Her hair, dark with a deep blue tinge, lay effortlessly down her shoulders. Her robes, more exquisite than even Ceru’s, glowed with a chaotic azure light, reminiscent of the departure of the dawn and the arrival of dusk. Her azure eyes, seemingly bottomless, gazed over the sea of Omari, dominating the entire hall. Her slightly tanned skin, resembling Adar, complemented her cerulean aura as sand does the sea.

“Rise,” she commanded, as she laid her small hand on Ceru’s shoulder.

Although she was small in stature, she possessed the air of a ruler.

Ceru rose and, with another bow, tightly gripped his robe, placing his right arm across his chest and chanting in the old tongue, “Larus Omeros Omari” [Long Live Omari].

The other families also chanted, first Larissa of the Empyrias Family, followed by those in the Saphira and Meras Families. The Beryl Family members looked around, glancing to see the reaction of the other members of their family, until Bakal bellowed.

“LARUS OMEROS OMARI,” joining the chant fervently. Those within the Beryl Family, witnessing this display, chanted in unison, drowning out the chants of the other families.

Ceru glanced back at the Beryl Family members and slightly scowled. The girl, noticing this, whispered to him.

“Now is not the time. Well done, Ceru.”

She held out her hand, which Ceru grasped gently, leading her towards a table close to the throne, seating her and standing at her side.

Arnos, next to Wendall, had been mesmerised by her entrance, completely entranced by the elegant power she had displayed to take control of the entire hall. She, no larger than he, exhibited a grace he could not hope to achieve, akin to a weed yearning to bloom into the finest lily.

Melivora, his blades now sheathed, returned to those within the Meras Family, seating himself amongst his own, his face full of dissatisfaction. Those of the Saphira Family also returned to their seats, followed by those of the Beryl Family.

Larissa walked up towards the girl and Ceru, her smile beaming at the sight of the new girl.

“Larissa greets the Young Mistress,” she bowed with her head low, then subtly whispered, “Fashionably late as usual,” with a smirk.

The girl smiled and gestured for her to sit, but Larissa, with another bow, politely declined. “My family will be here shortly. I will return later, young mistress,” she said, quickly eyeing Ceru with a distasteful look.

Ceru gulped and attempted to speak but quickly lowered his gaze. Larissa smiled at the girl and, with a courteous nod, returned to her table, completely disregarding Ceru.

Seira, looking towards both Arnos and Wendall, whispered, “I’d better head off,” and walked off towards Carmine and the rest of the Saphira.

Wendall gestured for Arnos to follow him towards the table Ceru and the girl had now occupied. Arnos wiped the blood from his mouth with a cloth found on the table and looked towards Wendall, sweat collecting at the top of his forehead. Wendall smiled and reassured him by placing his hand on his shoulder.

The two walked towards the table, piercing gazes swarming Arnos. With every step through the hall, the conviction he gained dwindled. He lowered his head, almost cowering in the face of all those around him as he walked. Wendall, noticing this change in demeanour, subtly squeezed the shoulder his hand was placed on.

“Stand proud,” he whispered. “The Sicarian name lives on, through you.”

Upon hearing those words, Arnos summoned what was left of his resolve and lifted his head. He breathed in, puffing out his chest, and exhaled, calming down his racing heart. Once they had reached the table, Wendall bowed to the young girl.

The genuine version of this novel can be found on another site. Support the author by reading it there.

“Greetings, Young Mistress,” he said, placing his hand on his chest, eyeing Arnos.

Arnos, realising his intention, also bowed.

“Greetings, Young Mistress,” he said, with his eyes planted on the floor, sweat now dripping from his forehead.

The young girl smiled. “Rise,” she commanded, her high-pitched voice juxtaposing her domineering aura.

Wendall rose first and subtly whispered, “Did you come alone? Unguarded?” glancing towards the rest of the hall.

“Yes, and what of it,” the girl replied, shrugging off the question. “That task lies with you now,” she remarked, subtly eyeing Arnos.

Wendall walked towards the mistress and stood at her side, now also flanking her as Ceru did. The two uncomfortably looked towards Arnos and the young mistress, eyeing each other in the process.

The girl broke the silence. “This is our first time meeting,” she smiled, her gaze inspecting Arnos.

Arnos gulped and nodded his head, avoiding contact with her deep blue eyes.

“No need to be fearful. You may be a servant, but you are still an Omari,” she said, smiling warmly. “It must have been hard.”

“Young miss–” Ceru interjected, which was instantly met with a glare from the girl.

“Do not interrupt us,” she glared at Ceru, who responded by stepping back and bowing.

“Apologies for overstepping,” he replied calmly but with a subtle look of frustration, returning to his original position at her side.

“As I was saying,” she continued, her gaze now back on Arnos, who was almost strangled by the tension, not just from her but the entire hall.

The piercing gazes still pricked his back, and the tension from the young mistress squashed him. He looked towards Ceru and Wendall for support, but they shamefully avoided eye contact with him, unable to intervene.

Now feeling alone and helpless, Arnos could finally feel the weight of the situation collapsing onto his small frame.

His heart raced, and his breathing became shallow as sweat beaded on his forehead. He recalled Wendall's words: “Do not blame yourself for being born the way you are, nor be ashamed of your own weakness. For everyone is weak; some just hide it better than others.” Seira’s voice echoed in his mind, reminding him, “Branch or not, you are still an Omari. Carry yourself as such, regardless of who your parents are.”

Thoughts of Bakal and his attempts to ridicule him swarmed in his mind, subtly enraging him. He looked towards Ceru one last time, drawing strength from his presence. His breathing slowed, and his demeanour became composed. He looked towards the young mistress with renewed conviction, to which Ceru smiled, noticing this change.

“My name is Arnos Sicarius Omari,” he said boldly to the young mistress. “I am not here to seek your forgiveness, nor am I here to be your enemy,” his eyes firmly engaged with hers for the first time.

“Oho,” she smiled, amused and surprised by his change. “Then what are you here for?” she asked, her gaze unwavering from his.

“To prove myself,” he replied with conviction, “and to honour the Sicarian name.”

“There is no honour amongst the Sicarian name,” she retorted, still amused. “Although a tragedy, the death of my parents still lingers in my frail heart,” she said, sarcastically placing her hand on her head in woe.

“But-” Arnos interjected, attempting to dispute her claim.

“There are no buts. Look around you. You have no allies here, just Adar,” she condescendingly laughed, glancing around at the entire hall.

Ceru and Wendall exchanged uneasy glances, their discomfort evident. Just as Ceru took a step forward, intent on intervening, Arnos cut him off, his voice resolute and unwavering.

“If I have no allies, I will make them. If all I have are enemies, I will make more. If the world deems me a villain I will be the worst one, but by nature I am kind, and by choice, I will be strong,” he exclaimed, intently eyeing the hall.

“Are you threatening me?” the girl laughed, her amusement reaching its peak.

“Since when could a mere mortal be of threat to the Azure sky he lives under,” Arnos smiled, intently staring into the girl's eyes.

Arnos then chanted, gripping his chest with his robe, “LARUS OMEROS OMARI,” repeatedly, his voice ringing and strained.

The girl couldn’t help but smile, fascinated by Arnos who stood alone, as a rock within a turbulent river. “I wonder how long he can last… Arnos Sicarius Omari,” she softly laughed to herself.

Those within the hall watched the boy who stood proud and tall, chanting alone, unyielding and unbowed in the face of scrutiny.

They hadn't realised at that point, they were witnessing the birth of a hero.