The ballroom shimmered with magic and marble, its gold-threaded curtains fluttering slightly despite the still air. The aftermath of the duel between Seraphina Ravenshade and Amara Valen, heir to the King's Grand Strategist, still lingered like smoke on silk. The nobility hadn't stopped whispering since.
"Did you see how she moved?" murmured Lady Velan, the Duke of Elowyth's wife, fanning herself as if to hide the flush of astonishment. "She's only ten."
"She's a Ravenshade," Lord Rhylen said with a nod. "Caelum never did play by the rules of common bloodlines."
"Still," hissed Duchess Ormira, eyes narrowing. "Magic like that… it's not just talent. That child is blessed or cursed. Time will tell."
From the raised dais, Isolde Ravenshade's gaze swept over the crowd, her posture the picture of composed nobility. But her fingers tapped lightly on her wine glass—rhythmic, calculating. Beside her, Caelum kept his usual enigmatic half-smile, though his eyes followed every noble who looked too long at their daughter.
Across the room, Amara nursed her pride with the icy grace of someone trained not to lose face. Her father, Strategist Damaris Valen, stood silently beside her, his hawk-like eyes betraying no emotion. But the stiffness in his jaw told another story.
And yet, amidst the swirling politics and veiled glances, a boy stood at the edge of the festivities, cradling a glass of berry fizz rather than wine—his expression unreadable.
Lioren.
Just twelve, dressed in midnight blue with a pin of obsidian flame on his collar. His black hair curled neatly at his neck, and his violet-gray eyes never left Seraphina.
Not out of judgment.
Out of memory.
He tilted his head, watching as she laughed softly at a noblewoman's attempt at polite praise. She was radiant, still slightly flushed from the duel, her amber eyes gleaming with barely restrained power. And yet… she looked so alone among the applause.
Lioren sipped his drink and murmured to himself, "She feels familiar"
He didn't approach. Not yet. But he would.
It was like they were connected.
Later that evening, Seraphina stood on one of the palace balconies, away from the press of perfumes and pearls. Her fingers traced glowing runes across the stone railing, her mind racing far faster than any conversation that night.
Behind her, the mirrorstone brooch on her collar shimmered faintly.
"That was dramatic," the system remarked dryly. **"You do know you weren't technically invited to turn her spell inside out like that, right?"
"She struck first," Seraphina whispered back. "I struck smarter."
"Goddess, you're such a Raven."
"Was he there?" she asked suddenly.
"Who?"
"The boy from my dreams."
A pause.
"Ah. Him. Yes. But he didn't speak to you. Yet."
Seraphina leaned against the railing, the wind tugging at her curls. "Why does it feel like I should know him?"
"Because you did. Before. Maybe in another life. Maybe just another version of this one."
She exhaled slowly, eyes tracing the horizon. In the ballroom behind her, the nobles danced and speculated.
But the real game?
It had already begun.