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Lucius stood by the buffet table, a crystal glass in hand, the cool drink untouched as he observed the ballroom through narrowed eyes. Opulence surrounded him—golden chandeliers shimmered overhead, dresses swept like waves across the polished floor, and laughter floated on the air like delicate perfume.
From the corner of his eye, he spotted Margaret emerging from the far hallway, escorted back into the ballroom by a guard. Lucius raised an eyebrow, puzzled. What business had she attending to in the restricted corridors?
His gaze wandered again, catching sight of Nai on the dance floor, stumbling gracelessly in the arms of her handsome partner. She laughed awkwardly, clearly out of her depth. Lucius scoffed and brought the glass to his lips.
But he didn't drink.
His hand froze mid-motion, the glass trembling slightly. Across the room, amidst the crowd of strangers, he saw a figure too familiar to be mistaken.
A boy, pale as moonlight, with thick stitches lining his face like puppet seams. Heavy makeup masked the rest of his expression, but the ouji-style jacket paired with an elegant long skirt made him stand out—at least, to Lucius. No one else seemed to notice the oddity. But Lucius knew.
"…Bram," he whispered, his voice dry and laced with disbelief.
Their eyes met. Bram, ever theatrical, offered a lazy smirk from the edge of the crowd—as if he had known all along Lucius would be here. Then, without a word, he turned and walked away, melting into the throng of guests with unsettling ease.
Lucius cursed under his breath, setting the glass down hard before pushing through the mass of dancers and nobles, determined to follow.
At that very moment, Margaret re-entered the ballroom, her sharp eyes scanning for Lucius. But he was already gone.
"Where is he?" she muttered, eyes narrowing.
Her gaze caught Nai again, still twirling about with the blond stranger, laughter now genuine as her movements slowly grew more confident. Margaret began to approach, but before she could take a step, a hand came to rest gently on her shoulder.
She turned.
Before her stood a tall man clad in a dark, finely tailored ensemble that blended seamlessly into the crowd. His expression was calm, his voice like velvet.
"May I have this dance?"
Margaret's breath caught. His face—there was something about it. Familiar, too familiar. But the memory eluded her. She hesitated, heart thudding, unaware of the truth that stood before her.
She did not realize—could not know—that the man asking for a dance was one of the Agnatos Amon. The very creature who had once crossed blades with Lucius.
Megh.
Meanwhile Lucius pushed past the murmuring crowd, slipping through the grand arched doorway and onto the vast, dimly lit balcony that curled along the side of the ballroom. The music and laughter behind him grew muffled, swallowed by the cold night air.
There, at the far edge of the balcony, stood Bram.
The wind caught the hem of his long skirt, sending it fluttering like dark silk around his ankles. He stood with his back turned, posture relaxed, almost graceful—too calm for someone who should have been long gone.
Lucius stormed forward, rage simmering in his chest.
"Bram!" he snapped, his voice sharp with fury.
The boy didn't flinch. Instead, he tilted his head slightly, a low chuckle escaping his painted lips.
"Jeez, no need to shout, Luci," Bram drawled, his voice soft and mocking. "I'm right here."
He turned slowly to face him, eyes gleaming with twisted amusement beneath the smears of heavy makeup. The stitched grin carved across his face seemed to widen with the wind, as if the night itself was in on the joke.
Without thinking, Lucius lunged forward—only to falter.
His hand reached instinctively for a weapon that wasn't there.
Of course. Weapons were strictly forbidden at the ball. He cursed under his breath.
"Aww," Bram cooed with exaggerated sympathy, one gloved hand resting lightly on his cheek. "Did you forget your party favor, Luci? How terribly unprepared of you."
Lucius's jaw tightened. "I have nothing to say to you."
"But I do." Bram's tone shifted—less mockery, more intent—as he took a single step closer, the lamplight glinting off the faint metallic stitchwork carved into his pallid face.
Lucius dropped into a defensive stance without hesitation, body shifting fluidly into the grounded poise of Silat, feet firm, arms coiled like springs. His eyes never left Bram's.
"Why are you here?" he growled.
Bram's lips curled into that same haunting smirk, eyes glowing with twisted delight. "Oh, Luci... you wouldn't guess even if I gave you three tries."
To be continued.