Falcon perched atop the tavern roof, a paper resting on his lap as he scribbled on it. Beside him sat a peculiar bird in a tiny suit, its gaze sharp yet silent.
“Men, we’ve crossed paths with Darius and his band. The battle was brief, ending without casualties on either side. Thanks to Master and his father, settling things, the tensions have been calmed, and a war between the two factions is, for now, avoided. However, Two of our own have been injured in these skirmishes. With that, I remind you of Astria’s words: even if your blood boils, even if some of you curse our boss for using us in his personal motives, remember who he is—and how much he strives to change. Darius wasn't aware of the hunters who attacked us or the figure who attacked Tori's group. So, do not act on your own. Avoid the Jinni hunters—not only for your safety but to prevent further chaos in the Fourth. Let’s leave this land together, with our families waiting for us back home.”
With a tired sigh, Falcon placed his pen down, his hand brushing through his hair. The suited bird hopped closer, watching as he rolled the letter and tied it. Without hesitation, the little critter took the message in its beak and soared into the twilight sky.
Falcon leaned back, his smile faint but amused. “I didn’t even tell them the good news,” he whispered. “Ah well, it’s better this way. Boss Dain will break it to them himself. Still…” His voice trailed off as he stared into the horizon, thoughts swirling like the clouds above. “Using those techniques against his father and uncle. Even when he was holding back, his anger was still obvious”
He chuckled, resting his face in his hands. “Was our inhuman boss actually furious about the adventurers, his father killed? He barely even knew them…” His fingers pressed against his temples as he whispered to himself. “Love is such a strange thing. I wonder if I’ll ever get a taste of it.”
A sudden chorus of screams shattered his reverie, echoing from the tavern below.
His smile shifted to a wide frown. “And here I am, stuck babysitting three lunatics,” he said, rising to his feet. “Guess peace and quiet isn’t in my cards today.”
Pasta’s stomach growled almost muting out the loud banging of jugs and gossip of the tavern. Across the table, Tori was busy devouring a honey-coated steak.
Singing and dancing were heard at the far end of the tavern, Kabal celebrating himself being alive while dancing with complete strangers all drunk on the Lords know what, not caring about the rhythm to their steps.
Pasta turned back to Tori, his stomach still groaning, while she, unbothered, tore into her meal without a care in the world. She looked up to him. His face twisted like a goblin suffering the aftereffects of a power-enhancing drug.
Tori picked another piece, pulling it in. She took her time, letting the juices drip tantalizingly, and watched as Pasta’s pallor deepened with every inch the morsel approached her mouth. His Adam’s apple bobbed. His breath hitched. And then, she bit down.
“Hic!” He twitched. “Hic!” Again.
The hiccups repeated as she took bites of her meal. Her fork clattered onto her plate as she slammed the table.
"Man, what’s your deal?" she snapped. "If you didn’t want to pay, just say so! Quit playing these weird games and stop staring at me like like that. Geez bro"
Pasta stretched a hand toward her plate, his eyes wide almost losing all life in them.
Tori said nothing, whipping out her baton, which with a mechanical hiss unfolded into a wicked-looking scythe. The sharp edges gleamed under the dim tavern light, drawing gasps and startled whispers from the surrounding patrons. Even the tavern’s rowdy atmosphere quieted a bit as eyes locked on the futuristic weapon.
“Wait, you want my food?” Tori asked, narrowing her eyes as she dragged her plate closer. “Go get your own! It’s not like you don’t have the money.”
“You’re not going to let me have a single bite?” he asked, his voice trembling. “Come on, Tori. I beg of you”
She paused, placing a piece of steak halfway to her mouth. “I’m not the one who told you not to order, am I?” she said, biting into the meat. Her mouth was stained with sauce as she spoke. “Like why didn’t you order? It's not like you're some priest fasting for some holy vow or something?” she asked, having a closer look at him. “Or are you?”
Pasta sighed. “I haven’t eaten anything since Emilia got captured,” he said, his voice heavy with fatigue. “Now that I know she’s safe, I feel like I can finally have something. Even just a bite.”
From across the room, Kabal’s drunken roar interrupted the moment. “Where are all the ladies, huh? Bring ‘em out! The night’s just starting!” He smashed a bottle to the ground as the other drunkards cheered, their laughter filling the air. The waitresses darted around them, avoiding their boisterous chaos like mice dodging cats.
Tori rolled her eyes, hesitated for a moment, and then stabbed her fork into a piece of steak. She tossed it onto Pasta’s plate with a begrudging sigh. “You’ll need your strength for the training,” she said. “And, hey, it’s your money anyway.”
