The grand hall of House Arvendale was awash in candlelight, its chandeliers glittering like constellations above a sea of silk, velvet, and polished shoes. It was a celebration worthy of a hero: the elevation of Duke Leontius Arvendale to High Commander of the Western Circle—the youngest mage in history to receive such a title from the Imperial Magic Council.
Servants in silver livery moved like shadows between guests, balancing trays of crystal flutes and gilded confections. A string quartet played in the corner, nearly drowned out by the hum of gossiping nobles clustered in groups.
Then, the music faltered.
Heads turned. Fans paused mid-wave. A ripple moved through the crowd like a collective gasp, passed from mouth to mouth.
At the top of the staircase stood Count Ambrosia, clad in ceremonial black, and beside him—
"Selene?"
The word echoed softly. Disbelief, shock, even a hint of fear.
The fallen villainess. The girl who had died—no, been pronounced dead—had returned.
Selene descended slowly, arm-in-arm with her father, her purple gown catching the candlelight with every step. Silver lace bloomed like frost across the bodice, and a delicate black veil framed her face, half-hiding and half-revealing her crimson eyes. She looked regal. Composed. Very much alive.
As her heels touched the marble floor, the crowd parted like the Red Sea.
At the far end, standing like a statue carved from war and winter, was Duke Leontius Arvendale.
Tall, broad-shouldered, and clad in deep sapphire mage robes lined with platinum thread. His long silver hair fell straight down his back, and his violet eyes—cool and sharp—locked onto Selene the instant she entered the hall.
For a moment, he didn't breathe.
Because he saw it.
Around her—light.
Warm, golden-white light, radiant and soft like sunlight through snow.
Magic.
Not the wild, uncontrolled burst of a novice, nor the brutal flare of a cursed artifact. This was different—ancient, natural, and undeniably hers.
That's not possible, he thought, eyes widening imperceptibly. Selene never had magic like that. She was weak. She—
His grip tightened around the ceremonial staff.
Is this… really Selene?
But then her eyes met his, and something cold and old stirred inside him.
Her heart skipped a beat, and a faint flush spread across her cheeks as memories of this man flooded her mind. The man Selene had loved… no, Selene never stopped loving him, even in her last breath. How unfortunate.
Suddenly, her heart ached, but she steeled herself and smiled.
Not the flirtatious smirk she once wore at court. Not the spiteful twist she used to mask her humiliation. This smile was… bright. Wry. Dangerous.
A chill ran down Leontius's spine.
The Count and his daughter approached, and the crowd instinctively opened a path. Leontius gave a slight bow, enough to acknowledge the Count's rank but not deep enough to express warmth.
"Count Ambrosia," he said coolly. Then his gaze shifted. "Lady Selene."
"Duke Arvendale," Selene replied with a grace that did not match the scorned image they all remembered. "Congratulations on your promotion."
Her voice was calm. Polished. Like glass hiding a storm.
Behind Leontius, his father, Marquess Hadrian Arvendale, stepped forward. A tall man with silver hair like steel and cold sapphire eyes, he wore a gold-trimmed coat that marked his rank without flamboyance.
"Count Ambrosia," he said stiffly, "You continue to surprise the Empire."
Count Ambrosia gave him a polite smile, but it never reached his eyes.
"We all live to surprise, Marquess. That's what keeps court life interesting."
A warm chuckle broke the tension.
Lady Evelyne Arvendale swept in, grace incarnate. Her violet eyes sparkled with something unreadable, her black hair braided into a coronet laced with tiny pearls.
"Lady Selene," she said gently, "You look radiant."
Selene dipped her head. "Thank you, Lady Evelyne."
The Marquess made a low hum of disapproval but said nothing. His eyes kept darting between Selene and the silent awe rippling through the crowd. The whispers grew:
"She looks different."
"Didn't she die?"
"Has she no shame?"
"Why did she show her face?"
Selene turned slightly, her gaze sweeping the ballroom until—
Her eyes narrowed.
