Sonya stood outside Ravenclaw's study, her cloak draped against her shoulders like a shield against the storm raging inside her thoughts. The stained-glass windows dimly lit the hallway, the late afternoon sun casting fractured hues across the polished floor. She paused, took a breath, then knocked twice.
"Enter," came the familiar, level voice from within.
She stepped in.
Ravenclaw looked up from the ancient tome he had been poring over, its leather cover cracked and flaking like dried skin. He was dressed in a plain black vest with the sigil of his house stitched in silver — the crescent wolf entwined in a ring of thorns.
He arched a brow. "What are you doing here, Princess?"
She shut the door behind her and let the silence settle before she replied. "I thought we were past the formalities, Ravenclaw."
He said nothing, only leaned back in his chair, fingers steepled. Waiting.
She sighed and strolled toward his desk, each step heavy. "My father has summoned me to the capital," she said, brushing a strand of hair behind her ear. "Prince Mustafa is coming. An invitation extended by my dear brother."
At that, Ravenclaw scoffed, a dry chuckle escaping him. "Your brother, huh? I guess the birthday party will be a lively affair this time around. All the right blood, all the right blades."
She narrowed her eyes. "You think this is a joke?"
He held up his hands. "Not at all. I just didn't realize I was supposed to be charmed by another royal bloodbath in a velvet box."
She ignored the jab, stepped closer.
"I want you to come with me."
That made him pause. He looked at her, studying her face, not just her words, but the way her jaw tightened, the way her eyes flicked just slightly to the side. Something deeper was at play.
"Oh? And why is that?"
"Because we both know the truth," she said quietly. "My father-or, rather, the entire royal family—loathes your bloodline. The Ravenclaws and the other dark houses have always been seen as... tainted. Threats. Monsters we pretend to keep in check but secretly fear."
Ravenclaw's smile faded. "Go on."
She stepped closer, so close he could smell the faint lavender perfume she always wore — subtle, regal. Her voice dropped, low and urgent.
"I'm walking into a nest of wolves, and not the kind I can command. My brother invited Mustafa — why? To parade a potential suitor? To use him to provoke Veldora's high houses? Or to draw lines in the sand with people like you on the wrong side? I don't know yet. But I need someone there who doesn't wear a mask made of etiquette."
"And you thought of me," he murmured, almost to himself.
"You're not a pawn, Ravenclaw. You're a dagger. And I need a dagger at my side more than ever."
He stared at her for a long moment. The silence between them grew heavy, weighted with history — the forest incident, the wyvern, the bomb meant for him, the shadows they both danced around.
"Are you asking for protection," he said at last, "or alliance?"
"Both," she said without flinching. "And maybe something more."
His eyes narrowed slightly. "You trust me now?"
"I don't have the luxury not to," she answered, and it wasn't bitter. It was tired. Honest.
Ravenclaw leaned back in his chair, exhaling slowly. "Mustafa isn't just a prince. He's a jackal wearing a lion's skin. If he's coming, it's for blood or power — or both. And your brother… I've never known him to play chess without hiding poisoned pieces."
"Then come," she said. "If nothing else, come to remind them you're not to be ignored. That the dark houses still hold teeth."
He studied her for a moment longer, then gave a slow, deliberate nod.
"I'll come," he said. "But not for them."
Her lips curved, just barely. "I wouldn't ask you to."
The door to Ravenclaw's study shut softly behind her. Sonya's footsteps echoed down the hallway, her gloved fingers lightly brushing the velvet walls, her mind racing. The palace summons. Prince Mustafa's arrival. Her brother's games.
And Ravenclaw's words lingered like smoke:"I guess your brother's birthday will be good this time around, huh?"
A flicker of amusement — then gone. Replaced by calculation.
From the gloom of the corridor, a shape unfurled itself like a shadow breaking free from its anchor. Cloaked in the deep-black of the Viper's Pit, the figure knelt before her, masked in crimson-lacquered steel shaped to resemble a snake's fang.
"Princess," the agent rasped, "what are your orders?"
She did not look at him, only whispered:
"Get me everything on my brother, Prince Julius. Every whisper, every bribe, every lover's letter, every buried sin. The names of the servants he had vanished, the bloodlines he's ruined, the books he's touched. I want it all."
"Even his dealings with the cult?"
