The crystal chandeliers hanging from the soaring ceilings of Castle Graymore's main hall blazed with a brilliance that bordered on the divine. They emitted a sharp, indigo-hued light powered by high-quality mana crystals—a luxury few houses in the Kingdom of Norvane could afford. Tonight, the castle, which usually felt rigid and clinical in its military austerity, had transformed into an ocean of opulence.
The soft, undulating melodies of a live orchestra drifted through the air, mingling with the rhythmic clinking of fine crystal flutes and the practiced, melodic laughter of nobles who had traveled from every corner of the kingdom. This grand gala was held to celebrate two milestones: Faris Graymore's breakthrough into the Rank of Enhanced Knight, and Count Ragil's successful military expedition along the frozen northern borders.
However, to those with eyes that could see through the veneer, the banquet was nothing more than a theater of shadows—a stage designed to flaunt the power and purity of a bloodline that tolerated no weakness.
In a dim, secluded corner of the hall, far from the swarming center of attention, Razzaq Graymore stood in absolute silence. He wore a formal, stiff-collared suit of midnight black, accented with silver embroidery—the colors of the Graymore house. The bruises on his face from the duel two days ago had long since vanished, healed by the cooling oceanic essence provided by Nyi Roro Kidul. Yet, Razzaq had utilized a delicate manipulation of his internal blood flow to ensure his skin remained pale and sickly, a visual confirmation of his supposed fragility.
Repulsive, Razzaq thought, taking a slow sip of fruit juice that felt far too cloying on his tongue. The scent of expensive perfumes and aged wine cannot mask the stagnant stench of hypocrisy in this room.
Even after seven years in this world, his Nusantara soul still craved the sharp, pungent sting of spices—the ginger, the cloves, the turmeric of his homeland—not the bland, butter-heavy delicacies that dominated Norvane's high society.
"Young Master Razzaq, do you feel uncomfortable?" whispered Clara, who stood steadfastly behind him. She looked radiant tonight in a more formal maid's attire, but her eyes remained sharp, scanning every noble who dared to cast a disparaging glance toward her master.
"I am fine, Clara. Only bored," Razzaq replied, his voice flat.
His presence at the party was akin to that of a ghost. Count Ragil had made no effort to introduce him to any of the visiting dignitaries, treating his third son as if he were an invisible stain on the family tapestry. On the opposite side of the hall, Faris stood in the spotlight, surrounded by young noblemen who praised his talent to the heavens. Faris laughed loudly, occasionally casting a glance toward Razzaq—a look that screamed, 'Witness your place, and witness mine.'
However, Razzaq's relative peace was soon disrupted. A group of noble children—the offspring of House Graymore's vassals—began to approach his corner. They were led by a pudgy boy, the son of a local Baron, whose face was already flushed with the arrogance of his station.
"Well, well, look who we have here. The legendary Hollow Vessel of Graymore is actually trying to join the party?" the boy sneered loudly, triggering a chorus of snickering from his companions. "Hey, I heard you couldn't even lift a wooden sword properly two days ago. Is it true you're actually Lord Ragil's son, or were you swapped with a commoner at birth?"
Razzaq merely stared at them with a vacant, empty expression. Within his mind, he was already calculating ten different ways to permanently paralyze the boy's tongue using a low-level Santet (curse). But he restrained himself. Now was not the time to reveal the viper's fangs.
"My Lord... allow me to turn their juice into boiling seawater," Nyi Roro Kidul's voice echoed in Razzaq's mind, dripping with cold fury. "I cannot stand to see these flies buzzing before you."
Be silent, Nyai. Let them have their moment, Razzaq replied.
Before the children could utter further insults, a sudden, chilling pressure enveloped the area. Alya Graymore stepped forward, her face a mask of cold hostility. Her blue gown fluttered slightly as she released a sliver of her Mana Channeler aura.
"Did your parents not teach you how to behave in the home of a Count?" Alya asked, her voice low and threatening. "Or would you prefer I teach you how to be silent?"
Despite Ragil's disappointment in Razzaq, a Graymore was still a Graymore. Insulting a member of the house within their own walls was political suicide for lower-tier nobles. The Baron's son turned pale, bowed in terror, and scurried back into the crowd without a backward glance.
"Razzaq, ignore them," Alya said softly, looking at her brother with deep pity.
"Thank you, Sister Alya. But I believe I'll seek some fresh air," Razzaq said. Without waiting for a response, he slipped through a side door, leaving behind the noise that had begun to make him nauseous.
Razzaq walked along a long, arched balcony that overlooked the castle's sprawling moonlit gardens. The night wind was cool, carrying the scent of pine and evening dew. On this deserted balcony, he felt far more alive. He walked with a measured, rhythmic pace, each step producing no sound—a habit he unconsciously carried from his spiritual movement techniques.
"Your gait is very strange for a child who supposedly has no mana."
