The Doherty estate was massive, a sprawling mansion that seemed to stretch on forever, its ivy-covered walls hiding secrets that had been whispered about for generations. It was a place of opulence and excess, a stark contrast to the modest lives most of Sovereign's residents led. The very sight of it was enough to make anyone feel small, a mere ant in the grand tapestry of the nobility's whims.

On this particular evening, the sound of horse hooves and the creaking of carriage wheels grew louder as a convoy of elegant vehicles approached the mansion's grand entrance. The pathway leading up to the mansion was lined with torches, casting flickering shadows on the snow-covered ground. Each carriage that arrived was more opulent than the last, their gold and silver trim glinting in the firelight like jewels scattered across the night. The horses, their breath steaming in the cold air, were draped in luxurious fabrics that matched their owners' finery.

Inside the estate, the walls were adorned with the finest tapestries, the floors gleaming with polished marble. Chandeliers held aloft by invisible mages rained crystalline light upon the guests below, their faces a masquerade of glee and greed. Laughter and music filled the air, a cacophony of merriment that seemed to mock the very fabric of the world that was slowly unraveling outside their bubble. The grandeur of the party was a stark contrast to the crumbling city beyond the mansion's iron gates, where the prophecy's dark whispers grew louder with each passing day.

Yet, amidst the opulence, two figures entered unnoticed, their footsteps muffled by the thick fur rugs that lined the entrance hall. Castrol and Millie, once esteemed nobles in their own right, had come to this gala not in a carriage drawn by prestigious steeds, but on foot, their faces etched with the worries of the city's plight. They had traded their finery for simple, unassuming garb, hoping to blend in with the shadows of the estate's many corridors. The stark contrast between their attire and the ostentatious display of wealth around them was not lost on the pair, their hearts heavy with the knowledge that their city's suffering was the fuel for this decadent fire.

As they moved through the throng of guests, Millie's sharp eyes caught sight of a familiar face, a friend from a time when the world was less cruel. "Marilynn," she murmured, her voice a soft ghost in the cacophony. Castrol followed her gaze to where a woman of striking beauty, her dark hair piled high and adorned with glittering jewels, stood at the center of a group of fawning admirers. Millie's hand tightened around Castrol's arm, her nails digging into his skin. "Lets extend our greetings," she insisted, her voice a steely whisper that brooked no argument.

They approached, the crowd parting for them like a sea before a ship's bow, the whispers of their names a siren's call that carried on the air. Marilynn's eyes lit up at the sight of her friend, a smile playing on her painted lips. She was the picture of grace and elegance, her gown a swirl of emerald silk that clung to her curves like a lover's embrace. But there was something in her gaze that didn't quite meet the joy her smile promised.

"Millie!" she exclaimed, her voice a bell that chimed over the din. "I'm so thrilled you could make it!" She leaned in, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. "And who, pray tell, is this?"

Marilynn's gaze shifted to Castrol, her eyes raking over him like a hungry lioness assessing potential prey. Castrol felt a chill run down his spine, the weight of her gaze almost tangible. He forced a smile, bowing slightly at the waist. "Lord over Barley Village, Castrol Pennant, at your service," he said, his voice a smooth lie.

For a moment, the world seemed to hold its breath. Then, Marilynn's expression transformed from one of polite curiosity to one of shock. "Castrol?" she repeated, her voice barely a whisper. "But... but you're... "

"Grown now, yes," Castrol said with a forced smile, his eyes never leaving Marilynn's shocked expression.

"It's been ages," Millie said, her voice cutting through the sudden tension like a knife.

This book's true home is on another platform. Check it out there for the real experience.

"Well, we certainly have a lot to catch up on, don't we?" Marilynn said, her voice a forced joviality that didn't quite mask the shock in her eyes. She took a sip of her wine, her hand shaking ever so slightly.

Castrol's smile remained fixed, his eyes on her. "We do indeed," he said, his tone measured. The air between them was thick with unspoken words, a history that stretched back to a time when the world had been a simpler, kinder place.

