The week passed by in a blur, each day folding into the next with the weight of preparations and newly assigned duties. Everyone had more roles to shoulder now, and amidst it all, Ocean had carefully dispatched a letter to the King—no ordinary letter, but a bait delicately wrapped in diplomacy. He knew the King would take it; the man’s pride and paranoia left him little choice. Yet Ocean’s snare wasn’t meant for him alone.

The Golden Serpent was the true quarry. From the whispers of his sources nestled deep within the palace walls, Ocean had learned that she had no intention of attending in person. Instead, she would send her emissaries to watch from the shadows. But once news reached her that the King himself would be present, Ocean knew she would have no choice but to appear. She could not afford to let him dance unchecked in her absence.

By morning of the day of the ball, the household of Ryujin was alive with urgency. The ball would not begin until late afternoon, but already the mansion was a hive of motion, its still corridors broken by the echo of hurried footsteps and frantic voices.

"Hurry and check if the tablecloths are cleaned and laid properly!"

"Move the devices to the third floor—remember, no guest must stumble up there!"

"Has anyone seen Mrs. Jones?"

"Mr. Remi, please inspect the garlands and lights!"

"No strong liquor bottles! Hide them if you must!"

"And for heaven’s sake, make sure Count Erkens doesn’t sniff out a single drop!"

Servants rushed from one end of the mansion to the other, arms laden with crystal trays, bundles of ribbons, or folded linens, their chatter and admonitions layering one atop another until it sounded like a storm had broken loose inside. The grand halls echoed with clattering footsteps, doors opening and slamming, voices rising and falling in restless waves.

Meanwhile, outside, the world moved at an entirely different pace. Snow drifted down in soft, languid flakes, settling gently on the freshly shoveled paths that cut through the grounds. The trees stood cloaked in white silence, their branches heavy and still, a sharp contrast to the flurry within. It was as though the mansion had become a living heart, beating fast and loud against the quiet breath of winter.

The forest lay in a hush around the mansion, its silence broken only by the low croaks of ravens perched among the branches and the faint hum of security devices hidden in the shadows. The guards were stationed at their posts, unseen but vigilant, their presence woven into the stillness like threads of tension.

High above, Sol sat astride a broad branch of a weathered oak, his gaze fixed on the clearing below. There, Davian knelt in meditation, his body steady as stone. From him emanated a faint violet miasma, curling and dispersing into the crisp air like smoke from a hidden fire. A sheen of perspiration clung to his bare shoulders and chest, catching glimmers of light that filtered down through the trees.

Sol had been guiding him for days now, teaching him the delicate art of bending aura to one’s will. He had not expected the young man to progress so quickly. Even the one who had first unearthed this technique had required years of relentless training and meditation before touching the point Davian now grasped within mere days.

Expectation stirred in Sol’s chest, steady and weighty. This was no longer mere training—it was proof. Proof that Davian could become more than he imagined. And with this, Sol’s own designs began to take form. For Ocean’s sake, for what was to come, a plan of action was finally unfolding.

After explaining the plan to the others the other night, Ocean had asked Sol to remain behind. His expression was calm, but his voice carried a quiet edge as he asked why Sol refused to attend the ball.

Sol hesitated, reluctant to speak, before finally breaking the silence.

"I can’t appear before people—especially if anyone present is tainted with dark mana. My own mana is sealed right now. Any hostile energy could harm me... and worse, expose us both." His tone was firm, his gaze unflinching. "I won’t take that risk."

Ocean frowned, his fingers drumming lightly on the table. "It’s fine. I have a defense device that could—"

But Sol cut him off, his jaw tightening, voice rising.

"I have not one, but two curses on me, Ocean."

The words struck like a stone dropping into still water. Ocean froze, his eyes widening slightly. He had believed there was only one curse—a complicated one, yes, but still manageable. To hear there were two...

"Why didn’t you tell me before?" Ocean asked quietly, his frown deepening.

"There was no point," Sol replied, averting his gaze. His tone carried weariness, as though the burden had long since stopped feeling heavy. "The first curse was already on me when we met for the first time. It sealed my mana, but not completely—the caster was too weak, so I could still use a fragment of it." He paused, his lips pressing thin. "The second curse was placed on me later, before we crossed paths again. That one bound my soul to my mana, shackling me entirely."

Ocean’s brows knitted together, his voice low. "So you’re saying... the first curse was cast by a demon?"

Sol was silent for a long moment before he gave a reluctant nod.

"And the second one?" Ocean pressed.

"Who did it?"

The silence stretched again, heavier this time. Sol seemed to wrestle with himself, weighing whether to reveal the truth. At last, he spoke—but his answer was little more than a stone dropped into a chasm, swallowed before Ocean could seize it.

