Lady Annabella Terra cast a flirtatious glance at Augustus before walking gracefully toward her eldest daughter. Her youngest, Nova—barely five years old—clung tightly to her hand, trailing behind and sneaking glances at Augustus now and then.
Compared to other children her age, Nova Terra was exceptionally calm and well-behaved.
No one outside the Terra family knew that Nova possessed latent psionic abilities. She could hear the surface thoughts of others—such as the indecent fantasies her mother and sister had just entertained about Augustus.
Even Annabella herself knew very little about her daughter's psionic talent, only that Nova could catch shallow thoughts from human minds.
Due to this gift, Nova had learned many things from a young age and was far more mature than other children. Still, what happened today might not become a particularly fond memory for her.
Meanwhile, Augustus mentally noted the surnames of the various girls, boys, and noblewomen from the Old Families who had just tried to court him. Over the next two weeks on Tarsonis, he planned to visit each one, probing their stance on Korhal IV and their opinions about Mengsk.
After sitting with Raynor for a while, Augustus quietly sipped the Angsar red wine on the table, waiting for the birthday guest of honor—Lady Andrea Tygore—to arrive.
She was five minutes late.
Andrea appeared seated in a floating wheelchair, accompanied by several members of the Tygore family, gliding down the opulent corridor toward the guests.
Her gray-white hair was thick and voluminous, and Augustus even spotted strands of bluish-black among them. Though her once-beautiful face was now etched with deep wrinkles, her bright blue eyes still sparkled with vitality—full of sharpness and strength.
"Hehe… Children, I'm so glad you came," Andrea Tygore said as her wheelchair suddenly accelerated, zooming past the gathered guests. The Tygore family members following her had to jog to keep up, creating a comical scene that made some children burst into laughter.
At 140 years old, everyone present was indeed a 'child' in her eyes—so only she could say such a thing without irony.
Many of the Old Families were either closely or distantly related to the Tygore line. Back when the current heads of these houses were still young and naïve, Andrea Tygore was already gazing down from atop the Tygore Sky Tower, standing proudly on the head of the great dragon known as the Terran Federation.
"Saivan, it's about time you scheduled a hair transplant," Andrea remarked as she passed the leader of the Skelt family.
"Oh, little Annabella, darling, you're just as beautiful as your mother."
…
To every familiar face from the Old Families, she offered either a greeting or a biting remark.
"Errol, still no sign of Ark? He's brought shame upon the entire Bennett family—or did those damn rebels snatch him? You're his father, yet you act like you don't care at all," she said as her hoverchair stopped in front of the Bennett family patriarch.
"We did everything we could—put up a bounty, hired private investigators, dispatched search teams and even marines. But it was all in vain. All evidence points to the same conclusion: he ran away of his own accord," Errol Bennett replied, his voice flat, as though he were talking about a missing cat or dog rather than a son.
"I poured time and money into trying to bring him back, only to give up in the end. Since he clearly doesn't want to live as part of the Bennett family, since he made his mother and sister cry all those tears for nothing… then there's nothing I can do." His voice was cold and indifferent.
"Ark is an adult now. He must take responsibility for his own foolish choices."
"Tara's talent in finance and corporate management is undeniable. She doesn't need a replacement. But as for her marriage—that's a problem for you all to figure out," Andrea said as she moved toward her seat.
"If you ask me, you should execute those incompetent guards and useless servants. Otherwise, your authority will falter. The ones born to serve will one day ride on your back. The old order will be trampled beneath their feet."
Her words, amplified by speakers, echoed coldly throughout the banquet hall.
"The noble are born to enjoy such rights. It is our innate privilege. You must constantly remind the lowborn of this truth—otherwise, they will forget the humility of their ancestors, forget the role they are meant to play in this world, forget that they should be trembling at the feet of the Old Families."
"Just like over a century ago… Now, the people of Antiga have forgotten their duties, and Korhal IV has gone even further in its insolence. Have we been too lenient?"
...
