The soft rustle of fabric and clinking of buttons stirred me from my slumber. Morning light filtered through the tall windows of my chamber, painting golden lines across the floor. I blinked twice, disoriented, only to find a servant already at my bedside, arms full of folded garments and neatly arranged accessories.
"Forgive the intrusion, young master," she said with a practiced bow. "Lady Valyra requests that you be prepared early. The fitting for tonight's banquet must begin at once."
Before I could utter a single word, I was already being stripped of my nightclothes and ushered toward the tall mirror. Tailors moved around me like shadows, measuring, tucking, lifting bolts of fine cloth to my shoulders. Crimson silk, dark velvet, threads laced with silver and gold. Some uniforms carried the crest of the Kira family subtly hidden in their lining; others bore unfamiliar symbols—likely hand-selected by Valyra to evoke diplomacy rather than intimidation.
I stood silently as they worked, eyes drifting toward the mirror. My reflection looked foreign in noble garments. I was used to sparring leathers, dust, bruises. This elegant figure they molded—smooth-backed, narrow-eyed, silent—was someone else.
A knock at the door signaled her arrival.
Valyra entered the room like a wraith cloaked in perfume and velvet, her heels tapping softly against the floor.
She walked around me once, taking in the uniform I currently wore—black and silver with an open collar and a short capelet that barely brushed my back.
She frowned. "Too grim. You're not attending a funeral."
With a snap of her fingers, the tailors began changing it again. Eventually, she settled on an ensemble of midnight blue stitched with faint threads of amethyst. Sleek, striking, restrained. The cloak was longer now, clasped at the neck with a crescent-shaped brooch.
"There," she said, circling back to me. "You look presentable now."
"And where exactly am I going?" I asked, still fastening the cuffs.
She handed me a folded note with elegant inked letters and a seal: House Vermillion.
"Have you forgotten, a noble banquet. You'll be among the next generation of magic knights, nobles, and political heirs. It's time you start making... allies."
I stiffened. "I don't need—"
She waved a hand, interrupting me. "It's not about need. It's about perception. We can't keep you hidden forever. If you're going to stand among the living pieces on this board, you need to look like more than a weapon."
Her voice grew quieter, silkier.
"But more importantly, I want to see how others look at you. Who sees you as prey... and who senses the storm inside."
Before I could respond, she tilted her head and added with a smirk, "Be especially cautious around the Vermillions. Their flames are not the only thing that burns. They're proud, fiercely loyal to the King's line, and their eyes are always watching."
I frowned. "Is there something I should know?"
Valyra leaned in, her lips barely above a whisper. "You're a Kira. That alone is enough reason for most of them to keep daggers behind their backs. Just smile. And learn."
She turned and motioned toward the door.
"Your carriage awaits. Don't be late."
—
The ride to House Vermillion was long, and the city's bustle blurred past the window as I leaned back against the plush seat of the carriage. Valyra's words echoed in my mind. Who sees you as prey... who senses the storm inside.
The chauffeur said nothing, but his eyes in the mirror occasionally glanced at me. There was always that look—the one I had become accustomed to. Like I was something dangerous wearing the skin of a noble.
The sun was beginning to dip when we turned into the long path toward the Vermillion estate. From afar, it looked more like a fortress than a mansion—tall spires of crimson and white stone, banners fluttering in the wind, fountains of fire dancing in the central courtyard.
I took a deep breath as the carriage slowed to a halt.
The banquet of the lions had begun.
The grand hall of the Vermillion castle stood like a living monument to pride and legacy. Polished marble tiles shimmered beneath the chandelier's firelight, and crimson banners hung from high archways, fluttering gently with the movement of warm air. Nobles clustered in small circles, their voices a dull hum beneath the music played by a string quartet in the corner. Every movement, every word, was careful, calculated — as if the entire hall was a chessboard, and everyone already playing.
I stepped in, my tailored uniform feeling heavier with each step, as if weighed by the eyes that turned toward me. Whispers followed, as they always did. "Kira...?" "That must be one of them..." "Why is he here?"
Before I could navigate more than a few steps toward the center, a loud BANG erupted like a thunderclap.
A shockwave rippled across the hall, silencing the crowd and sending a few goblets crashing to the ground.
Then—CRACK!
A section of the eastern wall exploded inward, dust and stone flying like shrapnel. Nobles gasped and scrambled as a gust of heat swept into the room.
From the rubble stepped two figures — and for a moment, everything stood still.
The first was a woman in her mid-thirties, tall and graceful like a dancer, her body wrapped in a long coat embroidered with burning sigils. Her hair was the color of burning coals, tied up in a loose bun, and her face wore a gleeful, almost mocking smile. Her presence radiated controlled chaos — a wildfire pretending to be a torch.
Beside her was a boy, around my age, sweat dripping from his brow, cloak half-burnt, and breathing heavily. His shirt was scorched, and a long scratch bled across his shoulder. His eyes, however, blazed with pride and fury — determined not to fall.
"You're burning out already?" the woman teased, flicking a finger as another wave of flame struck toward the boy. He raised a shaky hand and summoned a wall of glowing heat to deflect the blow, though it cracked on impact.
"You said I needed to be ready for the real world," the boy spat, gritting his teeth. "So don't hold back now!"
The woman laughed, twirling her fingers as flames formed into a coiling whip of fire around her. "Oh, dear child. I'm not holding back. You're just that weak."
Another strike — the whip lashed out, slamming into the marble at his feet, sending him flying back several meters. He rolled with the impact, coughing, but still pushed himself up, defiant.
Around us, silence reigned.
The nobles had frozen in place. Some looked outraged. Others terrified.
And yet no one moved.
This wasn't a fight.
This was a lesson.
The woman turned slightly and finally noticed the crowd.
"Oh, don't mind us," she said with a wide smile. "Just a little demonstration before dinner."
One of the nobles leaned toward another and whispered, "That's Mereoleona Vermillion… one of the family's hidden monsters."
"And the boy?" someone asked.
"Her brother leopold. He's being trained like the old ways. Pain and fire."
I stared at the boy, watching the way he rose despite the bruises and burns, unwilling to collapse. Something about him stirred a strange sensation in my chest. Not admiration — no, something sharper. It was familiarity. Like looking at someone who understood what it meant to be shaped by cruelty and expectation.
leopoldlooked back at her, blood running down the corner of his mouth.
"I'll surpass you," he muttered, voice hoarse.
Mereoleona smirked.
"I hope you do," she said. "Otherwise, what a waste of Vermillion blood."
And with that, she extinguished her flames and casually walked toward the main stairs, greeting the still-shocked nobles as if nothing had happened.
leopold stood there, panting. Alone in the cratered floor, still burning.