As the footman pulled open the carriage door, Ravina and Earl stepped out with practiced grace. The man extended a hand toward her, which she accepted with the lightest brush of her gloved fingers.

Beside her, Earl hesitated, his breath catching as his gaze lifted toward the spectacle before them.

"What in the hells...?" His voice was barely a whisper, but the awe in his tone was unmistakable.

Ravina suppressed a smirk—his reaction was justified. The Imperial Academy was always a marvel, the sole noble institution in the City of Education, but tonight, the Great Hall shimmered with twice its usual splendor.

Above them, a canopy of doves circled the entrance, silk ribbons trailing from their talons, scattering crimson and gold rose petals. The petals floated downward, landing upon the pristine marble walkway, an elegant path leading into the grand chamber.

Enchanted lanterns hung suspended in the air, casting a warm golden glow, like scattered stars caught in orbit. The shimmering pathway reflected the light, as though paved with luminescence itself.

Carriages lined the road, each more extravagant than the last, their noble passengers stepping out in waves of rich silks, intricate embroidery, and gemstone-laden attire. Gentle laughter and soft murmurs wove together, blending seamlessly with the distant melody of a hidden orchestra.

Ravina allowed herself a small smile as she observed Earl's complete lack of composure. Truthfully, his reaction saved her from revealing her own awe. His wide-eyed wonder allowed her to maintain the poised noblewoman persona she carefully curated.

"Did you think it would be on the same level as Wies Academy?" she teased, delivering a sharp poke to his ribs.

Earl turned a glare sharp enough to cut glass—then, realizing himself, quickly straightened.

"Of course not," he snapped, his gaze darting across the assembled nobles before he offered his arm with exaggerated politeness.

Ravina's smile deepened. "Oh my, what a gentleman." She took it with exaggerated grace.

"Everyone else is doing it," he muttered, clearly scrambling for an excuse.

Behind them, the footman rolled his eyes, already resigned to the long night ahead as another carriage approached the entrance.

Together, they ascended the marble steps, passing beneath gilded oak doors, thrown open in welcome. Beyond the threshold, the Great Hall stretched into breathtaking grandeur.

The vaulted ceiling, painted with celestial constellations, glowed softly, golden patterns illuminated by floating crystal chandeliers. Their reflections shimmered upon the polished onyx floor, like stars dancing upon a midnight sea.

The walls were lined with banners of noble houses, their embroidered sigils displayed in silent competition. Each one had likely required no small portion of the Academy’s budget.

Ravina’s eyes flicked across them, her gaze settling on a particular banner—Ravenqueil.

The walls were lined with banners of noble houses, each paid for more than a little of the schools financials, Ravaina saw the banner of Ravenqueil, silently looking down upon them all and could only hum curiously at that. Where Ravenshield was the main house it was a branch that held its place here. Odd, curious, and something she would much prefer looking into then this party

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But, as the daughter of a count, she had a role to play in this performance. All good girls and boys graduated from this academy. Only the barons were exempt, while all others would lose a lot of standing and be more than a little ostracized.

Again, nothing that would bother her but something that was easily avoided. The good news was her father wasn't here. Though it did make her a little sad, but he had so many things to do here it would seem, other than that, no one bothered them save the judgemental gaze.

She was in the same position as them, didn't know who they were, after all she had not actually attended the academy, in person that is, on paper however she was fine. So she and her fish out of water partner found a nice corner to hide in, indulging in the lavish spread of jewel-colored pastries and delicately spiced meats, watching the courtly dance of true nobility unfold before them.

As the evening deepened, twilight bled into a deep indigo, and the glow of countless lanterns flickered against the looming dark, creating a scene of suspended starlight.

The music softened.

A ripple passed through the crowd. A brief murmur—then silence.

And then, a voice rang out, cutting through the hush like a blade against glass.

"Announcing His Royal Majesty, King Ishai Lemor Vanguar Deloroose Nevarius the Third!"

With the weight of tradition and reverence, the gathered masses bowed low, a synchronized sweep of silks and velvets.

The doors parted, and the royal family entered.

At the forefront walked King Ishai, a portly man whose bearing exuded warmth rather than authority. His gilded wreath-like crown, an elegant band of silver and gold, rested upon combed white hair, its centerpiece a deep purple jewel carved with the sigil of the Ram House.

Behind him followed the queen, her movements effortless, yet imbued with an air of dignified control. Unlike the king’s heavier diadem, her crown was a delicate circlet of pure gold, its wolf-etched engravings a silent testament to her lineage.

Trailing them was the crown prince, posture straight, expression poised. A carefully curated smile rested on his lips—it was his day, after all. His graduation, his triumph.

As the procession advanced, the room held its breath.

Not a whisper, not a breath dared to break the moment.

The soft click of polished heels against marble echoed through the stillness, each step a measured note in an unseen orchestral arrangement.

At last, they reached the grand stage. The king settled into his throne, and when his voice, firm yet composed, rang through the hall—

"Rise."

—the assembly lifted their heads.

The king’s gaze swept across the hall, pausing on familiar faces, eager students, and uncertain futures.

"It is my greatest honor," he began, his tone warm, almost paternal. "To witness this new generation rise, alongside my son, stepping into the next chapter of their lives."

There was no cold formality in his words, no air of detached sovereignty.

Instead, he spoke like a grandfather, his voice carrying affection rather than duty.

And yet, everyone listened with rapt attention.

When his speech concluded, the school’s principal stepped forward, scroll in hand, as servants wheeled in carts—their polished surfaces gleaming beneath the chandeliers.

"It is with great honor that I present, first and foremost, His Highness, Jayson Ser Loskri Nevarius, with his diploma."

A wave of applause erupted—loud, unabashed, a celebration more for spectacle than merit.

As the crown prince accepted his scroll, the list of accolades began.

Ravina tapped a finger against the fabric of her gown as the principal droned on, the achievements growing increasingly absurd.

It was clear enough—perhaps even to the prince himself—that half of these praises were granted by virtue of his blood rather than his ability.

And as the applause swelled, Ravina glanced at the side doors, weighing how long it would take to slip out without anyone noticing.

Would anyone really care?