The midday sky shone clear, washed in bright blue, the wind gentle and accommodating. Beneath it, the Sevenstar Foundation opened its grand fundraising event, welcoming hundreds of kings and nobles from across the All Realm. Long tables stretched across the grounds, laden with food in extravagant display, from heavy banquets to delicate desserts crafted more as art than sustenance.

  Soft orchestral music flowed through the air, calm and dignified, setting a tone of controlled elegance.

  Before the event formally began, the seven members of the council stood aligned upon the stage. From the right stood Leroy, then Starmist, Amaterasu, Cygnus, Lucretius, Bjorn, and finally Elysius at the far left. Each wore two emblems upon their attire, one bearing the mark of the council, the other the sigil of their respective faction.

  Starmist stepped forward and delivered the opening address, her voice steady, measured, and warm. When she finished, the orchestra began the Council March.

  The music carried weight and authority. Trumpets, French horns, trombones, drums, snares, and timpani dominated the instrumental piece, solemn and grand, resonating with restraint and power. The seven stood tall, eyes lifted toward the open sky. Around them, the assembled nobles mirrored the posture, silence held in shared reverence.

  When the march ended, the council moved to a round table at the center of the venue, surrounded by the tables of their guests. Formal attire defined the gathering. Even Lucretius had set aside his armor for the occasion, though the Adamsword remained at his side, ever present.

  The hosts began the formal introductions of the foundation’s programs.

  Starmist, Leroy, Amaterasu, and Cygnus listened attentively. Lucretius sat motionless, head slightly bowed, as though asleep. This was no battlefield, and the general of war looked profoundly out of place. Meanwhile, Elysius and Bjorn could not remain seated for long. They drifted from table to table, sampling dishes with undisguised enthusiasm.

  “How long does this event last?” Amaterasu asked quietly.

  “Six hours, perhaps,” Starmist replied. “It depends on how quickly the donation goals are met.”

  “I’ll remain for two,” Cygnus said, stirring his hot tea. “Other matters await me.”

  Starmist nodded in understanding.

  She glanced at the Fallen Knight, whose eyelids had grown noticeably heavy. “Lucretius, are you all right?”

  “It seems fundraising is more terrifying to him than warfare,” Amaterasu said dryly.

  Laughter rippled across the table.

  Bjorn and Elysius returned at last, arms full of food. Elysius placed a glass of pitch black coffee before Lucretius, thick and undiluted. Leroy watched with visible concern. The caffeine alone could have felled an ordinary man.

  Lucretius lifted the glass and drained it in a single breath. He lowered his head again moments later.

  It was not enough.

  Had he been mortal, his stomach would have surrendered on the spot.

  Bjorn chewed thoughtfully, then spoke around his meal. “Those arrogant Cogworks refuse to attend events like this.”

  “That’s precisely why this fundraiser exists,” Leroy replied. “If they donated as well, it would defeat the purpose.”

  Bjorn snorted, swallowing. The orchestra continued to play softly in the background, while the Sevenstar Foundation began weaving charity, ego, and power into the same elegant tapestry beneath the open sky.

  Seeing that Lucretius was still sinking into drowsiness, Elysius rose once more to fetch another cup of coffee. He wandered far from the council table and, as fate would have it, crossed paths with Princess Samartian again. Elysius tried to take a wide detour, but she stepped neatly into his path.

  “Your attire is… quite fitting, Princess,” he said, carefully avoiding her eyes.

  “You seem to be enjoying this event,” Samartian replied, her gaze flat and cold.

  “Yes. Well. Not exactly,” Elysius said quickly. “If you’ll excuse me, I’m fetching coffee to wake your mentor.”

  “You think something that weak will work on him?” Samartian said, making no move to let him pass.

  She tilted her head slightly. “I thought a Child of Light could see the future. Surely you can tell that coffee won’t affect Lucretius.”

  The provocation stung. Elysius forced a smile. “And I thought the Daughter of Bones could act like a princess, rather than provoke people.”

  Samartian’s jaw tightened. Her teeth ground softly. “Go back to your seat,” she said. “I’ll bring the drink to my teacher myself.”

