Dinnertime stretched on and on beyond what Ozahr's stomach could handle. Redmondel had several other guests over, and though they didn't quite compete with Redmondel's radiance, they certainly tried. Ozahr did not participate in their aristocratic jokes, not only because he didn't know how, but also because it did not feel right after seeing the streets of Ashborne. Unfortunately, it did not seem like a problem for magic to solve. Perhaps he'd find a diplomat on his journey and tell them of the state of this place.

Both the guests and Redmondel did not bother Ozahr all that much. He seemed to have an unusual amount of freedom, but the guards dressed in black armor who were suddenly stationed at every room and hallway suggested otherwise.

I may regret this decision afterwards, Ozahr figured. The best he could do for now was wait for the ball and slip through the crowd unnoticed. In the meantime, it seemed like going to the mansion's library wouldn't earn him any suspicious looks, so he spent what little was left of the evening browsing the books they had on their shelves.

The library was dim and a tad dusty. Ozahr illuminated the darkness with the glow of blue magic in his palm, coloring everything in an ethereal light. The air in the library was a few degrees colder than the rest of the mansion, but Ozahr's magic kept his fingertips warm enough. When he wanted to flip through a book, he'd suspend the blue spark in the air and catch it once more before it disappeared. And so he strolled between the tall bookcases until he came upon a very special section.

"Phoenix History... Sighting... Alchemy Uses... That's a lot of books about a made up creature, though I shouldn't be surprised, given the rest of the mansion," Ozahr spoke softly to himself. He picked up one of the books and quickly flipped through it until something caught his eye—a handwritten note. A carelessly scribbled annotation, covering the sentences beneath it.

It's all... wrong? Ozahr read the notes scattered between pages. Fucking wrong, doesn't make sense, who let this be published... I'll have them hanged. Ozahr stopped flipping for a moment and furrowed his brows. "Huh. Someone really disliked this book."

He picked up another book, and the scribbles were the same. Another book had the image of a Phoenix completely drawn over, adjusting the shape of the wings, tail, and body. Another, on alchemy, had torn up pages and the faces of famous alchemists all crossed out with manically drawn lines of black charcoal.

"Why keep a bunch of books you hate?" Ozahr wondered until he opened a book with softer marks. It was a simple fairytale book, void of the scientific language of adults and instead shrouded in child-like fascination with magic. The pages were decorated with little doodles of the Phoenix, evident by its incredibly long tail, spanning across two pages at once. When he reached the last pages, an old, folded piece of paper fell out. It, too, had a drawing similar to all the other scribbles so far. It was the image of a Phoenix, slowly morphing and transforming into a human being.

Ozahr suddenly smiled, eyes wide with fascination. "Don't tell me..." He closed the book and went back to his guest room for the night.

Most of Ozahr's next morning was spent running between tailors, shoemakers, and makeup artists in preparation for the ball. He didn't ask for any of the services, but Redmondel insisted of course, and her workers made sure Ozahr understood that no one attends the Baroness' celebrations dressed like that.

What an insult, thought Ozahr. Sorcerers dress better than anyone else. While that was purely his opinion, it was true that sorcerers typically dressed more extravagantly than the regular crowd. If his ornate robes were simple in their eyes, no wonder they don't even acknowledge the rest of the city.

"Is the outfit to your liking, Lord Caldun?" a seamstress' voice drew him out of his thoughts.

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"Ah—yes. But please, call me Ozahr," he said, to which the seamstress only nodded politely without uttering his first name. "May I ask you a question?" He spoke while she worked on the stitching. "Why is it that Redmondel is obsessed with the Phoenix?"

The seamstress stopped her work. "A-ahm, uh... Lady Redmondel doesn't like us mentioning the Phoenix, sir."

"Hmm. Is there a particular reason for that?"

"I-I wouldn't know, sir. I'm nothing but a seamstress... Now please, stop moving!" Though her voice was meek, the seamstress tugged the fabric hard enough to shake Ozahr and make him stop talking.

The young sorcerer's curiosity had been piqued—he couldn't just sneak out of the mansion during the ball the way he planned anymore. From his tours around the hallways, he noticed the guards were only stationed around entrances and exits—none at the upper floors, where Redmondel often walked. Once his fittings were done, Ozahr was free to go and investigate the Baroness.