She finally turned her golden eyes on him, sharp as broken glass."Especially that."
The agent nodded once and melted back into the darkness.
Later That Night — Sonya's Private Chambers
The fireplace crackled softly, casting golden shadows against the satin-lined walls. A crystal decanter of wine remained untouched on her night table. Sonya sat poised in a carved high-back chair, staring down at the thick, unmarked folder that now lay open on her desk.
The scent of ash and spice — the mark of a Viper's dispatch — filled the room.
She flipped open the dossier. On the first page, embossed in the ink of secrecy and threat, read:
Subject:Prince Julius von EverheartAlias(es):The Pale Flame, The Third Son, Master of the Southern VaultsReport Compiled By:Viper Pit, Cell Theta, Handler Jyn
She turned the page.
Intelligence Summary: Prince Julius von Everheart
1. Disappearances Within His Household:Over fifteen servants in the past three years reported as reassigned or discharged. Several of these were later found mutilated in faraway provinces — tongues removed, eyes burned. Two had previously expressed suspicions of illegal alchemical activities.
2. Abyssal Affiliations:Confirmed meetings with robed intermediaries from the Abyssal Order of Somatra. Notably, a pale girl with white eyes was seen entering his chambers under invisibility wards, using ancient glyphs no longer in circulation.
3. The Southern Vault:Julius has commandeered the ancient Southern Vault beneath the royal library, once sealed after the last war against the Abyss. Reports from sympathetic palace magi say he is conducting forbidden rites there, protected by elite personal guards and enchanted traps.
4. Military Procurement:Coin trails reveal secret shipments of Abyssal-forged weapons, smuggled through old war ports on the southern border. These arms are untraceable nd lethal against both human and divine flesh.
5. Letter to Sultan Amin of Arqaban (Intercepted, Partial):
"The garden will bloom again with red lilies. The time nears for winter to bow before the desert sun. You will not walk alone."
Decoded by the cipher: an invitation for military collaboration, possibly timed with the weakening of the Empire's border defenses.
6. Forbidden Rituals:Eyewitness accounts (all now dead or missing) report Julius invoking rites of binding — known only to the Black Tome of Tharion — to control creatures of shadow. His laboratory allegedly contains vat-grown hybrids, remnants of the old chimera breeding program.
Sonya leaned back, her pulse steady, but her eyes were wild with fire.
"You bastard…" she muttered.
Julius wasn't just playing politics anymore. He was preparing for war. A personal one. A quiet, bloody one waged beneath the surface — and the Empire would never see it until it was far too late.
She closed the folder, stood, and walked to the balcony.
Sonya's gaze remained fixed on the horizon, where the city of Veldora stretched outward in a quilt of domes and spires — and beyond that, the vast southern sands of Arqaban. Her fingers clutched the edge of her balcony railing as if she could wring the truth from the wind itself.
"I want to know what's going on in Arqaban," she said sharply, turning to the cloaked figure in the room. "Send a Viper to the southern courts. Have them dig through the Sultan's inner circle, his court dancers, his bastard sons, even the falconers. I want to know what my brother has promised Sultan Amin — and what the Sultan gains by sending his son to my brother's banquet."
The cloaked shadow gave the Viper salute — fingers pointed like fangs to the lips, then heart — and disappeared into the floor-length curtains with such practiced ease, it was as if they'd never been there.
Only a moment passed before a soft knock echoed through the heavy doors.
"Princess?"
Her handmaid's voice, timid yet respectful.
"Come in."
The girl entered with a bow, parchment in hand, and a nervous look on her face. Her golden curls bounced lightly as she approached, the scent of lavender trailing behind her like a whisper. She tried to avoid Sonya's piercing eyes as she spoke.
"Forgive me, Princess, but the Court of Officials has sent a formal request."
"Regarding?"
"Your partner. For the banquet. Your brother's birthday celebration. It's tradition for each royal to appear with an escort… preferably one of noble or political significance."
Sonya blinked. For the first time in a long while, she was truly… stunned.
"Partner?" she repeated. "I wasn't told—"
"The message only arrived a few hours ago. Your presence is expected to… reinforce alliances. Especially with the Sultan's son attending. It would seem... appearances matter."
Sonya took a slow breath and walked back to her desk. She placed the message on the polished surface and stared at it, as if the ink might reveal a hidden agenda.