Razzaq stopped. He turned toward the shadowed end of the balcony. There, sitting atop the stone balustrade and swinging her legs casually, was a young girl. She wore a bright yellow dress with white ribbon accents—a stark contrast to the castle's somber atmosphere. Her hair was a light, chestnut blonde, and her eyes sparkled with an unnerving curiosity.
This was Elowen Ravenshade.
The Ravenshade family was one of the closest allies of the House of Graymore. Their patriarch, Draven Ravenshade, was a long-time comrade of Count Ragil. Unlike the typical Ravenshades, who were known for being mysterious and silent—fitting for a name that meant 'Shadow of the Raven'—Elowen was known for being vivacious, outspoken, and incredibly perceptive.
"Who are you?" Razzaq asked, though he already knew her identity from his earlier observations.
"I should be asking you that. But I know who you are. Razzaq Graymore, the Hollow Vessel, right?" Elowen hopped down from the railing with feline grace. She approached him, her eyes scanning him from head to toe. "But you don't look like a weakling. The way you move... the way you stand... you look more like an adult trapped in a tiny body."
Razzaq's eyes narrowed slightly. This child had sharp instincts. "You possess an overactive imagination, Lady Ravenshade."
"Just call me Elowen. And no, it's not imagination," she smiled widely, revealing neat white teeth. "I was bored inside. My father keeps talking about politics with yours. So I escaped. You escaped too, didn't you?"
"I am merely seeking tranquility," Razzaq answered curtly.
Elowen giggled. "You speak so formally. It's fascinating. Back at the party, everyone looked at you with pity, but you... you looked at them as if they were ants. I like your eyes."
Razzaq remained silent for a moment. He hadn't expected a peer to sense even a fraction of his true self. Elowen didn't look at him with disdain, nor did she offer the suffocating pity that everyone else did.
"My Lord, this girl is far too noisy. And her aura... it is too bright. It doesn't suit her family name at all," Nyi Roro Kidul commented from within Razzaq's soul. "She isn't dangerous, but she is far too inquisitive."
Let her be, Nyai. She is but a child, Razzaq replied.
"Aren't you sad?" Elowen asked suddenly, her voice dropping to a softer tone. "I mean, about the mana. In this kingdom, without mana, life is... difficult."
Razzaq looked up at the night sky, toward the silver moon. "Strength does not always take the form of light visible to the eye, Elowen. Sometimes, that which appears empty holds depths that cannot be measured."
Elowen blinked, her mind attempting to process words that sounded far too philosophical for a seven-year-old. "Whoa... you really are strange. But I like that answer."
She reached into the pocket of her dress and pulled out a small silver coin. It bore the engraving of a raven on one side and a sun on the other. She took Razzaq's hand and pressed the coin into his palm.
"This is a token from me. My father says a Ravenshade never forgets an interesting friend. If you ever need help, or just want to talk to someone who won't laugh at you, find me," Elowen said with a tone that was cheerful yet surprisingly sincere.
Razzaq stared at the coin. He could feel a faint vibration of protective mana embedded within the metal—a mark of friendship from the House of Ravenshade. He hadn't planned for this, but in a world filled with betrayal, having a seed of alliance was never a bad thing.
"Thank you, Elowen," Razzaq said. He reached into his jacket pocket, looking for something to give in return, but found nothing but a plain handkerchief. He decided on something else. He picked up a small stone from a nearby flower pot on the balcony and channeled a sliver of refined Ancestral Breath (Napas Batin) into it—just enough to make it permanently warm to the touch.
"This is for you. Keep it. If you ever feel cold or frightened, hold this stone," Razzaq said.
Elowen took the stone, her eyes widening. She could feel a strange, soothing warmth radiating from it—a warmth that didn't feel like typical fire magic, but something far more tranquil. "It's warm! You really do have secrets, don't you, Razzaq?"
Razzaq only offered a thin, enigmatic smile.
The meeting was cut short as Count Draven Ravenshade's voice called out for his daughter from the balcony doors. Elowen waved cheerfully at Razzaq before running back toward her father. From the distance, Razzaq saw Draven Ravenshade cast a brief, unreadable glance in his direction before disappearing back into the hall.
Razzaq looked at the silver coin in his hand once more. Tonight, he hadn't received acknowledgment from his family, but he had gained something far more valuable for the future: a sincere connection in a sea of falsehoods.
"My Lord, do you intend to befriend that noisy human?" Nyi Roro Kidul asked.
"Perhaps, Nyai. In this world, sometimes we need a little light to hide more perfectly within the shadows," Razzaq replied.
He turned, walking slowly back toward his room, ignoring the distant roar of the party below. For him, the real game had only just begun.
Far away in the capital, an ancient mana-detector hummed for a split second, sensing a ripple of energy that didn't belong to this world. The gears of fate were beginning to turn, faster than Razzaq anticipated.