"The capital? Dragonheart? Why me?" Oscar asked, growing more concerned about the reason. Remulus, the Pavilion Master, simply handed him the sealed envelope, holding it an inch away from his face. He accepted the envelope and gently undid the wax seal, plucking it whole and unbroken. The letter inside was soft, certainly made from the finest paper, indicating the invitation's high status and importance. Unfolding it to reveal the cursive handwriting on the letter, he read them out loud for his master and Aunt Rosett to hear.

"To the returned hero of my Brilliant Drake Empire, Oscar Terr.

I, Caires Vanholt Dragnar, invite you to the annual Summer Gala, where I will bestow upon you the awards and rewards you deserve. Words cannot express my gratitude for your bravery and achievements in the past and present. Accept this medallion and wear it proudly during the Gala."

The medallion was glued to the paper on the bottom corner, bearing the same emblem as the wax seal, the symbol of the highest authority in the land, the Dragnar Ancestor. Oscar separated the medallion and shoved it inside his space pocket. Resting the letter on the table, he leaned back in his chair, a few audible creaks sounding, and glanced over the terrace, from Aunt Rosett to his master to the Pavilion Master.

"Do I have to go?" Oscar groaned, his voice sounding tired already. He could already foresee the trouble he'd have to endure if he went.

"It's meant for you. The Summer Gala always happens, but we're having a special award ceremony for you this time. That's why I had to leave and meet with old Caires." Remulus rummaged the table and grunted. He filled the empty plates with new snacks and comfortably sat on a chair while enjoying a cake. Sipping from his tea, Remulus sighed in relief. "No, you can't reject this one. Believe me, when I spread the news of your return and current heroics, I was swamped by the sheer amount of invitations from various nobles and interested parties. All were inviting you to their little gatherings and marriage talks."

"There's that many?" Oscar remembered how insistent the previous elder was and also how many other elders were waiting on the sidelines for an opportunity.

"Hundreds." Remulus rubbed his scalp and shook his head, weariness dropping his eyes. "Many want to meet you and get a good look at you. So, the best chance to stop this is to go to the Gala, get your awards, and runoff."

"You don't have to go. Stay here and ignore the rabble." Draven opposed the Pavilion Master's stance. "If any dare comes to bother you, I can pay them a visit."

"No! We need Oscar to attend. It's already spread around that he's going to be there." Remulus argued back. He turned to Oscar, a slight hint of pleading on his lifted brows, and said, "Young Gilbert is away. You're here, you're famous, and you're a hero. The people need some assurance, someone who they can look up to. There's already a mob of dissatisfied nobles who had to leave their homes after the initial retreat, clamoring on the streets. The Empire needs something to prop up our standings."

"You want to use Oscar as a tool?!" Draven landed a fist on the table. Everything, including the snacks, plates, and the table itself, instantly burst into sand, scattering everywhere on the black floor. Aunt Rosett rushed out and grabbed Oscar and Erden, erecting a protective layer of Ein, slight beads of sweat dripping down her sides. Draven stomped, cracks spreading in the thunderous wake upon the helpless floor. "Soldier, warrior…I can understand. But you wish to make him into some animal for others to gawk at."

"Not an animal, a hero." Remulus saved a plate and his teacup. He waved his hand, a strange distortion expanding to engulf the table. Oscar stared in wonderment as the dust and sand reformed into the table, plates, and snacks, not a single blemish or crack on them, as if his master's attack never happened. The Pavilion Master coughed and set his cup and plate down. "Oscar, my grand disciple."

"Yes?" Oscar responded.

"As someone who once commanded thousands and ruled over your land, do you honestly believe the way the Empire had been hanging on is good?" Remulus posed a question, raising a hand in Draven's direction.

Oscar blinked in surprise, not expecting to be given a strange question. Oscar took a seat and fell silent. Many memories raced through his mind: the wars, the battles, and the peace afterward. He never forgot the despair his men expressed at some moments and the highest cheers of joy at their victories. That was the answer. Understanding the Pavilion Master's meaning, he answered, "No. It's not good for us. Defeat is a burning agony. Victory is the sweetest delight. But to go on for years without any results or news is like falling into a bottomless pit. Soon, there won't be any hope, no resolve, only the begrudging compliance to endure."

"Precisely. Waiting eight years for Gilbert to return, assuming he wins the Primanomachy, is too long. We need people's hopes to last. Results are necessary. Results define how we move forward. If there are no results, people have nothing to cling to." Remulus said, gripping his hands by his stomach.

Oscar looked at Remulus, the dark lines of weariness embedded deeply into the old King Exalt's brow, a far cry from how he was twenty-one years ago. A sense of duty rose in his heart. He stood from his seat and bowed to the grandmaster. "I accept the invitation. When do we leave?"

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Remulus laughed and sprang from his seat, patting Oscar on the back. "There are some errands we have to run in Dragonheart City. We set out tomorrow morning. The rest of your Black Aegis Order can settle and rest in the Pavilion until we finish. Of course, Erden can accompany you. Then, farewell, my dear grand-disciple, be at Triton Hold in the morning at the break of dawn."

The Pavilion Master split open another spatial crack and went inside, disappearing into the swirling green vortex before it sealed shut back into thin air. Oscar sighed deeply, loud enough for the others to hear, and slumped back into his chair. Attending a social event, especially one as large and prestigious as the Summer Gala, was not what he imagined doing. His wife wasn't even here to be his partner for the Gala.