"They want to parade me like a pawn," she muttered. "As if the game wasn't already in motion."
Her handmaid stepped closer, her voice softer.
"They're afraid. You're still unmarried, Princess. With the Sultan's son coming, and your brother's influence growing… the court smells war. And they want unity. A picture of harmony."
Sonya's eyes narrowed.
"Or submission."
A long silence followed. The fire cracked once. Outside, a raven landed on the railing, watching with uncanny focus.
"Who are the names being whispered?" she asked.
The maid hesitated.
"Duke Rael of Norith. Sir Elheim of the Jade Guard. Prince Kareth of Lenova — though he's only fifteen, to be fair…"
"And?"
The handmaid coughed lightly, flushed.
"Some… some of the younger nobles at the academy mentioned Lord Ravenclaw."
The name landed in the room like a thrown dagger.
Sonya's lips parted, but no words came. She turned away from the girl and paced to the fireplace. Ravenclaw — the scion of a dark house, a sorcerer whispered to walk with ghosts, the very man who'd defied her, saved her, and kept her at arm's length like a weapon too dangerous to wield.
"Ridiculous," she said flatly.
But the embers in her chest said otherwise.
"Shall I prepare a list of acceptable escorts?" the maid asked carefully.
"No."
She turned back. Her voice was calm and cold.
"Tell the court I'll appear with someone of my choosing. And tell them if they attempt to assign me a leash, I'll make a spectacle at the banquet so grand they'll be asking why they ever gave me a crown."
The maid bowed deeply and retreated.
"What a headache," Sonya muttered, resting her elbow on the ornate table carved with vines of the imperial tree of Veldora, her fingers pressing against her temple.
Her thoughts spun in a cyclone of names, possibilities, and threats dressed as suitors. Political marriages were nothing new. She'd danced this courtly ballet since she was twelve — partners changing like masks at a masquerade, each noble family presenting their sons like sharpened daggers wrapped in silk.
But this banquet was different.
This wasn't just her brother's celebration.
This was a stage. A battlefield dressed in roses and velvet.
Her eyes wandered toward the balcony doors, left slightly ajar. A breeze carried the distant scent of incense and dust from the outer walls. But that wasn't what caught her attention.
Across the courtyard, far below in the maze of shaded walkways between the Academy's east wing and the old chapel ruins, a figure moved.
No… two.
Sonya narrowed her eyes, standing without even thinking.
"Is that…?"
Her breath hitched.
Professor Veyren.
The man who had arrived only three months ago — quiet, too quiet. Never spoke unless prompted. Always watching. Always appearing where silence had just been broken. Students called him the Pale Shade behind his back, though few dared say more. A master of alchemy, or perhaps curses, no one quite knew. His records from the University of Drymoor were sealed by royal order — not even her agents had been able to crack them fully.
And now, he walked in the shadows below the moonlight, cloaked in black, with a girl beside him. A student, perhaps? She looked young. Her movements were sluggish, her posture off, like she was sleepwalking.
"What are you doing, Veyren…?"
Sonya's pulse ticked up, but her instincts warred with logic.
"No. Don't jump to conclusions. It could be nothing.""But what if it's not?"
She turned back to her table, trying to refocus.
But the vision of the pale professor slipping into the foggy chapel with the girl haunted her. And just beneath that, another dread weighed on her — the partner question.
"Who do I bring to the banquet?"
Names flickered in her mind like candle flames in a draft.
Prince Kareth — too young.Duke Rael — ambitious, arrogant, and known for abusing his hounds.Elheim of the Jade Guard — honorable, but tied too tightly to the Everheart Court. He would report her every word to Julius.
Then there was Ravenclaw.
Her eyes lingered on the name, even as she refused to say it aloud.
Austin Ravenclaw.
A man whose hands were as steeped in blood as they were in ink and arcane symbols. A noble from a dark House scorned by the court, accused of blasphemies, of studying forbidden lore — but one who had saved her. Protected her. And, when she'd tried to use him… refused to become her pawn.
A ghost of a smile played on her lips, bitter and uncertain.
"An ally. But is he… safe?"
Would walking into the royal court beside him ignite old scandals?
Would it mark her as a traitor in her brother's eyes?
Would it—?
A voice interrupted her.No, not aloud.A memory.
