Kael blinked as the war-torn world of Throne Wars 2 dissolved around him. The glow of his ArkSeal dimmed, retreating from his vision like a fading dream. He was back in his apartment—warm, insulated, and far removed from battlefields and shadow armies.
Outside, the cold-season wind howled through the Grays. It was just past 5 PM on Cyrandros 14th, 3448 A.E., and the inland chill seeped into the stone walls like a creeping breath. Brinewatch’s salt-stained air was miles away, but Kael could still feel it in his bones—old memories, old hunger.
He’d been in VR for hours, battling and watching Ashburn the Shadow Sovereign, Throne Wars’ top-ranked player, dismantle three guilds on a contested warzone. Kael’s mind replayed it on loop: Ashburn standing alone as bodies fell around him, raising them one by one as shadow soldiers. At first outnumbered. Then unstoppable.
Kael shivered, remembering the weight of that presence—even in virtual space. It wasn’t just a player. It was like standing next to a god. Ashburn’s aura had crushed the field. His command of that hidden class, his timing, the unrelenting flow of power—it wasn’t a game. It was a message.
If I had half that strength… Vex wouldn’t even look my way. Nobody would.
Kael scoffed, shaking the thoughts from his head. Vex? That snake wouldn’t last ten seconds against a man like that. Ain’t got the spine. The slang came easy in his thoughts, Brinewatch slipping through his polish. He stood, cold floor biting at his soles. Time to focus.
Lira’s surprise party was hours away, and the pickup wasn’t something he’d leave to chance.
He splashed icy water on his face, the cold snapping his focus into place. In the mirror, his reflection was sharper than he remembered. Harder eyes. Broader frame. The kind of presence that didn’t exist a year ago.
He opened his closet and pulled out his best: Ashport’s version of formal wear—black with silver runes stitched so subtly they only shimmered in candlelight. Mana-reinforced fabric hugged his form like tailored armor. Over the wrists and fingers, he slid on rings carved from the ivory horns of a stormfang wolf—A-rank kill, personally bartered from Garrick’s scrap pile. High society loves shine, he thought. Tonight, I’ll give ’em stars.
He activated his ArkSeal, connecting to his personal security firm.
“Mr. Voren?” a clipped voice answered.
“Need four more guards. Tonight. Luminaris Ward. Pick me up by 6.”
“Understood. Mana van, fully equipped. They’ll be ready.”
Kael ended the call. Security escorts weren’t just protection in Ashport—they were status. A message. You had wealth. Power. Influence. He had all three now.
But even with all that capital, Theron Vex’s petty 25,000 DM fine still burned. That’s how you know it wasn’t about money. No, Vex wanted to send a message. And Kael planned to send one back. Just… not tonight.
Tonight was about Lira. Her awakening. Her birthday. Their AGE Magazine wins. All of it.
By 6 PM, the mana van pulled up outside. Matte black, rune-lined, whisper-quiet. The doors slid open and four guards stepped out, dressed in sleek uniforms threaded with kinetic runeplates and equipped with mana-charged batons. Eyes forward. Movements crisp. Kael gave them a nod, then slid into the van, his rings catching the last glimmer of dusk.
“Lira’s place. Luminaris Ward,” he told the driver.
The van pulled away from the curb, gliding through the rising district. Outside, the Grays blurred past—worn storefronts, leaning towers, flickering signs half-buried in volcanic grit. Cold wind rattled mana panels and power lines. The skyrails shimmered overhead, weaving into the Inner District.
Kael leaned back, mind already moving. Lira’s big night. The Toravex hunt on C11-R18. Ashburn’s shadow legion, rising like a storm.
Gotta be sharp tonight, he thought, hand resting on his thigh. For Lira.
The mana van purred through the gleaming avenues of Luminaris Ward, its smooth glide a stark contrast to the bone-rattling rides Kael was used to in the Grays. Outside, frost clung to the carved lamp posts like crystallized breath, and the sky above Ashport had dipped into an indigo hush. Cold season evenings always came quickly here, swallowing the city in a chill that bit through even mana-threaded suits.
Kael glanced down at his hands, flexing them. The stormfang ivory rings on his fingers—A-rank, warm with residual mana—pressed gently into his skin. They grounded him. Anchored him. Reminded him that tonight, appearances mattered.
It was 6:30 PM, Cyrandros 14th. Lira’s birthday.
As the van slowed before the gates of her estate, the Grays felt like a different universe—distant, half-forgotten. Here, in Inner District SW-4, the air itself smelled more expensive. Perfumed trees lined the walk, and glowing runes shimmered across the blackstone walls that circled her property like a fortress in silk.