  Elysius’s smile widened. Victory, small but satisfying. He turned and returned to the council table, leaving Samartian standing where she was, irritation barely contained.

  At the table, the council continued to eat and listen to the music. Moments later, Samartian’s presence drew every eye. She approached with effortless grace and handed a cup of coffee to Lucretius.

  “That’s exactly what I was going to bring,” Elysius muttered, annoyed.

  Samartian ignored him. Instead, she produced a small bottle from her pocket, filled with fine white powder. She poured it into the coffee and stirred slowly.

  “Mugwort powder,” Amaterasu said, interest lighting her eyes. “Am I right, Princess?”

  “Of course, Lady Amaterasu” Samartian replied with a sweet smile as she continued to stir.

  “Impressive,” Amaterasu said. “So you study botany as well. You should visit Takamagahara sometime. Our archives hold many plants records you’d appreciate.”

  “I would be honored, Lady Amaterasu,” Samartian replied, bowing slightly.

  Lucretius drank the mixture and thanked his student. Samartian bowed once more and asked leave to depart. The council returned her courtesy with polite smiles.

  All except Elysius.

  Noticing his expression, Leroy subtly nudged Bjorn, who was still eating. He whispered something into the professor’s ear. Bjorn’s face split into a wicked grin as he cast a knowing, mischievous look toward Elysius.

  The orchestra played on, unaware that small rivalries were being sharpened beneath the elegance of the Sevenstar gathering.

  A chill crawled up Elysius’s spine.

  His yellow eyes flared as he glimpsed a fragment of the near future. He raised his voice at once. “Don’t you dare do that.”

  Bjorn ignored him completely. He waved his hand and called out, loud and cheerful, “Princess Samartian, could you come here for a moment?”

  Samartian had not gone far. She stopped, clearly startled. She drew a slow breath, steadying herself, then turned back and approached with measured steps.

  “Did I say something earlier that offended you, Professor Bjorn?” she asked calmly.

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  “Not at all,” Bjorn replied. “You were most polite.”

  He snapped his fingers, summoning a servant, and pointed to the space between Elysius and Lucretius. “Put another chair right there.”

  “Join us for a moment, Princess,” Bjorn said, satisfaction written plainly on his face, especially when he noticed the tension draining Elysius of color.

  “Bjorn,” Amaterasu warned, casting him a sharp glance. “Don’t go too far, I warn you.”

  “I only want the younger generation to build good relations,” Bjorn said quickly, hands raised in mock innocence. “Especially between Celestial and Abyss. Surely that’s not a crime.”

  The other council members watched him closely.

  Celestial and Abyss, Cygnus thought. A future that defies even usual logic.

  Elysius set his spoon and fork down. “Excuse me,” he said hastily. “I think I see another Celestial standing over there.”

  He began to rise, but Lucretius’s hand closed around his shoulder in an instant. The Fallen Knight’s grip was firm, his gaze cold. Elysius swallowed and sat back down without protest.

  The chair was placed. Samartian took her seat between Elysius and Lucretius.

  “And now what?” Amaterasu asked Bjorn flatly.

  Bjorn hesitated. The two young figures sat in rigid silence, refusing to look at one another. “Ah… I just remembered,” he said slowly, “didn’t Elysius want to say something to Princess Samartian earlier?”

  No answer came.

  Elysius hunched slightly, pushing food around his plate without appetite. Samartian stared into her glass, fingers tight around its stem. Cygnus rubbed his forehead.

  “Let them speak if they wish,” the Sorcerer Supreme said at last. “There’s no need to force it.”

  Leroy smoothly shifted the discussion back to council matters, sparing the pair further attention. The orchestra played on. Laughter rose and fell around the table.

  An hour passed.

  Neither Elysius nor Samartian spoke a single word. Neither smiled, even when jokes rippled through the council. Between them hung a silence thicker than any argument, sharper than open hostility, and far more uncomfortable than war.

  At Stargate, Starfall finished preparing for his departure to District Six.

  He donned armor of silver and white iron, polished to a mirror sheen, inlaid with diamonds that caught both sunlight and moonlight when they struck its surface. A blue cloak rested over his shoulders, its fabric light but reinforced. Hidden from all eyes, he slipped a shard of the Crystal of Zerulyth into an inner pocket. He told no one.

