"Will you dance with me?"
Claude's voice came out quieter than he expected, almost hesitant. He hadn't planned to say it, but the words slipped out before he could stop them.
Sylvia blinked, startled. Her cheeks tinged with a soft rose as she looked up at him, eyes shimmering with nervous anticipation.
"…Yes," she replied, her voice barely above a whisper.
He offered his hand, stiff and unsure. She accepted it without pause, and with a sudden surge of energy that broke her calm exterior, Sylvia nearly dragged him toward the dance floor. Her grip was warm and eager, her fingers tightening with excitement.
Claude, however, moved like a man walking to the gallows. Each step toward the center of the ballroom felt heavier than the last.
'I'm going to die, aren't I?'
He didn't know the first thing about dancing. His knowledge of rhythm began and ended with dodging punches in grimy back-alley brawls, not elegant waltzes beneath golden chandeliers. The ballroom stretched out around him, vast and gleaming, illuminated by dozens of softly glowing crystal lights suspended from a ceiling so high it seemed lost in the shadows. Polished marble spread beneath their feet like a frozen lake, and every step echoed faintly into the hushed, watching silence.
Claude's steps felt awkward, stiff, and entirely out of place. His heart pounded in his ears, louder than the orchestra. He could already sense the judgment radiating from the surrounding nobles like the sting of cold air against bare skin.
But then, the music swelled.
A delicate waltz emerged from the string quartet positioned near the grand staircase. Their instruments wove a rich harmony, the violins drawing out notes that seemed to hang weightless in the air. All around them, couples began to move in fluid time, skirts flowing like silk, shoes tapping out gentle rhythms in seamless unison.
Claude turned to Sylvia. Her gaze met his and held it. In that still moment, something within him shifted.
It clicked.
Not with understanding or logic, but with instinct. His body moved without conscious command, as though guided by something older than thought. It felt like slipping into someone else's memory. One, two, three. Turn. Pivot. Step. The dance unfolded smoothly, each motion blending into the next. He wasn't just following her; he was matching her perfectly.
'What the hell is happening?'
He mirrored Sylvia's movements with unsettling precision. At times, he even led the rhythm. His back straightened naturally, his arms positioned with an ease he didn't possess a minute ago. Sylvia's expression flickered with surprise, followed by a quiet joy that softened her features.
Around them, heads turned. Curious eyes followed their movements. Quiet whispers drifted through the air. Elyas Eversley, once so reserved and shy, was now gliding across the marble as though he were born to it. The transformation was too perfect to ignore.
Claude forced a cordial smile, but inside he was screaming.
'How the hell am I doing this?'
He had never danced before. He hadn't even witnessed a dance with any real attention. So where was this grace coming from?
At first, he considered the possibility of natural talent. But the thought fell apart quickly. The adjustment was too fast. The movements were too exact.
It wasn't him dancing.
It was Elyas's body.
[Faceless] had changed more than just his appearance. It must have shaped his posture, recreated his Aether signature, and even overwritten his muscle memory. It was the only explanation that made sense.
That was Claude's theory, but deep down, he still allowed for another possibility. Something else might be influencing him, something he hadn't yet discovered. The uncertainty gnawed at him, and it made him think of Clyde's offer.
An offer that terrified him to his core.
Yet it promised answers. It held the chance to uncover the truth behind his Aetheris, and possibly, the things he had forgotten.
Claude didn't truly understand what Clyde meant by that. But the mystery itself was enough to draw him in.
Even with that pull, the idea of accepting scared him.
He pushed the thought aside. There were more immediate concerns to deal with. Surviving this dance without falling flat on his face, for example.
He turned his attention back to Sylvia, who still danced with him, her expression relaxed and light. Together, they moved as if carried by the wind, two figures in harmony, like birds weaving between clouds under a calm sky.
"I-I am sorry for what happened earlier. I wasn't in the right state of mind."
Sylvia looked up at him, pausing just slightly in her rhythm.
"It's okay, Elyas. I know it's been hard for you."
She gave him a small, reassuring smile. It was warm. Familiar. Comforting.
Claude looked at her, silent for a moment. His eyes should have held gratitude, relief, or something genuine. Instead, they were hollow, distant, as though he was having a conversation with a stranger wearing a familiar face.
"I was sad. Terrified. And most importantly, angry at myself," he said quietly. "Thank you for understanding, Sylvia."
He smiled at her. The expression was practiced and careful. It looked real, but inside, he recoiled from her. The sight of her made his stomach twist.
They continued to dance, their feet moving on instinct. Then something strange pulled Claude's attention to the edge of the ballroom.
He saw a pair of giants.
Towering figures. Moving. Dancing. They twirled in slow, deliberate steps with a grace that defied logic. No one reacted. No one seemed disturbed. It was as though they were ordinary guests.
The two giants were none other than Thornic and his wife. They danced together in perfect rhythm, their joy evident.
'How are these two dancing without making a sound?'
Claude turned away, struggling to process what he had seen. His body guided him and Sylvia to the edge of the floor. The music faded behind them.
"That was good," Sylvia said, her voice bright and proud. Her smile stretched wide across her face.
Claude returned the smile automatically.
'Finally, I can rest.'
But just as he started to relax, the music stopped entirely. Conversations died. A new hush fell over the room.
The duchess stood at the center of the ballroom. Her presence demanded attention without effort. She announced that she would be leaving, and with that, the rest of the nobles began to depart.
Claude watched as they made their way out to the courtyard. The dragon-bird waited, its massive form hunched near the grass, golden eyes blinking slowly. He finally learned its name: Betharia.
'What a stupid name,' he thought, then immediately snorted at himself. 'Look who's talking.'
Betharia spread its enormous wings. The gust of wind sent flower petals dancing across the stones. With one great leap, it lifted into the sky, carrying the nobles with it into the darkness.
Claude excused himself from Howard and Matilda and made his way to his quarters. The hallway was quiet, dimly lit by wall sconces. His footsteps echoed with a dull tap against the stone.
He collapsed onto his bed without changing. The sheets were soft, almost too soft. The room was warm, but he still felt cold.
And then, someone laid beside him.
It was Clyde.
Translucent and pale, Clyde stared at him with an amused smile. His presence brought no sound, no movement in the air.
"Goodnight, dear brother."