"You need someone who doesn't flinch when monsters walk the halls."Ravenclaw had said that once. After the chimera attack.
He hadn't flinched then.
He wouldn't know.
But would he accept?
Would he follow her into a banquet of knives, knowing every smile was sharpened with intent? Would he come at all, or would he vanish back into his shadows and tomes, brushing off politics as a disease of the weak?
Sonya stared at the candle before her.
The flame bent sideways. A draft had come in from the balcony.
The same path Professor Veyren had taken.
She rose again.
"First, the banquet. Then… Veyren."
There were too many secrets. Too many eyes on her. If Ravenclaw was the only one who could walk beside her without turning away at the first sign of darkness… maybe, just maybe, it was worth the risk.
She turned to her handmaiden.
"Send a letter."
"To whom, Princess?"
Sonya paused.
The candle flame flickered again.
"To Lord Ravenclaw. Tell him… I request his company at the imperial banquet. As my partner."
The handmaiden blinked — once, twice — but nodded and quickly obeyed, disappearing from the room like a shadow herself.
Sonya didn't sit.
She returned to the balcony.
Veyren and the girl were gone.
Only the mist remained.
"You're all hiding things from me," she whispered to the air. "My brother. The court. The Sultan. Even the new professors."
"But I'll unravel every thread you think is invisible."
Her eyes glowed faintly gold — a sign of the Royal Sight awakening, her birthright and curse.
And far, far below, in the hidden crypts beneath the chapel, Professor Veyren looked up — and smiled as if he heard her.
As Sonya stood on the cold marble balcony, her golden eyes fixed on the distant city skyline cloaked in velvet night, her thoughts wandered to him.
Ravenclaw.
The man who never bowed. In the game, too, he didn't bow as far as she remembered. Not to the gods, if rumors were true.
She remembered stories she read — tales the nobles never told openly, but always carried in their eyes when the name Ravenclaw was mentioned.
"He refused to kneel.""Even before the Crown.""Even when the Great Inquisition came for his father."
And that wasn't all.
Ravenclaw wasn't just a man — he was the living face of a dynasty carved from shadows, tempered in blood, and veined with arcane fire.
The House of Ravenclaw — ancient, powerful, and deeply feared.
Founded over seven centuries ago by High Lord Kael Ravenclaw the First, a warlock-knight who forged a realm within the empire's outer provinces during the Age of Dust, they were not born into nobility.
They took it.
The Ravenclaws didn't come from golden thrones or angelic lineages. They came from the battlefield — from fallen cities, from dark pacts made in the deepest of woods, and from unmatched martial discipline. They believed in strength, in knowledge, in loyalty that could not be bought — only earned.
And now?
Now they commanded twenty-two vassal houses.
Twenty-two minor noble families, each powerful in their own right, all swearing allegiance to the Raven banner — a silver raven against a black sun. With a single order from their Lord, these houses could mobilize fleets, armies, and sorcerers.
The Imperial Court once joked that if the Ravenclaws ever broke off to form their own kingdom, they wouldn't need a war.
They'd already have one — inside the Empire itself.
And it wasn't just military might.
The Ravenclaws controlled the Night Forge — the largest producer of runesmithing and arcane weaponry in the Empire. They held the Isle of Thorns, where magical beasts were bred and trained. They secretly funded several guilds in the black market, had informants in both the Obsidian Faith and the Crown's secret court, and if rumors were to be believed, some even whispered they still practiced forbidden magicks of the First Age, things that could turn kings into dust with a name.
Sonya had heard them all.
And yet, the man who now headed that house — Austin Ravenclaw, heir and current Lord — was perhaps more dangerous than all who came before him.
Not because he was cruel.
But because he was calm.
The kind of calm that made other predators wary. The calm of a man who didn't need to raise his voice to be heard. Who didn't need a sword to command an army? Who had, somehow, in five years, brought order to his vassals, tamed warbands in the north, and silenced three rebellions — not by bloodshed, but by strategy, promises, and just enough fear.
The Emperor himself had tried to "tame" him, Sonya remembered.
Her father had once summoned Austin to the Winter Palace after the rebellion of House Feld. Ravenclaw was barely twenty-two. They said the Emperor tried to intimidate him into compliance. Tried to offer marriage. Tried to break him.
None worked.
He left without kneeling.
The nobles fumed.
