It started with another letter.Because apparently, letters were now my official harbinger of doom.

  This one was written on dark velvet parchment, sealed with the imperial crest and far too much gold foil.

  To Squad 7,You are cordially invited to attend the Empire’s Talent Recognition Gathering, hosted by Princess Sylvaria Elion Wellstion.Dress code: Formal. Behavior: Expected. Attendance: Mandatory.

  P.S. Please do not bring potions that glow or hum.

  That st line had Gram’s name written all over it.

  Step One: Requesting Clothes Like a Normal Family Doesn’t Exist“You want what?” my father asked via magical mirror, blinking like I’d asked for a private dragon.

  “Formal wear. Noble-grade. Something that won’t combust if I move wrong.”

  He turned to my mother, muttering, “He needs court clothes.”

  My mother lit up like a spell scroll. “He’s growing into his role!”

  “I’m surviving it,” I corrected.

  Two hours ter, I had an enchanted bck suit with red-gold thread woven through the lining, lightweight enough for movement, stiff enough for nobility to believe I was civilized.

  Rielle got a fitted scarlet-gold duelist’s gown that looked like it could stab someone just by existing. Eli’s was a midnight-blue military-style dress with silver buckles that actually made her scarier. Gram’s... had ruffles.

  We didn’t question it. He liked the ruffles. That was the least weird thing about him.

  The Venue: Where Nobles Gather to Lie PolitelyThe event was held in the Imperial Skyhall, a floating ballroom suspended above the capital with crystal floors, enchanted orchestras, and enough ambient mana to cook a wyvern.

  As we entered, I felt Rielle clench beside me.

  “Smile,” I muttered. “Look dangerous but digestible.”

  “I hate this,” she whispered through her teeth.

  “I know. We all do. Except Gram.”

  “I made jelly potions for snacks!” Gram beamed.

  Of course you did.

  Noble Kids, Polished Egos, and Weaponized ComplimentsThe party was crawling with nobility—sons and daughters of dukes, generals, archmages, and merchants who’d bought enough titles to matter.

  We were approached almost immediately by a group of well-dressed teens with just the right amount of arrogance baked into their facial expressions.

  One tall boy with sapphire rings smiled at me.

  “Ah, the famed fire-slinger. Wyrhart, yes? Son of the court mage?”

  I nodded. Politely. Which felt like a betrayal to my personality.

  “And you must be the wild sword girl,” said another to Rielle.

  She smiled without warmth. “Call me ‘wild’ again and I’ll teach your teeth how to waltz.”

  Lucien: 1. Rielle: Also 1. Civility: already bleeding.

  Then the crowd parted.

  And the Princess arrived.

  The Host Appears – Sylvaria and Her Glowing Time BombPrincess Sylvaria entered in a bck-and-ice-blue imperial gown that whispered “ruthless” with every step. Her hair was braided with elemental runes. Her expression? Frosty regality incarnate.

  All conversation dulled.

  She approached us directly. Her gaze swept across our group like an inventory check. Then she locked eyes with me.

  “Lucien.”

  “Yes, Your Highness,” I said, voice smooth, spine stiff.

  “You clean up well,” she said.

  “I practice for these exact political traps.”

  Her lip twitched. I think she almost smiled. Gods help us all.

  “I have something to show you,” she said. “Come.”

  Oh no.

  The Artifact – This Is Not NormalShe led me to the far side of the Skyhall, past velvet curtains and enchanted braziers, to a raised dais guarded by two silent knights.

  Upon it rested a sealed gss case.

  Inside: a floating, fist-sized crystal orb, swirling with muted red and pale gold light. The surface shimmered like it was submerged in time itself.

  “This,” Sylvaria said softly, “is one of the st relics recovered after the Cataclysm. It’s called the Aether Core. It predates our calendar. It reacts only to specific signatures—none of which we’ve been able to replicate.”

  “So... museum piece?”

  She looked at me. Directly.

  “No. Watch.”

  She touched a sigil.

  The gss opened.

  I took a step back. “This seems dangerous.”

  “Just stand there,” she said, gesturing me closer.

  Against every fragment of my better judgment, I stepped forward.

  The orb... moved.

  It floated. Tilted. Spun once.

  Then—glowed.

  Not softly. Not politely.

  It bzed—scarlet and gold spiraling around the surface like a waking beast—then pulsed once, and the whole hall flickered with heat and wind magic for half a second.

  Everyone turned.

  Sylvaria blinked. “...It reacted.”

  I stared at her. “It shouldn’t do that, should it?”

  “No,” she said. “It hasn’t moved in a decade.”

  I backed away. “I did not consent to ancient magical recognition.”

  “You were born into it,” she said ftly. “You may want to learn why.”

  Back to the Party: I Regret EverythingRielle found me ten minutes ter, holding a drink and looking suspicious.

  “What happened? Did she hex you? You look hexed.”

  “No hex,” I muttered. “Just awakened a possibly sentient artifact linked to forgotten power structures. Totally fine.”

  “Oh,” she said. “So... Wednesday, then.”

  Gram handed me a glowing candy. “Want a mana-ced sugar bite? Calms nervous systems!”

  “I hate all of this.”

  But deep down, I knew—

  Something had changed.

  That orb responded to me.

  And the princess saw it.

  Which meant I was now officially on her radar.

  And worse?

  I had no idea why.