Pasta’s eyes filled with grateful tears as he reached for the steak. “Thank you,” he said, before wolfing it down.
“I’m surprised you haven’t died yet. I know I will”
“Yep”
She crossed her arms, leaning back on her seat. “Losing Emilia must’ve really taken a toll on you.”
“You said it,” he replied, finishing the steak. “She’s never been good with people. The idea of her being captured... it was unbearable. I even blamed Mr. Swordsman for it, when it’s my job to protect her in the first place.”
Tori burst out laughing, clutching her stomach. “Yeah, Emilia isn’t exactly Miss Social, that’s for sure. But don’t underestimate her. That girl’s got guts.”
Pasta frowned, tilting his head. “Are we still talking about Emilia? All I know is that she can be pretty scary, sometimes. And I mean really terrifying”
Tori shook her head, a grin spreading across her face. “You’re forgetting who came to save you the last time you were captured. Not me, not Mr. Swordsman—it was Emilia,” she said, her tone teasing. “Honestly, sometimes I feel bad that Astria has to keep up with a troublemaker like her.”
Pasta’s expression softened as he looked down at his empty plate and then back up to Tori “Yeah, are we still talking about Emilia?" he repeated. "If so, she's more than a troublemaker"
*
The Cadenza Court buzzed with hushed gasps and murmurs, every eye in the room locked on the duo that had just entered. Their presence seemed to brighten the opulent halls as if the very air shimmered in their wake.
The receptionist’s jaw dropped before a wide grin spread across his face. “Now that is what I call looking the part,” he said, nodding.
Astria stood tall in a crimson uniform reminiscent of a Second Realm general, complete with sharp lines and bold insignias. Dark glasses obscured her piercing, yet tiring gaze, while her pointed ears peeked through her hair. Her bow, usually a staple of her appearance, was nowhere to be seen, and her hands rested casually within the folds of her attire, exuding an air of quiet dominance.
Beside her stood Emilia, a vision of grace that seemed to rival Astria’s boldness. Her chestnut hair cascaded over her shoulders, framing her in an air of understated beauty. She wore a dark, flowing dress with floral embroidery that warmed her shoulders. Black gloves adorned her hands, one of which held an adventurer’s guidebook?
Emilia’s heart pounded like a war drum. Did I overdo it? Of course I did what made me pick this in the first place? she wondered. The clothes they wore were luxurious, far beyond their usual fare, yet the staff had insisted they were on the house. Their shaken expressions had left Emilia confused, though she’d brushed it off. Unlike Astria—who had been the centre of the boutique girls and customers' delighted attention during the fitting—Emilia had felt overwhelmed by the process. Somehow, the outfit she’d hesitated over ended up transforming into Astria’s stunning attire.
"Who’s signing up for this?” the man asked, holding up a crisp contract.
“I am,” Emilia declared, stepping forward despite the murmurs and stares that rippled through the room.
The man raised a brow, his grin widening. “Well, well, aiming to be a pianist here, are we? You certainly look confident enough. Not every day do we see someone walk in dressed like nobility, with an elf as their bodyguard no less. You, my dear, are a rarity.”
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Emilia chuckled. “Thank you.”
The man clapped his hands together. “Alright then! I’ll send for the judges, it may take some days or so but I'll do my very best to hurry up the process. No sense in wasting time when a talent like you walks through our doors. As a man of honour, I can’t let this opportunity slip away—”
His words faltered as a figure strode in from the adjoining hall, flanked by guards. The newcomer exuded an air of authority, his golden hair gleaming under the chandelier’s light and his sea-blue eyes scanning the room with practised precision. He adjusted his tall hat and tapped his cane against the marble floor, drawing the attention of every lady in the room. His tailored dark suit was the pinnacle of refinement, perfectly suited to a man of his calibre.
“What’s all this commotion?” he asked, his smooth voice laced with curiosity. His gaze shifted to the duo. “An elf in my Court—how spectacular. Tell me, what brings an elf to these halls?”
One of his guards leaned in to whisper, and the man’s lips curled in understanding.
“So, you’re this young lady’s guard?” He turned to Astria, his eyes narrowing as he walked to her. “Work for me instead. I’ll pay you triple—no, quadruple whatever she’s offering.”
Astria’s brows twitched, but she quickly composed herself. She turned to Emilia, her voice dripping with exaggerated elegance. “My Lady,” she said, her tone haughty yet refined, “this gentleman wishes to employ me, promising to pay triple—no, quadruple—my current salary. That would amount to four hundred thousand gold coins, would it not?”