Her room must be here somewhere... He walked through the endless halls, past countless doors, trying to find ones that would stick out extravagantly enough to be worthy of Redmondel's bedroom.

"The shipment from Hartersfield is late, M'lady—"

Ozahr's ears perked at the low whispers of a man from behind one of the more plain looking doors. A servant? He quietly tip-toed to the nearby door to listen in to the conversation.

"You said the crystals would be ready for tonight." Ozahr recognized the impatient voice as Lady Redmondel.

"I-I didn't know that they would take so long to mine t-the crystals. I assure you I let them know that this was urgent, b-but—"

"You know I can't delay the ball when it's a couple hours away. What's the hold up?" Her voice was growing increasingly angry.

"They-they were talking about being afflicted by some sort of curse! You know how peasants are—always making these things up when under the pressure of a deadline," he laughed nervously. "W-we still have quite a handful of crystals already!"

"Are you defending those bastards?"

"No, n-no, not at all! I was jus—ACK," his voice cut off.

"Maybe I should experiment with these crystals, make sure they work. Starting with you—"

The man shrieked in fear at her proposal.

Chills covered Ozahr's body as he heard the man's struggles. He tried to get a little closer to listen to Redmondel's hushed fury, but he accidentally touched the closed door and rattled it.

Suddenly there was a loud thud and sharp heels clicked closer and closer to the door.

Ozahr didn't bother wasting time carefully slipping out of sight in these huge, open hallways. He just booked it back to his room before anyone would catch him.

Fuck— Ozahr panted behind the locked door of his room. "I'm out of shape," he whispered breathlessly as if he was dying.

"I suddenly feel ever so slightly less safe going to the ball tonight." Ozahr brushed his white hair back and as he clapped his hands together in preparation, a burst of blue magic lit up the dim room. The sun was finally setting. "Let's do thi—"

A loud knock on the door startled Ozahr, who was leaning right against it.

"The event is about to begin. Do not delay," a harsh voice called from the other side before stomping away.

"A guard, likely. Or a really strong seamstress. Wouldn't want to offend either one," Ozahr rambled to himself. He spotted his new outfit sitting on one of the chairs in the room—a suit as white as snow with royal red lining and golden embroidery. Not nearly as extravagant as Ozahr expected—a relief, really.

“I’ll be back for you,” he whispered at the pointy blue hat he had to leave behind.

Ozahr walked down the stairs, escorted by one of the knights in black armor. They passed by the hall where he overheard Redmondel's conversation, but it was dark, with no one in sight. The young sorcerer was scolded for even looking to the side. Do not delay means do not delay. Tough crowd.

"No magic in the ballroom!" Another guard shouted as Ozahr came down the stairs, but he was shouting at the guests that came pouring in from the grand entrance. There were colorful sparks flying around, particles of fire, water, and fun little illusions. The majority of the guests seemed to be sorcerers. Ozahr hadn't seen so many in one place since he left his childhood home.

Was that servant a sorcerer, too? Ozahr thought back to the incident behind closed doors. Finding and gathering so many sorcerers was harder than simply inviting more aristocrats to the ball. And then there were the crystals, which were rarer than sorcerers, but more importantly, had magical properties even Ozahr wasn't entirely familiar with. I don't like this...

Where she managed to obtain the crystals was not the main problem—it was what she was planning on doing with them.

Ozahr tensed up upon entering the ballroom where dark and depressing waltz music was playing. It didn't look any more impressive than the rest of the rooms in the mansion, but it was its sheer size and number of guests that made Ozahr worry about what was to come.

All the sorcerers seemed pleased to meet more of their kind, which meant this ball was not part of Redmondel's usual gatherings. I'm going to look suspicious if I don't cheer up and start dancing.

The door to the ballroom suddenly burst open. "The Baroness, Lady Redmondel, has arrived," a guard in heavy black armor announced.

The crowd cleared the way, creating a long path for Redmondel to walk through. The only obstacle standing in the middle was the young Spell Knight.

All eyes were on the baroness. She occupied the doorway with an extravagant ball gown that bounced with each step she took. She was covered in bright and intense red colors from head to toe, apart from a large golden necklace that held a pearl white jewel. It shined in light pink hues under the room's chandelier. Redmondel eyed Ozahr in the middle of the aisle with a devious grin.