"What the hell is this old hag saying? That the Old Families have the right to decide the fate of everyone else? She should be thankful I don't have a P220 electromagnetic pistol on me," Raynor growled angrily to Augustus, just as Andrea's floating wheelchair leisurely came to a stop at the circular banquet table in the center of the hall.
Augustus feared Raynor might blurt out something along the lines of 'Are nobles born from different stock than the rest?'
"If only we'd been allowed to bring a recording device," Augustus muttered regretfully.
...
"Oh, don't look so shocked. I was merely speaking from the heart. I imagine the unrest on Korhal IV has already affected some of your family's business operations, especially if you still have factories on that planet," Andrea's tone quickly softened, her voice now sounding like that of a frail old woman. "It's left me in a terrible mood lately."
"Today is a good day—my 140th birthday. But my ever-aching elbows keep reminding me that I've lived too long. The children always say I'll live to 200, but I, for one, have no desire to end up paralyzed in a tank full of nutrient fluid, clinging to life through some cutting-edge life support tech."
"Every year on my birthday, that damned AI steward never fails to remind me—on the dot—that death is drawing closer. It's incredibly unpleasant," she added. "I don't know what the future holds for this great Federation of ours, founded by the Old Families, once I'm gone. I just hope that by then, the ringleaders of the Antiga and Korhal rebels will all be swinging from the gallows."
"I don't like celebrating my birthday, but I still invited all of you here today—because it's been nearly ten years since the Old Families gathered outside of those dry Federation Council meetings."
"I just want you to understand: the Old Families must stand united. Nobility must hold tightly to power. We must guard the honor and authority of the Old Families with our blades—for only through order can permanence endure."
"If anyone dares to defile it… let the defiler burn in the flames."
There were no journalists or UNN producers present here, so Augustus was certain—Andrea had said all this for his ears.
...
The banquet proceeded as usual. The ever-composed nobles began dining, gracefully wielding their knives and forks over tablecloths woven from luxurious silk, dabbing their lips with handkerchiefs embroidered with golden threads.
Beside Augustus, Jim Raynor gripped his utensils with both hands, aggressively cutting into a perfectly seared steak as if wielding blades in battle—his stabbing and slicing more reminiscent of a life-or-death duel than fine dining.
Raynor was clearly furious.
Augustus could tell that something had deeply agitated him. The son of a farmer, Raynor's outlook was shifting—he now held a deeper hatred than ever for the rulers of Tarsonis.
Not far from them, Edmund Duke seemed oblivious to the presence of Augustus and Raynor, who had also been invited in the capacity of noble officers. Instead, he was clinking glasses repeatedly with several other officers seated nearby, all of whom wore gleaming medals on their chests.
The dull banquet did not last long. Most nobles had little appetite, whereas Edmund and his companions were in high spirits. They paid little mind to etiquette, choosing instead to enjoy their food and accolades 'like real soldiers'.
Around 22:00, even the most heavy-drinking guests finally set down their glasses and left their seats. At that point, the servants came in, removing the tables and chairs. Music began to play from a gem-encrusted phonograph, and ladies and young misses took to the dance floor with their partners.
"Shall we dance?" Raynor asked after pondering for quite a while.
"The two of us?" Augustus replied.
"That might not be ideal," Raynor muttered, neither agreeing nor declining outright.
But before he could decide, a swarm of young ladies swept in and snatched Raynor away for themselves. From that point on, amid Raynor's mournful groans, Augustus ended up dancing with one young lady after another.
Having received training in court etiquette and dance since childhood, Augustus had recently crammed to refresh those skills. Now, he could match each song with its corresponding dance flawlessly—his steps light, never missing a beat.
By the third piece, Augustus found himself reluctantly taking the hand of Annabella Terra. Her daughter, it seemed, was also quite eager to dance with him, which left Augustus more than a little bewildered.
Meanwhile, Annabella's youngest daughter, Nova Terra, sat quietly on her little chair, staring at Augustus with a peculiar expression. Her mouth slightly ajar, her pale green eyes wide open, giving off a look he could only describe as 'dead fish eyes'.
She didn't exactly look like the brightest child.
Augustus had no idea this girl would one day become the infamous Ghost operative of the Terran Dominion: Nova.
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