The musicians and onlookers gasped, whispering among themselves. Their curious gazes darted between the pair, wondering who these two could possibly be to handle such an astronomical sum with ease.
The man was silent before he cleared his throat. “My name is Andrew Cantarelle, the one in charge of this Court. Don’t think you can fool me into believing you have such wealth at your disposal. I am no fool.”
Astria smirked, turning back to Emilia. “What do you have to say to that, My Lady?”
Emilia’s heart raced as Astria’s words sank in. My lady? At that moment she had no idea what came over, as she stepped forward with unshakable grace, her gaze locking onto Andrew’s.
“And what makes you so confident in your baseless assumptions?” she asked, her voice steady and sharp. Though her head was tilted slightly upward, it felt as if she were looking down on him. “Or is it simply that you cannot afford what my guard is worth?”
The hall fell into a tense silence, the air heavy with anticipation.
Andrew broke it with a short laugh, his voice edged with intrigue. “As I said previously, I am the one who governs this Court,” he said, turning sharply to the receptionist. “Adolf! Her audition will take place immediately. I’ll judge her myself.”
The crowd erupted in murmurs once more. Andrew Cantarelle judging an audition was a rare honour. Known for his unerring decisions and influence across the Nine Realms, he had never been one to involve himself lightly. The question lingered on everyone’s lips: Who is this woman to provoke him so boldly?
“Let’s see if you’re truly fit to perform in my Court,” Andrew said, his eyes narrowing. “Lady…?”
“Emilia,” she replied, her voice softer now but no less commanding. “The pleasure is mine. I'll be sure to make it quite a show”
Andrew smirked, tilting his head in amusement. “I look forward to it.”
*
Little Emilia sat on her massive bed, resting against a pillow, her gaze unwavering as she pored over a sprawling document detailing the import and export of energy crystals and other resources. Her brow furrowed in deep concentration, the seriousness on her young face belying her years.
True to her word, Aunt Maria had convinced Emilia’s father to let her venture out—on one condition. She had to impress one of her esteemed teachers with an excellent performance. The teacher in question was a nobleman from the Sixth, known for his art studio, his dealings in trade, and his penchant for collecting rare artifacts. Emilia had been researching him for weeks, determined to meet the challenge.
With a sigh, she snapped the hefty book shut and climbed off the bed, her white gown fluttering softly in the breeze from the open window. She stepped to it, shutting the glass panels. Her room was a picture of luxury, fit for a princess. A grand bed dominated the centre, and sunlight streamed through, catching the gleam of awards, diamond-studded jewellery, and priceless antiques that adorned the shelves—gifts from her many teachers.
But none of these treasures captivated her as much as her favourite spot. Dropping to her knees, Emilia peeked under the bed, her grin widening at the sight. Books—piles of them. Encyclopedias about the world, novels by renowned authors, and forbidden tomes Aunt Maria had smuggled into the mansion.
A sudden knock on the window startled her. She jolted, bumping her head on the bed frame. Groaning, she rubbed her forehead and turned to see Pasta perched on the railing outside, a sprig of some wild plant dangling from his mouth.
Emilia made her way to the window, throwing open the glass with both hands. Pasta hopped inside, his eyes sweeping the room with a mischievous glint before settling on her.
“Were you asleep or something?” he said.
Emilia shook her head, her lips pressed into a thin line.
“Oh, I get it, studying,” he said, lowering his head before bouncing back with his trademark grin. “Alright then, wanna go out and have some fun?”
She shook her head again, her voice quiet. “I have more studying to do. You see—”
Before she could finish, Pasta gave her a slap on the back, bursting into laughter. “Come on, sis! Be free! You haven’t beaten me in chess in ages, and we haven’t raced for a while now. Let’s go, let’s go, let’s go!”
Clenching her fists, Emilia retaliated with a quick jab to his gut, sending him stumbling back with an exaggerated groan. She sighed, turning her back to him. “I heard you the first time. Stop repeating yourself—it’s annoying.”
“Okay, okay!” Pasta raised his hands in mock surrender, his grin undeterred. “But seriously, Father’s asking for you. The maids will be here soon.”
Emilia shot him a cold glare. “And you thought you’d whisk me away to play before they arrived?”
Pasta scratched the back of his head with a chuckle. “You’re way too serious these days, Emilia. You need to loosen up! Who better to show you the right path than your amazing older brother?”
She sighed, grabbing a comb from her vanity and running it through her hair. “Must be time for piano lessons. If I really want to go out, I need to impress the teacher,” she said, striding toward the door. Before leaving, she glanced back at him. “You coming?”