Though the history between the pair is best left to 'another' kind of novel...

Millie and Marilynn's conversation was abruptly interrupted by the sound of seven trumpets blasting in unison, the notes echoing through the vast chamber like the clarion call of destiny itself. The music was so loud and unexpected that it seemed to shake the very foundations of the mansion, the vibrations resonating in the chests of the guests, silencing their chatter like a switch had been flipped. The opulent room grew still, the only sound the ringing in their ears and the distant clink of fine china.

All heads snapped to the grand staircase that dominated one side of the room, its ornate railing gleaming with gold leaf in the candlelight. Down the stairs descended a figure, each step accompanied by the solemn beat of a drum that seemed to match the rhythm of their own racing hearts. The figure was draped in a cloak of midnight velvet, the hood pulled up to obscure their features. A sense of anticipation filled the air, as palpable as the scent of the fine perfumes that clung to the velvet of their clothes.

As the mysterious figure reached the bottom of the stairs, the drumming grew louder, a crescendo that seemed to demand the attention of every soul present. Castrol's eyes narrowed, his hand resting on the pommel of his sword, ready for whatever revelation was about to unfold. The music swelled, the beat thundering through the room, and with a dramatic flourish, the figure pulled back their hood.

Jack Doherty, the host of this decadent shindig, stood before them, his eyes gleaming with an intensity that was both mesmerizing and disturbing. His dark hair was swept back, and his sharp features were etched with a smile that didn't quite reach his eyes. He was the picture of nobility, yet there was something about him that screamed 'corruption' louder than the most garishly dressed peacock in the room. The guests erupted into applause, their faces a sea of admiration and fearful awe.

"Welcome, my esteemed guests," he boomed, his voice resonating through the chamber like a peal of thunder. "I am so delighted to see you all here, basking in the warmth of friendship and camaraderie." His gaze swept over the room, pausing briefly on Castrol and Millie, but there was no recognition in his eyes, no flicker of acknowledgment of their shared history. It was as if they were but strangers to him.

"Tonight," Jack Doherty announced, raising his arms, "is a very special evening, indeed. For tonight, we shall celebrate the seventh and final tea party of the season!" The crowd erupted into polite applause, the kind that was more about keeping up appearances than genuine enthusiasm.

"Thank you, thank you," Doherty continued, his smile not quite reaching his eyes. "Your patience and generosity have not gone unnoticed. The funds you have so graciously pooled together have been instrumental in ensuring our city's prosperity, and for that, I am eternally grateful." His words were slick, oily even, sliding over the guests like a serpent's caress.

The room grew still, the air charged with a mix of anticipation and wariness. The wealthy elite of Sovereign had gathered here expecting a grand reveal, their wallets lighter from their 'donations' to a cause that remained as transparent as the whispers of the prophecy itself. Doherty's gaze swept the room, pausing briefly on Castrol and Millie, who were doing their best to blend in.

With a flourish, Doherty gestured to the entrance. "But enough of me," he said, his smile widening. "Tonight, we have an esteemed guest, one whose wisdom and guidance have been invaluable in these trying times." The doors swung open, and the crowd parted like the Red Sea for the figure that entered.

The figure was robed in the pristine white of the Avarician faith, the material shimmering as if woven from the very fabric of purity itself. Gold ornaments adorned the sleeves and hem of the garment, glinting like stars in the candlelight. A heavy scent of incense filled the room, a heady mix of spices and sweetness that seemed to cling to the very air. The robe was a stark contrast to the dark shadows that had been growing in the city, a beacon of hope in a world that was slowly descending into madness.

As the figure reached the top of the stairs, the room broke into a cacophony of raucous cheers and applause. Like a bar when the patrons are told they can have free refills.

The man, the guest, who incited such jubilation, such adoration!

Was none other than Tobias Kingg. Messiah of the new world and leader of the Post-Avarician faith!

-To Be Continued