The ball had been announced with pomp — a celebration of the capital’s reconstruction and to honor the heroes who had saved the Empire. But Lukas couldn’t care less.

  — I’m not going. — he muttered, leaning against the wall, arms crossed. — I don’t like music, or crowds, or people trying to sell me perfume or marriage.

  Luiz of the Cups ignored him.

  — Shut up and put on this cloak, — he said, yanking Lukas by the collar. — There are too many ladies asking if you’ll be there. It’s practically a diplomatic crisis.

  — Let them die of curiosity.

  — No, you’ll die of shame first. — Luiz grinned. — Come on, little brother. Let’s see how many maidens still dare confess to the Blood Demon.

  ?? The Emperor’s Ball

  The Crystal Hall was packed. Nobles, generals, merchants from far provinces. Emperor Deodoro Bragan?a, more decorated than useful, smiled nervously on his makeshift throne.

  — Let the ceremony of recognition begin! — cried the herald. — In the name of peace... and of passionate hearts!

  Drums thundered. Lights danced on the golden chandelier. Lukas, seated beside Luiz, wore a dark blue cloak, his gladius resting on his lap, his expression one of pure misery.

  — I hate this.

  — I love this, — Luiz laughed. — Look, the first one is already coming.

  ?? The Suitors

  The first was a marquise in a red dress that trembled more than a candle in the wind.

  — Lord Lukas... would you join my lineage and restore my family’s honor?

  — No.

  — I could embroider your crest on every robe! Bear you twenty children! Even—

  — No.

  Luiz elbowed him.

  — Would it kill you to smile?

  — Yes. It would cost my sanity.

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  The second was an elf heiress from the West.

  The third, a knightess in pink armor promising eternal loyalty.

  The fifth promised to build him a tower in his honor.

  The tenth offered three farms, two vineyards, and a tamed dragon named Pelúcio.

  — I’m going to die, — Lukas muttered, sweating.

  Valquíria leaned against a pillar, laughing like it was a play.

  — Come on, Demon, accept one! You look like a fish out of water.

  Leli fanned herself with a golden fan.

  — If this keeps up, we’ll need to organize the Second War of the Suitors.

  By the eighty-sixth, Lukas was pale. But then something different happened.

  It wasn’t a marquise. Nor a general. It was the timid priestess — the same one from the fountain. She walked slowly, holding a small package.

  — Lord Lukas... I don’t want to ask for anything. I only came to thank you.

  The hall fell silent.

  — Thank me...?

  — Yes. When the city fell... I thought I would die. Or worse. But you were there. You fought. Because of you... I can still pray.

  She bowed shyly and offered the package.

  — I brought sweets. I hope you still like them.

  Lukas took the gift carefully. He said nothing — but his eyes softened.

  Luiz pretended to wipe a tear.

  — Ahhh, the priestess has touched the demon’s heart.

  — Shut up.

  ????? The Peasant

  Before the herald could close the list, another voice cut through:

  — Excuse me...

  A young woman in a simple dress, still stained with soil, walked forward among the nobles.

  — I’m not here to confess love.

  — You’re not on the list, — the herald stammered.

  — To hell with the list.

  She looked Lukas straight in the eyes.

  — I just came to thank you.

  Lukas stood.

  — You...

  — I’m Mirna. From the North. There, no one cared about us anymore. Fear was constant. Women were taken, sold. Men... slaughtered.

  She breathed deep.

  — Then you and your sister came. You killed the barbarians. You saved my family. They may call you a monster. But to me... you’re the reason I’m alive.

  Silence.

  Then — applause. True, heartfelt applause.

  Valquíria nodded with a faint smile.

  Leli discreetly wiped her eyes.

  Luiz cleared his throat.

  — Alright... that one, I almost approve.

  Lukas only nodded, gaze steady.

  ?? The Woman of the Heart

  When the event seemed over, one last figure appeared. Tall, braided hair, a tight and striking dress. The hall gasped.

  — Number eighty-seven goes straight to the heart, murmured an old duke.

  She walked confidently, eyes shining.

  Lukas groaned.

  — Here comes another one...

  — But she’s really pretty, — Luiz adjusted his collar.

  Everyone thought she was headed for Lukas.

  Instead, she stopped in front of Luiz.

  — Luiz Fernandes. The Cups. The legend.

  He froze.

  — Me? I wasn’t—

  — Since I was twelve, I’ve dreamed of marrying a man of the Cups.

  She turned, revealing a heart tattoo on her cheek.

  — This... is for you.

  Leli nearly choked from laughing.

  Valquíria almost fell to the floor.

  Lukas smirked.

  — So... are you going to accept? Or are you afraid of your number-one fan, tattooed and sworn?

  — I—! — Luiz stammered, sweating. — We... we don’t even—

  — My name is Jurema, — she said. — And I’ll wait for you at the next festival... fiancé.

  ?? The Ball and the Suitors

  At the edge of the ball, two youths tried to approach Leli and Valquíria.

  — Ladies, may we have this—

  Valquíria gave them one look. Just one.

  They bolted, pale as death.

  — Hahaha! — Lukas laughed. — The Queen of the Valquírias scares them with a glance!

  — Do you want me to look at you too? — she asked, raising a brow.

  — No thanks.

  ---

  ?? The Hollow

  The ball ended in chaos, laughter, and confusion. Banners fluttered. Drunken musicians played out of tune. Ladies giggled. Men argued over who had been humiliated worse.

  But Lukas did not laugh.

  Even after all of it — the gratitude, the sweets, the jokes — the same hollow remained.

  Deep in his chest, an old voice whispered like a knife:

  “You’re a useless failure. A weakling. You let Sorriso fall. Your father died protecting you. You should be stronger. You’re your father’s son.”

  Lukas clenched his fists.

  And that night, under applause and promises, he understood one truth:

  His war was far from over.

  End of Chapter 5