But the Emperor never summoned him again.
Because deep down, even the throne feared what might happen if Ravenclaw ever chose war over politics.
Sonya clenched her jaw.
"He's not a pawn. He never was."
And now… she considered asking him to walk into the lion's den of her brother's banquet as her partner.
What would that mean?
What would the nobles say?
What would Julius say?
She could already hear the court's murmurs — The princess has allied with the Raven.The girl seeks to claim the Crown through darkness.She brings the bloodline of witches into the palace!
And yet… part of her didn't care.
Another part of her wondered what it would feel like — to walk into that court not alone for once, not with sycophants or noble flatterers, but with someone who had never once betrayed her. Someone who made her feel like her enemies should be afraid.
Not her.
She leaned forward, gripping the edge of the balcony, hair rustling in the wind.
If the Ravenclaws truly chose to rise, they could bring cities to heel, parliaments to their knees, and gods to silence.
And she-she-the lone daughter of the imperial line—might be the only one who could convince the raven not to fly away.
"If I take him to the banquet… the game changes."
She smiled faintly, coldly.
"Let it."
The chamber was dim.
Only the amber glow of a single rune-crystal lit the study — the shadows stretched long across the stone walls, reflecting the cold, calculated silence that always hung within the Ravenclaw estate.
Stacks of reports lined the desk, half-read letters from the Western front, a coded dispatch from House Lorne, and schematics from his newest mercantile acquisition in the East.
And atop it all — a letter.
Sealed in violet wax, pressed with the imperial sun.
He eyed it for a long moment, fingers unmoving.
The royal seal. From her.
Austin Ravenclaw did not move like a man startled or excited — he moved like a wolf sniffing the wind.
Finally, he took the letter in hand, broke the seal with the tip of a raven-feathered knife, and unfolded the parchment.
The ink was dark, deliberate — the script as elegant and poised as the woman herself.
Lord Austin of House Ravenclaw,
In seven days, the Imperial Court will host a grand banquet in honor of my brother, Crown Prince Julius, on the occasion of his twenty-sixth nameday.
Prince Mustafa of Arqaban shall be among the esteemed guests. The court will be... observing closely.
You are hereby invited as my partner.
Consider this both a political courtesy... and a personal request.
Yours,—Princess Sonya Everheart, Fourth of Her Name, Defender of the Western Rose
He read it twice. Then a third time.
No errors.
No mistakes.
No overt threats.
But no letter from royalty ever came without knives hidden between the lines.
He leaned back in his chair, a slow breath leaving his lips as he stared into the shadow-draped ceiling, the parchment still open in his hand.
"So, that's the move now."
A quiet laugh escaped him — sharp and dry, like the crack of ice.
First, she disrupted his business.
He remembered clearly: the sabotage in the Black Markets of Selen's Hold, the sudden disappearance of his caravans, the economic pressure from the Eastern Trade Guilds. All operations her agents had either disrupted or outright stolen.
She had tried to bring him to his knees by taking the gold beneath his throne.
And now... an invitation?
His eyes narrowed.
"What game are you playing, Princess?"
He stood and walked toward the window, the sprawling, storm-dark forests of Ravenmoor stretching far beyond his gaze. The letter felt light in his hand, but heavy in meaning.
"First, you seek to weaken me... then you offer your hand."
His voice was a whisper to the shadows.
"You're playing a dangerous game, Princess."
He thought back to their last confrontation. She'd come to him in storm and silence, with fury in her voice and desperation behind her eyes. Now, she returned with honeyed words.
"If you don't choose your pawns wisely... the Queen on your board will be tarnished."
And he wasn't referring to her rank. No.
He was referring to Sonya herself.
Because once you court the Raven, you invite something into your house that doesn't forget, doesn't forgive, and always flies above the storm.
He turned the letter in his fingers once more. The signature shimmered faintly with arcane ink, proof of authenticity.
A banquet.
A gathering of princes.
And he, a lord feared and hated by half the court, walking into their gilded den as her partner?
It would send ripples through the entire Empire.
It would be seen as a declaration.
A threat to Julius. A message to the Sultan. A line drawn in the sand.
Which begged the question:
Was Sonya gambling for power?
Or trying to survive?
He set the letter down, finally, on his desk — not discarded, but carefully placed atop the rest.
He'd answer her. In due time.