Security was tight, as always. Four guards in dusk-blue jackets stood ready, their mana-batons humming softly in the cold. Kael stepped out, nodding once. Their posture sharpened as he passed—deference to money, maybe. Or reputation. Or both.
The estate door creaked open, and a familiar voice sloshed out with a cloud of warm liquor-breath.
“Kael! My boy!” Kevyn Taryn, glass in hand, staggered forward with a lopsided grin and the unmistakable gait of a man deep into his evening. His silver tie was undone, his shirt half unbuttoned, and his eyes—red-rimmed and watery—carried the weight of too many regrets.
“You—hah—you turned it all around,” Kevyn rasped, grabbing Kael by the shoulders. “You saved her. Saved me. The family. When I was too deep in the bottle to—” his voice caught, cracked—“after her mother passed… I couldn’t be the father she needed.”
Kael shifted awkwardly, unsure where to look. Kevyn’s grief was the raw, slurred kind that didn’t hide behind polish.
The older man leaned in, voice thick. “You gotta marry her, Kael. Not just ‘cause you’re rich. You’re loyal. Solid. You love her, I see it. E-rank don’t mean shit.”
Kael’s face flushed. “Kevyn, I—uh…” His hand rubbed the back of his neck. “Appreciate that. Really. But—”
“Dad!” came a sharp, amused voice from above.
Lira descended the stairs like a storm of silver moonlight, her dress woven from mana-threads that shimmered with starbloom sigils. Her hair was swept to one side in a loose, elegant braid, and mana crystals lined her earrings like drops of cometlight.
“You’re embarrassing me,” she muttered, shooing her father inside with a practiced roll of her eyes.
Kevyn chuckled, stumbling backward. “Weddings! Just sayin’—think about it, Kael!”
The door shut behind him.
Kael exhaled. “Y’know, I’ve faced bone apes and bribed a drunk Tier 3 tax auditor, but that—” he pointed after Kevyn—“was scarier.”
Lira smirked. “You’d better get used to it. He’s already picked out the wine for the reception.”
Kael grinned. “Lookin’ stunning, by the way. You ready?”
Lira’s smile softened. “I wanted you to take me out tomorrow,” she said, adjusting a glinting ring at her wrist. “But I won’t complain. Distraction sounds good. I’ve been jittery all day.”
“You’ll be fine,” Kael said. “Awakening ain’t supposed to be peaceful.”
“That’s not comforting.”
“I wasn’t trying to be.” He gestured toward the waiting mana van. “C’mon. Tonight’s yours.”
They rode through the glittering heart of Ashport, eventually arriving at a soaring opera house carved from marble and obsidian, its arched roof webbed with glowing sigils that pulsed with faint light. The steps leading up to it were wide and flanked by statues of Talented heroes long dead—some ascended, others forgotten.
Inside, crystal chandeliers hung like frozen galaxies, refracting rainbow bursts across the velvet walls. The music had already begun—haunting, divine, almost too beautiful to be made by mortal voices. On stage, a highborn soprano played the role of a forgotten goddess, singing the death of her lover across time and war.
Lira leaned in, eyes bright. “Kael. That’s Admiral Vaeryn Dross.” She gestured subtly to a tall white-haired woman seated three rows ahead, her cloak the dark blue of naval command. “S-rank. Deepbound Command. She stopped the Brinewake Cyclone last year—saved the south harbor and half the 5th Ring. I heard she’s negotiating with the Central Council for a satellite fleet. That’s huge.”
Kael didn’t follow her gaze. “Business can wait. Focus on the show.”
Lira blinked, then laughed softly. “You sound like Sera.”
He shrugged. “She’s smarter than both of us.”
Lira leaned her head against the back of her chair. “You’re right. Tonight’s supposed to be magic.”
And it was.
By the time the final aria ended and the cast took their bows, it was past 9:30. The audience erupted into applause. Some stood. A few wept openly. Lira clapped until her hands stung.
“That was…” she exhaled. “Kael. Seriously. Thank you.”
He grinned. “Ain’t over yet.”
Her eyes narrowed with suspicion as they left the hall and made their way to a waiting mana bus. Its sleek panels flickered with faint white runes, casting an almost ethereal glow in the cold.
She crossed her arms. “You’re not taking me back to the estate, are you?”
“Nope.”
“Where, then?”
Kael just smirked, leaning back in his seat. “You’ll see.”
She gave him a look. “If you’re taking me to a sewer reclamation site again, I swear I’ll kill you.”
“That was one time. And you were impressed.”
“I was traumatized.”
He chuckled.
As the bus hummed to life and lifted from the frost-slick street, Kael allowed himself a quiet breath. Theron Vex. Toravex. The coming storm. All of it loomed—but not tonight.
Tonight belongs to Lira. So I'll make it unforgettable.