  Lord Star, Lady Star, and his two siblings accompanied him to the landing platform. From a distance, Sicilia and Njall watched alongside servants and guards, their figures still against the open space of the palace grounds.

  “Keep my chamber scented,” Starfall said as he adjusted his gloves. “Change it regularly. When I return, I don’t want it to smell stale.”

  Lord Star placed both hands on his son’s shoulders and faced him squarely. “May you succeed, my son. May the Light of Zerulyth guide your hands and your steps.”

  Starfall embraced Lady Star and Starlax. With Starslayer, he exchanged only a formal handshake, his gaze sharp and unyielding.

  “Remember,” Lord Star said, “this is your first assignment of this kind. Cheng and Burgess of the Weapon Masters are the ones you can trust.”

  “Yes, yes. I understand,” Starfall replied, already turning away as he boarded his ship.

  The hatch sealed. The vessel lifted, and Starfall began his mission to District Six.

  Lord Star and Lady Star returned to the palace. Starslayer followed in silence. Only Starlax broke away, running toward the garden where Njall was assembling a prototype device near the hedges.

  Starfall’s ship traveled for seven to eight hours through open void. At last, the light of Caelumreach Tower appeared ahead, cutting through the night sky like a beacon. District One came into view. Thirty minutes more.

  District Six’s intergalactic trade harbor was the primary port of the All Realm. Its lifeblood. Managed by the Extraterrestrial faction and guarded by the Weapon Masters under council authority, it never truly slept.

  Thirteen massive warehouses stood in ordered rows, each bearing the mark of an Extraterrestrial House. Thirty six large trade vessels filled the docks. Fifty two smaller merchant ships hovered or rested nearby. One hundred and twelve heavy transport carriers moved cargo between continents. Hundreds of Cogworks built loaders, cranes, and mechanized carriers clattered endlessly across the platforms. Along the sea edge, countless cargo ships lay anchored, most bearing harvests from the Elementalist faction.

  Even at midnight, cranes groaned, engines roared, and landing pads rang with impact and departure.

  Starfall’s ship descended near the main gate of the harbor. Dock officers moved at once, unloading his belongings and transferring them to the lodging quarters no more than thirty meters away.

  As the engines cooled and the lights of District Six washed over him, Starfall stepped down onto the platform, unaware that this port, louder than war and more treacherous than any battlefield, would soon test every belief he carried with him.

  Cheng waited at the gate with both hands tucked into his pockets. Starfall stepped out with a straight back and lifted chin, every inch the noble Vanguard he believed himself to be.

  Cheng bowed. “Welcome, Vanguard Starfall, to the Harbor of District Six.”

  Starfall knew at once who he was. He laughed, closed the distance, and pulled Cheng into a casual embrace. “Just call me Starfall. Come on, show me around.”

  The Pale Dragon gave him a strange smile. He took it as noble affectation, a lord trying to appear approachable. Without comment, he led Starfall through the harbor.

  Workers recognized Starfall immediately by his pale white hair, clear porcelain skin, and azure eyes. They greeted him as they passed. Starfall answered with easy waves, enjoying the attention.

  “You’re stationed here often?” Starfall asked, gazing out at the sea and the sky beyond it.

  Cheng stood beside him. “Not really. We’re usually—”

  “I don’t care,” Starfall cut in, laughing. “What matters is that you’re here now.”

  From behind them came heavy footsteps. Burgess appeared, the lion man of the Weapon Masters. Cheng introduced him, though Starfall already knew his face. He had seen Burgess defeat Sigurd of the Cogworks Vanguard in the colosseum.

  “You’re more fit to be a Vanguard than Sigurd ever was,” Starfall said without hesitation. He also forbade Burgess from calling him young lord.

  They went together to the main post. There, the harbor administrator awaited them, an Extraterrestrial from House Phorist. He outlined regulations, restricted zones, and the limits of Starfall’s authority.

  Dock Four was forbidden. Absolutely.

  No fire was to be used in Dock Three, where volatile cargo was stored.