But first, he had a professor to track.
And a girl was seen walking in the shadows beside him — the same shadows where children vanished.
The political games could wait.
For now, the hunter would walk.
Princess Sonya sat alone in her chamber, the velvet curtains drawn tightly against the evening light.
Beyond the balcony, the capital sang its usual song—bells in the harbor, laughter in the markets, the shrill chatter of noblewomen arriving early for the ball.
But inside her room, the air was still.
The fire in the hearth burned low, casting long golden streaks across her golden hair as she stared into the mirror.
Not in her reflection.
But at the empty chair behind her, the one her father used to sit in when he still pretended to guide her.
She touched the corner of the letter she'd written to Ravenclaw, her fingers steady now, her decision made.
"You will not be sabotaging me in any way, Father," she whispered, her voice quiet but razor-sharp.
She stood, her silk gown brushing the cold marble beneath her feet. She paced once, twice, like a lioness trapped in a gilded cage, mind unraveling strategy like threads in a loom.
She could feel the political currents swirling tighter around her—her brother Julius pulling strings from behind veils, the Sultan's envoy approaching, and now whispers that Ravenclaw himself would appear beside her.
They would call it a scandal. Treason. Madness.
But they'd also call it a power move.
Let them. Let them choke on it.
She turned to the desk where her shadows had left the latest report—details about Prince Julius's recent meetings with the Sultan's representatives.
Nothing too damning.
Yet.
She narrowed her eyes.
"Keep digging," she whispered to no one.
She was no fool. This wasn't just a banquet.
This was a battlefield.
And if Ravenclaw was bringing his storm, then she would bring her fire.
Let the Empire choose which burns brighter.
In the highest tower of the obsidian bastion, the imperial throne room was dimly lit. Candles flickered in sconces shaped like the wings of the Imperial Phoenix, and tapestries of conquest whispered in the cold breeze seeping through the stained glass.
The torches along the obsidian corridors burned low, as if afraid to shine too brightly upon the mood of the man who ruled an empire as Emperor.
First of His Name, the Flameborn Monarch, sat alone in his war chamber, the red light of the hearth licking the bronze armor he still wore despite the hour.
Scrolls of battlefields and courtly reports lay untouched. His mind was elsewhere—his eyes fixed on the last letter that arrived in haste.
It bore a simple seal.
No House. No sigil.Only a line: "He has moved the Arqaban prince."
The Emperor's fingers clenched. His knuckles cracked.
"Mustafa and Julius. That boy… I should've drowned him in the baptismal lake when I saw the look in his eyes. The same eyes his mother had. No fear. No faith. Just hunger."
He stood slowly, pacing in the silence, the fire casting flickering shadows behind him like a court of ghosts.
"You think you're winning, Julius? You think I do not see? I've slit the throat of cleverer men. Ravenclaw's father, the Chancellor of Ashspire, the Viper of Ermor…"
He turned to face the window, across the mountains, beyond rivers and lands held by vassal dukes and dormant lords.
"You think distance protects you. But you forget—I am the Emperor. And even your castle was raised by my will."
He reached for the hilt of his blade resting beside the map table.
"If you dare play king in my absence... I will carve the crown into your skull."
Far East – Castle Lysarion, Stronghold of Prince Julius von Everheart
A thousand miles east, nestled between frozen peaks and forests where no banners flew, Castle Lysarion stood like a phantom. Where Astraea burned bright with golden towers and roaring legions, Lysarion was quiet, cold stone, secret passages, and minds that whispered rather than shouted.
Inside, Prince Julius sat alone in his candle-lit chamber. Before him lay a chessboard, only half-filled.
He toyed with the white queen, flicking it gently with his gloved fingers.
"Father rages in his golden cage. Good. Let him bark threats across the winds like a mad dog. It only confirms my path is hidden well."
He looked down at a sealed document from the Sultanate of Arqaban. The golden falcon sigil was untouched.
"Prince Mustafa's arrival will rattle them all. Sonya will rush to seek allies. Ravenclaw will stalk from the shadows like the bloodhound he is. And the nobles will dance…because they must."
His eyes glinted in the firelight. Calculating.
"But I—I—am the storm. They think I move pieces. No… I am the board."
He poured himself dark wine and lifted a goblet to the cold wind beyond the balcony.
"To the game."