That night, Solum felt unreal.
Lanterns floated above the streets like captured stars, their warm light reflecting off polished stone and flowing silk. Music echoed from every corner—soft flutes, gentle strings, rhythmic drums—blending into a harmony that wrapped the capital in celebration. Food stalls overflowed, laughter rang freely, and even the cold night air seemed warmer.
It was a festival.
But it was also something more.
Everywhere people gathered, one topic dominated every conversation.
"The Blackthorne heir…"
"Did you see the orb break?"
"SSS+… no, they say even that might not be accurate."
"A monster? No—he's hope."
Shock. Pride. Fear. Awe.
All of it mixed together.
Commoners spoke with wide eyes and lowered voices, as if the name Aurelian von Blackthorne carried weight that could be felt. Some boasted as if his achievement belonged to the empire itself. Others drank more than usual, unsettled by the thought that someone so young could already stand so far above reason.
Even nobles—those accustomed to grandeur—found themselves unsettled by the atmosphere of Solum.
And yet, beneath the joy, security was tighter than ever.
Black Steel Knights patrolled every major street. Mages watched from rooftops. Hidden barriers shimmered faintly beneath the city like invisible walls. Anyone with sharp senses could feel it.
Celebration, yes.
But also vigilance.
---
Blackthorne Estate — Grand Banquet Hall
Within the Blackthorne estate, the grand banquet hall glowed with restrained elegance.
Crystal chandeliers hung high above, refracting soft golden light across marble floors etched with ancient runes. Tall pillars lined the hall, each bearing the Blackthorne sigil—black steel crowned with a silver thorn—carved with intimidating precision.
The music here was different.
Not loud. Not festive.
A calm, refined melody flowed through the hall, played by skilled musicians hidden behind translucent screens. It soothed rather than excited, befitting a gathering of power rather than revelry.
Long tables filled the hall, draped in deep black cloth embroidered with silver thread. Rare wines, delicacies from across Arcanor, and dishes prepared by master chefs were arranged with care.
Guests arrived steadily.
High nobles in tailored attire. Wealthy merchants radiating quiet confidence. Influential figures whose names alone could sway markets or armies.
Each arrival was announced. Each presence weighed.
The representatives of the Magic Towers, however, were conspicuously absent.
They had departed shortly after the ceremony, citing "urgent matters."
In truth, every one of them had returned to their respective towers to deliver reports that would shake foundations and rewrite records.
What had happened today could not wait.
---
A ripple passed through the hall as an announcement rang out.
"Duke Chris von Solvaris and Lady Elena von Solvaris."
All eyes turned.
Chris von Solvaris entered with measured steps. Brown hair neatly tied back, blue eyes calm and observant, he wore a finely tailored blue suit threaded with silver lines. On his chest gleamed the Solvaris crest—an open book with a single all-seeing eye at its center.
An 8th Circle Mage. Known across the empire as The Zenith.
Beside him walked his daughter.
Elena von Solvaris.
For a brief moment, the hall forgot how to breathe.
She wore an ice-blue gown that shimmered like frost beneath moonlight, hugging her figure with flawless elegance. The fabric flowed as if alive, catching light with every step. Her golden hair cascaded freely down her back, and her blue eyes sparkled beneath delicate lashes, clear and sharp like winter skies.
A diamond choker rested at her neck, subtle yet undeniably regal.
Young nobles froze. Whispers spread. More than a few hearts skipped beats.
"She's even more beautiful than the rumors…"
"That's the Solvaris prodigy…"
"SS+ potential, they say…"
"No wonder House Solvaris is admired…"
Elena, accustomed to such attention, remained composed—though a faint trace of boredom flickered behind her eyes.
Not long after, another announcement echoed.
"Duke Ragnar von Lionheart and Lord Lucian von Lionheart."
The atmosphere shifted again.
Ragnar von Lionheart entered like a blazing presence. His red hair was tied simply, his crimson suit sharp and bold, embroidered with the Lionheart crest—a shield bearing a roaring lion. He carried himself like a warrior even in formal wear, his aura restrained but unmistakable.
The Shield of the Empire. The Spear King.
At his side walked Lucian von Lionheart.
Tall for his age, broad-shouldered, and disciplined, Lucian wore a red suit matching his father's, the family crest displayed proudly. His green eyes were sharp, cold, and observant—eyes that had already seen blood on battlefields.
Many noble ladies stared openly.