  Their permitted area was Dock One and Dock Two, where Abyss minerals, Cryon batteries, and select commonfolk trade goods were exchanged.

  Starfall struggled to stay focused. He listened, nodded, forced the words into memory, though much of it slipped past him like water through fingers.

  Once the briefing ended, Starfall immediately suggested drinks. A tavern sat not far from the harbor gates.

  They drank heavily.

  Far more than Cheng or Burgess were used to.

  Before long, both Weapon Masters were struggling. Starfall, however, drank even more and showed no sign of drunkenness. Burgess stared at him in disbelief, his words swaying.

  “Starfall… are you always this strong with drink?”

  Starfall laughed. “Alcohol doesn’t affect House Star. It’s no different from water.”

  Seeing them both unsteady, Starfall leaned back and asked casually, trusting the honesty that came with intoxication.

  “Dock Four,” he said. “Why aren’t we allowed there?”

  Cheng burped loudly. “If it’s forbidden, it’s better not to ask.”

  Burgess leaned close, wiping his muzzle. “Because you’re generous with drinks, I’ll tell you. Dock Four is for illegal trade.”

  Cheng groaned, half conscious. “Idiot, Burgess… Starfall, don’t tell your father.”

  Starfall smiled, lifting his glass again. Beneath the harbor lights, amid laughter and spilled ale, the truth settled quietly into his mind.

  District Six had teeth.

  Starfall paused, curiosity gnawing at him. Dock Four. Whatever was traded there, it was forbidden for a reason. That alone made it interesting.

  Burgess and Cheng soon collapsed where they sat, defeated by drink. Only then did several women dare approach Starfall. As with Starmist among men, Starfall drew attention without effort. His looks was otherworldly, his presence unmistakably alien, and his name carried the weight of the wealthiest House in the All Realm.

  They asked for signatures. He obliged, marking their clothing with casual strokes. A few were bold enough to offer themselves outright. Starfall dismissed them without interest. His patience snapped, and he ordered them instead to tend to Burgess and Cheng in their stupor.

  Then he left.

  His lodging stood above the harbor, the largest and most luxurious room in the building, perched on the highest floor. As he prepared for sleep, his thoughts drifted forward. Tomorrow morning. Dock Four. Quiet. Careful.

  His transmitter chimed. Starmist.

  “Starfall, thank the stars,” she said at once. “I was worried. I’m sorry I couldn’t see you off.”

  “It’s fine, Aunt,” he replied. “You can visit after the council session at Caelumreach.”

  “And how is it there?” she asked.

  “All good. I’m going to rest. Tomorrow will be busy.”

  He cut the transmission before she could answer.

  Starfall smiled to himself and closed his eyes. The constant roar of the harbor, the groan of cranes and engines, did nothing to disturb his sleep that night.

  Back at the Sevenstar event, Starmist finally allowed herself to breathe easily. Night had fallen. Servants cleared tables, and nobles departed in clusters, offering polite farewells as they passed her.

  Cygnus and Amaterasu had already left. So had Lucretius and Princess Samartian. She spotted Elysius and Bjorn arguing as they climbed into a carriage bound for Cogworks, their voices sharp even as the doors closed.

  Leroy approached her, a relaxed smile on his face.

  “I see the smile of someone who met her donation targets,” the Green Wraith said.

  “Aren’t you pleased?” Starmist asked.

  Leroy gave a short laugh, pride creeping into his tone. “Events like this are routine for me. Even—”

  He stopped mid sentence.

  Starmist was looking at him with wide azure eyes, mouth slightly open, her expression innocent, almost pleading.

  “Yes,” Leroy said at once, turning his gaze away. “I’m pleased. Now stop looking at me like that.”

  Starmist smiled until her eyes curved shut. “I knew it.”

  She told him that Starfall had arrived safely at the harbor. That she was glad her nephew was finally stepping into responsibility, doing something essential for his House. Leroy shared her relief.

  They spoke a while longer beneath the fading lights of the venue, voices low, memories surfacing between them like old constellations. Above, the night sky stretched wide, unaware of plans already in motion, and of a forbidden dock waiting quietly for a young heir’s curiosity.