasp. I could feel her shallow breaths against the back of my neck.
"Hilda, I'm itchy all over! It's too tight, I can't breathe properly," I complained, trying to wriggle free of her grasp.
"Can't I wear the soft wool one? I want to go play in the gardens."
She suddenly froze.
She gave me a sharp flick on the forehead. Then she stepped in front of me and cupped my face in her hands. Her palms were cold, and I could feel the rough calluses against my skin.
She looked into my eyes and said nothing for a moment. Her gaze was so intense my chest tightened. My heart pounded. Without thinking, I reached out and clung to her in a hug.
"No playing today, Young Master. You must be perfect," she whispered in my ear.
She held me tightly, trying to reassure me.
"Make sure you show them who you are out there!"
I nodded slowly, swallowing the knot in my throat.
Hilda sprang to her feet, sniffing back tears. She looked proud, and somehow, that was enough for me. In an instant, she composed herself, reverting to the strict, unyielding nanny she had always been.
"Marta! Grete!" she called toward the open door. Two young maids who often did chores in my room hurried inside, heads bowed. "Escort Young Master Luthian to the entrance of the Lunar Hall. A guard is waiting for him there. Understood?"
"Yes, Lady Hilda," they whispered in unison, flanking me like silent sentinels.
Hilda quickly adjusted my collar and turned me firmly toward the exit.
"Go now, Young Master. And keep your head high... whatever happens."
I heard a rustle behind me, a soft, gentle breeze brushing the back of my neck.
Why did her voice...? I spun around, a cold knot forming in my stomach.
"Hil..."
But she was already gone. I could never get used to that habit of hers. Sometimes she simply vanished without a trace or explanation. I couldn't even fathom how she did it. One moment she was there, the next, gone.
"Young Master, if we don't move, we'll be late."
"Mhm!" I nodded. "Couldn't Hilda come?"
"She had urgent matters to attend to and entrusted this duty to us. Please don't worry, Young Master. Try to relax. We have a long walk before we reach the hall."
I clung to the skirt of the maid on my right. She placed a reassuring hand on my back, smiling as she guided me along.
We left my private quarters and headed toward the spire, accessible from the palace's first floor. It was far from a short walk.
We had to descend two floors, cross the reception hall, and climb another flight of stairs to reach the main corridor.
It was absolute chaos.
Servants were rushing back and forth carrying trays and candelabras. Whenever they saw me, they lowered their heads and quickened their pace. It was as if merely looking at me would bring them a curse.
It had always been this way, for as long as I could remember.
The tunic, however, I knew all too well. It choked my neck, its stiff fabric chafing my skin with every step. It was the same garment they forced me to wear during major banquets, when the palace swarmed with nobles.
Wearing it always meant I had to be put on display.
My legs trembled with anxiety as I walked.
Ron, Dan, I just hope I make it in time. Wait for me!
I clenched my fists and took a deep breath.
We reached the first floor and crossed the private gardens. The air was thick with the scent of roses and blooming flowers—a delicate fragrance that violently clashed with the turmoil churning inside me.
We pressed on, finally entering the spire that housed the largest chamber in the entire palace.
The Lunar Hall.
The monolithic double doors and the heavy silence blanketing the dimly lit corridor sent an icy chill from my head to my toes.
I had only been to this wing of the palace a handful of times. From what little I understood, it was strictly off-limits; even wandering near it was absolutely forbidden.
The two maids halted before the grand doors, handing me over to a burly guardsman.
Today, the area was swarming with them. Judging by the heavy security presence, the reason was obvious.
The long-awaited day of the test had finally arrived.
Yet, my mind still couldn't fully process it.
The doors of the Lunar Hall groaned heavily as they swung inward, emitting a metallic grating sound that drew the eyes of everyone nearby.
I was instantly hit by a wave of heat, the blinding glare of floating flames, and a roar of voices.
It was an entirely different world from the corridor outside.
My breathing grew ragged. My escort halted, planting his heavy boot firmly against the black marble.