"He's handsome…"
"That aura…"
"He feels dangerous…"
Ragnar laughed heartily as he spotted Chris.
"Chris! Still alive, I see."
Chris smiled faintly. "You sound disappointed."
They clasped forearms firmly, the gesture of old comrades who had survived wars together.
"Solum hasn't seen this many dangerous people in one hall for years," Ragnar said, glancing around.
"And yet," Chris replied calmly, "we are all guests tonight."
A short distance away, Elena and Lucian found themselves standing together, goblets in hand.
Elena broke the silence first.
"So," she said lightly, "the star of the night hasn't arrived yet."
Lucian nodded. "Aurelian von Blackthorne."
Elena's lips curved faintly. "You sound serious."
"He broke two potential orbs," Lucian replied flatly. "That's not something to joke about."
Elena's eyes sparkled with interest. "I wanted to see him since the ceremony. Everyone talks as if he's already a legend."
Lucian glanced toward the entrance. "Legends usually disappoint."
'But something about him feels different,' he thought.
Elena tilted her head slightly. "Do you think he'll be strong in the academy?"
Lucian scoffed. "Strong? If half the rumors are true, he'll be terrifying."
She smiled faintly. "Good. It would be boring otherwise."
Both of them knew it.
They would all attend the Arcanor Continental Academy after four years.
An island in the northeast of Arcanor, far from the Demon Continent. An academy so vast it was often described as a kingdom unto itself. More than five hundred years old. A place where royals studied beside common-born geniuses.
It was where heroes were forged. Where wars quietly began. Where the future of the continent took shape.
Their parents had studied there. The emperor himself had walked its halls. So had countless legends.
And soon—
So would Aurelian von Blackthorne.
---
The bell rang.
Once. Twice.
The music faded instantly.
Every conversation died.
All eyes turned toward the grand entrance.
The pressure in the hall changed.
First entered Duke Alaric von Blackthorne.
Black hair, sharp features, and eyes like a calm abyss. He wore a black suit adorned with silver runes, the Blackthorne sigil gleaming proudly upon his chest. His presence alone commanded silence.
Beside him walked Duchess Seraphina von Blackthorne.
She stood with effortless grace, dressed in an off-shoulder gown of white and gold. Golden accents shimmered against her silver hair, and her blue eyes glowed warmly beneath the lights. She looked every bit the noble matriarch.
Behind them—
Aurelian von Blackthorne.
The hall collectively froze.
He wore a dark navy tuxedo laced with subtle silver runes, perfectly tailored to his athletic frame. A silver-lined cravat rested neatly at his chest, matched by elegant cuffs adorned with pale blue gems.
His long silver hair was tied loosely at the back, several strands framing his face.
And his eyes—
Red.
Deep. Piercing. Unforgettable.
A sapphire earring hung from his left ear, understated yet captivating.
His presence was heavy.
Not oppressive. Not aggressive.
But undeniable.
Elena swallowed softly.
Lucian's eyes widened slightly.
'So today's hero is finally arrived…'
Lucian clenched his jaw.
'I thought I was most handsome.'
He wasn't.
Gasps rippled through the hall.
"He's… beautiful."
"That aura…"
"Is he really only ten?"
Girls practically vibrated with excitement.
In Aurelian's arms was his little sister, Alya.
She wore a small golden frock, her black hair soft and her blue eyes bright with innocent curiosity. She clung to him firmly, refusing to let go.
Pure. Untouched. Like light itself.
Even hardened nobles felt something warm stir in their chests.
The family walked forward together and stepped onto the stage.
Duke Alaric stepped forward.
His voice carried clearly across the hall.
"Thank you all for attending tonight," he began calmly. "Solum honors your presence."
He paused, eyes sweeping the room.
"Today marked my son's Age Ceremony. What occurred surprised many—perhaps even unsettled some."
Murmurs stirred.
"But know this," he continued firmly. "Aurelian von Blackthorne stands not as a threat to this empire—but as its future."
Silence reigned.
"Our family has bled for this land. Fought for it. Protected it. And we will continue to do so."
He placed a hand on Aurelian's shoulder.
"I congratulate my son—not for power," he said, voice softer, "but for stepping onto his path with resolve."
He straightened.
"Tonight, we celebrate. Eat, drink, and speak freely."
A faint smile touched his lips.
"The banquet begins."
Music rose once more.
The hall exhaled.
But deep down—
Everyone knew.
This night would be remembered.