Ocean studied him for a long moment before exhaling, running a hand through his hair. "All right. But stay on the third floor during the ball. Don’t wander—and don’t get yourself into trouble."

Sol narrowed his eyes at him, clearly irritated by the tone. He wanted to remind Ocean he was no child to be ordered about. But in the end, he only let out a short sigh and muttered, "Fine."

Returning to the present, Sol’s gaze lingered on Davian. The young man sat cross-legged in the clearing below, his brow knit in concentration as the violet miasma unfurled from his body like smoke, only to draw back again in a slow, uncertain rhythm. His control was rough around the edges, his breaths uneven, but the circulation was there. The thread of order in the chaos was faint, yet visible—and to Sol, that was progress.

From a high window of the Ryujin mansion, Ocean leaned an arm on the sill, his eyes fixed on the distant view of snow and the young man sitting amid the clearing. He could sense the spike in Davian’s aura even from within the protective wards, the fluctuations brushing faintly against his own mana. It was strong—stronger than he had expected at this stage—and his thoughts drifted, unbidden, to the Dragon guiding him.

What sort of training was Sol passing on? Ocean had chosen not to interfere. He lacked knowledge in this particular path of aura manipulation, and Sol had been oddly... grounded in his methods. Yet Ocean couldn’t shake the thought: how much did Sol truly know?

The Dragon carried with him fragments of knowledge older than anyone should possess. He spoke of the Gods with a familiarity that was unsettling, as if he had once stood among them, or perhaps against them. If he knew so much about the Gods, then he likely knew of the system too.

And if he knew of the system, then surely he would have realized by now that Reina was bound by it—that strange construct of quests and tasks that governed her actions at times. But if Sol did not know... then a more troubling question arose. Did the system come into existence after the war?

Ocean’s thoughts turned heavier. What was the system’s true nature? Was it merely an artifact of divine will, or something greater—something beyond even the pantheon? An omnipotent mechanism, silently directing mortals and dragons alike?

He exhaled slowly, staring off in the distance. These were questions he had carried for too long. Questions he had whispered in prayer, demanded in silence, pleaded for answers to. And yet, even his Patrons—the very beings who had chosen him—remained silent.

Speaking of his Patrons, Ocean drew in a breath and opened the notification that had been hovering at the edge of his mind.

[The Eternal Ascetic has assigned you a quest.]

[Protect Oasis and your people.]

[Reward: A Divine Relic of The Eternal Ascetic.]

[Penalty: Destruction.]

The last word lingered like a curse. Destruction. Ocean frowned faintly, his fingers curling on the window sill as he turned the meaning over in his head. Destruction of what, exactly? His people? His home? Or everything he had built up to this point—the alliances, the delicate plans, the fragile balance he was maintaining?

The Eternal Ascetic had once told him that this penalty was not fixed; they shifted according to the scope of what he managed to protect. The more he failed, the more devastating the consequence. That knowledge did not comfort him—it only deepened the weight of responsibility pressing onto his shoulders.

Compared to the Patrons’ previous quests, this one felt unnervingly cryptic. More dangerous, more final. Even the promise of the reward carried no clarity. A Divine Relic. What kind of relic? A weapon? A shield? A vessel of knowledge? Or something far stranger, something that might come with a price of its own?

Ocean’s lips pressed into a thin line. Trickery and riddles—such quests were the style of The Preserver, not the Eternal Ascetic. That Patron’s guidance had always been sharp, disciplined, unwavering. Which only left Ocean with the uneasy thought that this was no ordinary trial.

It was a test. Of what, he could not yet tell. His resolve? His leadership? His faith? Perhaps all of it at once.

And tests, he knew too well, did not forgive failure.

Besides, there was something else that gnawed at him—a silence he could not ignore. The God of Dragons, his own guardian, had never once reached out to him. Ocean knew the God of Dragons was actively protecting him but having no word from him was a little strange. The other Patrons usually contacted him even though they didn’t do much but God of Dragons seemed different.

Ocean’s gaze lingered on the snow-draped forest beyond the window, his thoughts a tangle of questions that refused to untangle. The faint traces of violet aura in the distance only deepened his brood, reminding him of forces at play that even he might not fully grasp. 𝘧𝓇𝑒𝑒𝑤ℯ𝑏𝓃𝘰𝑣ℯ𝘭.𝘤ℴ𝘮

A soft knock at the door broke his reverie. He blinked and turned, the solemn weight on his face lifting slightly as Enora stepped inside.

"Master, it’s time for you to get ready," she said gently.

Ocean studied her for a brief moment, the loyalty in her eyes a grounding presence. Then he allowed a small smile to curve his lips, forcing the shadows of his thoughts back where they belonged.

"All right," he replied, his voice calm as he turned away from the window, ready to face what awaited.