"Aunt Rosett, have you ever been to the Gala?" Oscar asked

"A few times. The most memorable was when your master attended one before he became like this. I remember how Margaret and I competed to be his dancing partner. Back then, we also allowed outsiders into the Gala, so that wench, Diane, joined in." Aunt Rosett laughed, running her hand over his flowery pink hair.

"Did Master dance with you any of you?" Oscar leaned in to whisper, interested in his master's past.

"Nope. Draven intimidated everyone away with that helmet and sat in the corner, sipping tea like right now." Aunt Rosett pointed at Draven, who was drinking his tea elegantly. "I stayed up the whole day prior to prepare for it too…."

"What a useless event. I only went because the old bastard said to go." Draven scoffed. "Don't be intimidated by their whispers and stares. They're all inconsequential. Remember, you're my disciple. Don't spare them any respect."

"I understand." Oscar chuckled.

"Thank you for the Imperial Jewel. Now you should get some rest. Enjoy your time outside." Draven stepped away, waving his hand overhead.

Aunt Rosett grabbed his wrist and dragged him through the dark waters. Along the way, she expressed her gratitude with a soft smile, "Thank you, Oscar."

"What did I do?" Oscar wondered.

"Ever since you came back, Draven has mellowed down. He's still a maniac, but he's better than before. I'm glad." Aunt Rosett hummed, her cheeks carrying a tinge of pink. She patted her cheeks back to a healthy white and cleared her throat. "Where do you need me to drop you off?"

"Elder Saul's place," Oscar replied. He had to meet the old gardener at least once every time he returned. Aunt Rosett sped up, pulling him along, and descended like a hawk, but the winds failed to ruffle even a strand of his hair due to her protective Ein. After she landed, she waved farewell and left Oscar on a different terrace, one under the two suns and carrying an entire garden, a peaceful place atop Triton Hold. Vibrant and thick grass, well-trimmed and maintained, spread evenly over the garden, faint hints of deep brown soil showing in between the dark green plants. Flowers of many colors and types, ranging from roses to daisies, grew tall and bloomed, the petals arranging themselves into beautiful symmetrical jewels.

"Elder Saul, are you here?" Oscar called out.

"I sensed you coming a while ago. What business have you with this old man?" Elder Saul's voice called out from behind. Shocked, Oscar turned around. Somehow, the old Exalt crept up behind him and even pulled up a reclined chair to rest on. He was sure nothing was behind him prior to his landing.

"How have you been, Elder Saul?" Oscar bowed.

"Irritating." Elder Saul grumbled, his wrinkles shaking and contorting from his lips twisting into a frown. "I had to make this garden from scratch after revealing my realm. Those children in the Outer Hall wouldn't stop hounding my house."

"A Tricrown King Exalt will gather attention, Elder Saul." Oscar chuckled. "Why did you hide yourself and become a gardener?"

"Why are you asking all these questions?" Elder Saul said lazily, his voice trailing off near the end as if he was going to fall asleep.

"Just interested. I realized I don't know much about you." Oscar sat down on the grass like he had done many times in the past while talking with Elder Saul in the mornings.

Elder Saul shrugged and said, "Boredom, I guess?"

"Boredom?" Oscar said, unable to comprehend.

"When you reach my realm. There's only the Primaere waiting above. I'm the strongest, barring any Primaeres, so there's no challenge, none of the thrill of youthful endeavors like before, only a long wait until the time arrives to attempt to become a Primaere. What's a man to do with all that time?" Elder Saul sat upright and gazed at Oscar, his eyes deep and old, the kind that Oscar felt he could never escape from if they chose to lock onto him. "I have something to admit. When I first met you and gave you advice, it was on a whim. I never expected much, but you surprised me and everyone."

"That's heartening to know." Oscar joked.

Elder Saul's face crumpled into a smile, missing a few teeth. "I came here and became a gardener to observe the younger generations. I'm not native to this continent, but Remulus and Caires have accommodated my needs. There's something about seeing the newer Exalts try, struggle, and work on themselves. They have what I haven't felt in years: the excitement, the uncertainty of tomorrow."

"And you decided to intervene like in my case?" Oscar asked.

"Indeed. It's a strange connection. Almost as if I'm living through them, living in their shoes, joining in their growth. You know, in all the years since your supposed death, no one has come close to riling up the faint emotions in me. You truly made me feel alive. And now that you're back, I feel amazing." Elder Saul chuckled and handed Oscar a biscuit, the same dry ones he always gave him. "You'll understand if you ever reach my realm."

Oscar bit on the dry biscuit. It fell apart like sand in his mouth. Coughing and choking, Oscar swallowed the entire thing without chewing further. "Are you going to the Summer Gala?"

"Hell no. I hate gatherings. Why do you think I hid myself for so many years?" Elder Saul spat on the ground, grumbling incoherently to himself. "If you're going, just say you know me and shut anyone up."

"I expected as much. I have to go. It's what I should do." Oscar pulled out a small box from his space pocket and placed it on the small table beside Elder Saul. "It's a northern snack. I thought you might enjoy it."

"Thank you. You can rest here if you want."

"I appreciate that. But I should head out. Farewell, Elder Saul." Oscar flew off the terrace. He closed his eyes and breathed in the Ein-ridden air, a sweet smell wafting into his nose from the flowery Divine Essence. Tomorrow, he would have to leave for Dragonheart, but for today, there was only a well-earned rest.