Pasta sprang to his feet, falling in step behind her. “Wouldn’t miss it for the world, sis!”
The siblings strolled down the grand halls of the mansion, the air heavy with quiet reverence. Emilia moved with poised elegance leaving her eyes closed. As always, the servants paused to bow as she passed. Behind her, Pasta followed with a measured step, his hand resting on the hilt of his blade. His demeanour was calm, his sharp gaze fixed ahead.
Emilia murmured to herself, her lips forming silent notes as her mind fixated on one image—a piano, sitting alone in a dark, endless void. Nothing else mattered. The Falcrest family was not merely a lineage of scientists but also artists. In the realm of Ilumis, where art reigned supreme, her father had carved out his place as its chief and director. Though considered a lesser member of the Falcrest lineage, his fame extended far beyond, his mastery as a musician renowned across the realms. His ventures brought wealth that rivalled even the coffers of high nobles.
The siblings reached a grand chamber. Emilia stepped forward, the faint sound of her heels echoing in the vast, empty space. At its centre, her father stood beside a gleaming piano, its polished surface catching the room’s soft light. He watched her step forward, without saying a word.
Emilia paused at the entrance, opening her eyes. In just a few days, she would step beyond these walls and explore the town for the first time. With her head held high, she stepped into the room, ready to prove herself.
*
Emilia walked to the stage, the spotlight casting a soft glow on the polished stool and grand piano before her. Andrew sat at the judging table, with a guard next to him. Behind him, the seats were filled with musicians and common folk alike, all gathered not for Emilia, but to witness the rare sight of the great Andrew himself judging a performance.
Musicians sat with pens and paper, eager to capture the insights of their renowned employer. Meanwhile, Astria took her seat, arms crossed and eyes intently focused on Emilia. She had never inquired about Emilia's skill level, so she felt a sense of anticipation at hearing her play for the first time.
The room was warm, the light bathing Emilia’s frame as she strode forward, her lips murmuring something unheard to the others. Taking her seat at the piano, her fingers brushed against the keys, one after the other, creating a soft, steady rhythm. She paused, took a deep breath, and opened her eyes. Then, she began.
Her fingers danced across the keys, slow and graceful, the notes flowing around the room like a cold yet comforting breeze. The crowd fell silent, mesmerised by the smoothness of her entrance, but Andrew remained unmoved, his gaze locked on her.
It felt like just the beginning as she moved on to the next phase, the atmosphere shifted. The cold air melted into a warmth, like a gentle, assuring kiss. Her fingers moved across the keys with tender precision, as though nurturing a child. Each note was filled with emotion, sent from her heart. Sweat beaded on her forehead as she swayed with the rhythm, completely lost in the very world she created.
Andrew’s eyes never left her, his face stoic. "Her name is Emilia, correct?" he asked, his voice low.
The guard beside him nodded.
Emilia continued to play, her music filling the stage and extending beyond, like a garden of roses blooming under the cover of night. It was peaceful, and soothing— to later be spent with a forbidden lover. The crowd was spellbound, their attention fixed entirely on the lady in black. The musicians around them had forgotten their notes, eyes wide in awe.
Astria, sitting in the audience, couldn’t contain her surprise. A smile spread across her face. "This girl is just full of surprises, isn’t she?"
Emilia’s fingers never faltered, her heart beating in time with the melody, her emotions woven into every note. Hope, happiness, and adventure poured from her hands, a message sent with love. The music reached its crescendo, and she brought it to a gentle, steady stop.
The room remained silent, the crowd caught in the magic of her performance. Emilia stood, taking a deep breath, and offered a graceful bow. Andrew’s gaze followed her, unblinking.
Then, he rose to his feet and began clapping. The sound of his hands meeting echoed through the hall, followed by a deafening roar of applause. The crowd rose, cheering, some even moved to tears. Adolf, standing at the back, threw a fist into the air. "I knew I found myself a prodigy!"
Astria joined in, clapping, her heart still racing. She couldn’t believe what she had just witnessed. The brokenness she had felt in the music—healing, love, and adventure—had all been conveyed without a single word. It was surreal, yet Emilia made it so simple to understand through the music alone.
Andrew adjusted his hat, a smile tugging at the corner of his lips. "Never had I thought you were this good," he said, walking toward Emilia.
Emilia wiped a tear from her eye, her smile soft. "I do like to dabble a bit."
Andrew produced an azure ring from his pocket, the gem catching the light as he gently placed it on Emilia’s finger. "Lady Emilia," he said, his voice steady. "Welcome to the Cadenza Court."