"Entering the glorious Lunar Hall, Luthian Stahl Eisenhart!"
A jolt of sheer terror and awe paralyzed my thoughts. I felt a tap on my back and flinched. The guard gave a curt nod, signaling me to head right.
A long line of children stretched out before me. Further in, rigid ranks of knights and guards stood to their right.
I walked over, taking my place at the very back of the formation.
At least I'm not up first. I let out a breath of relief.
It was painfully short-lived.
Glancing toward the left wing of the hall, I realized that every single eye in the room was fixed directly on me.
Shifting my gaze to the center, I was blinded by the reflection of the floating flames bouncing off an enormous obsidian table.
Resting atop it, folded with obsessive precision, were the items awaiting us.
The Aether Veils.
Beside the table stood the towering figure of my uncle, Szilard Stahl Eisenhart. But the true, suffocating source of pressure radiated from the raised dais at the far end of the hall.
Vorgath Stahl Eisenhart. My father.
He sat upon the throne with his left leg bent and resting on the seat—a relaxed, profoundly arrogant posture. He leaned his cheek against one fist, letting his other hand hang loosely from the armrest. His impassive gaze swept the room. His mere presence turned the atmosphere leaden, making it physically difficult for me to draw breath.
The children ahead of me stood frozen as statues. The only sound in the hall was the low, buzzing murmur of the aristocracy mingling in the stands.
The House Chancellor stepped forward to my father's flank. He bowed deeply, then descended the short steps leading to the central table. Turning to face the hall, he waited.
The murmurs and whispers continued to echo.
The Chancellor cleared his throat, slightly raising a parchment drawn from his robes.
"My lords, today's trial..."
His voice was swallowed by the chatter. He tried again, projecting a firmer tone, but it was utterly useless.
That was when I looked at my father. He lowered the hand supporting his head.
He raised a single finger. A heartbeat later, he lowered it. The chatter died instantly.
A deathly silence cascaded over the Lunar Hall. The last trailing whispers echoed for a few seconds before being snuffed out completely.
The Chancellor lowered his eyes, as if he had been waiting precisely for that cue. He cleared his throat once more.
"Before the assembled nobility, I officially declare the commencement of the mana aptitude trial for the five-year-old heirs of Wistria's prestigious houses."
A quiet murmur rippled through the crowd.
"As previously decreed, this year's trial will utilize a new method for mana detection: the Aether Veils. These artifacts are capable of perceiving the latent mana circulating within the body, ensuring a far safer and more precise reading than the rudimentary methods of the past."
He paused briefly.
"The trial will be overseen by Szilard, Court Archmage."
My uncle stepped forward.
"One at a time," Szilard commanded, his flat voice booming between the marble columns.
"Approach. Bow before our Lord. And grasp the Veil."
Szilard caught my eye and gave a subtle, fleeting nod.
Today is the most important day of my life. After all those harsh lessons... why can't I just stay calm?
I swallowed hard, clenching my fists at my sides, desperately trying to block out what was about to happen.
The trial had already begun.
One by one, the called children broke rank. They stepped forward with hesitant strides and rigid shoulders. Upon reaching the silk, they would pause, terrified to make contact. From my vantage point, I could just barely see their tiny fingers trembling against the fabric. Some squeezed their eyes shut and bit their lips; others stood paralyzed, waiting for judgment.
Then, the silk would react.
Sometimes a mere touch was enough to flood the cloth with a radiant azure; other times, only faint, muddy crimson hues would manifest.
My father remained completely stone-faced, entirely indifferent to the outcomes.
The more I focused on his eyes, the more they resembled two hollow voids fixed on a distant point beyond the crowd, devoid of a single shred of genuine interest.
Before I knew it, the line had halved.
Those deemed worthy were reclaimed by their families, who offered a swift bow of gratitude to the Duke before hastily exiting the palace. I was the very last in line. I squeezed my fists, keeping my eyes fixed on the polished floor.