There. Across the room, half-hidden behind a curtain of nobles, stood a small girl in pale blue lace, her silvery-blonde hair in soft curls and large sapphire-blue eyes glistening with innocence. She looked no older than eight, clutching a beaded purse and staring at the crowd with wide, frightened eyes.
The heroine's daughter. Liora Celeste Arvendale.
Selene's smile vanished.
She looks just like...
Beside her, Leontius caught the sudden tension in her posture, the way her hand twitched ever so slightly as if she had just seen a ghost.
She shook her head and thought, No, I must be imagining things.
He took a careful step closer.
"You really don't care what they think of you anymore," he said, his voice low.
She didn't look at him. "No," she replied. "I have more important things to care about."
He studied her profile. Something unrecognizable flickered in his chest. Wariness. Awe. Something colder.
That light…
For the first time in a decade, Leontius Arvendale did not know what Selene was capable of.
And that terrified him.
A soft chime echoed through the grand hall, drawing everyone's attention to the center stage. An aged court mage, Master Uros, stepped forward, his violet robes trailing like smoke as he extended his arms.
"Ladies and gentlemen, in honor of the Duke's promotion, I present to you a spell of wonder and light," he announced, his smile tight as his gaze flicked to Leontius. Beneath the pleasant facade, jealousy burned like a slow fire. "That promotion should have been mine," he thought bitterly, clenching his fists beneath the wide sleeves of his robe. "But if the Duke wants a show, I'll give him one to remember."
"Liora Celeste Arvendale," he called, his voice carrying easily across the hall. "Would the young lady be so kind as to assist me?"
Leontius stiffened, his jaw tightening, but Lady Evelyne placed a calming hand on his arm. "It's just a harmless light spell," she said. "Nothing more."
Liora hesitated, her large sapphire-blue eyes darting toward her father. But when she saw his nod, she swallowed her fear and stepped forward. The crowd watched as the little girl ascended the stage, her pale blue lace dress trailing behind her like a cloud.
Uros' smile widened. "Now, my dear, hold out your hands."
Liora obeyed, her delicate hands trembling as Uros began to chant, his words ancient and melodic. At first, soft orbs of light appeared, twinkling like stars around Liora. The crowd oohed and aahed, enchanted by the harmless display.
But then, the air shifted.
Selene felt it first. A chill ran down her spine as the lights around Liora began to flicker, their soft glow turning sharp, jagged. Uros chanting wavered, his brow furrowing as his control over the spell began to slip.
"No," he muttered under his breath. "Not now..."
The air thickened. The lights crackled. And then—a rift opened. A swirling, shadowy void split the air behind Liora, sucking in the unstable magic like a black hole.
Gasps echoed throughout the hall as the force pulled at gowns and robes, candles guttering wildly. Liora shrieked as her feet began to slide toward the rift. The magician stumbled back, his eyes wide with horror. "I-I can't stop it!"
Leontius lunged forward, his hand outstretched—but Selene was closer.
The crowd watched, frozen in terror, as Selene surged forward, her gown billowing behind her. The rift roared, its pull intensifying, but as Selene reached Liora, the wild magic bent around her. Light twisted and coiled, forming a shimmering shield that blocked the void's pull.
Selene wrapped her arms around Liora, pulling her close as the magic flared around them like golden-white ribbons. The rift crackled, shuddered—and then, with a deafening burst, it collapsed in on itself.
The ballroom fell silent.
Selene's knees buckled, her vision dimming as the last of the wild magic dissipated.
She looked at Liora's face, caressing it gently as she thought, 'I've died before… it's no big deal if I die again, as long as you're safe.'
Tears fell from Liora's wide eyes as she gazed up at the woman who had just saved her. Who is this woman? Why did she save me?
In Selene's eyes, she saw the fleeting image of her own daughter, mixed with Liora's innocent face. You both look alike…
Before she could utter a word, darkness swallowed her whole.