As we rode Ozzy through the winding streets of The Dread and into the city of Visu, the air was alive with the weight of curious gazes. We had opted to forgo the thrill of flight, choosing instead to make a more dignified entrance, our formal attire a testament to the grandeur of the occasion. But even without the spectacle of flight, our procession was a sight to behold. The reclusive prince of Mula, now rode proudly, his crown glinting in the fading light of day, a symbol of his reclaimed heritage. And by his side, I sat, a human in a land of magic, dressed in finery that seemed to shimmer and shine in the fading light. The whispers and gasps that followed us were a palpable thing, a living, breathing entity that seemed to pulse with excitement. It was a sight to behold, this prince and his human companion, riding one of only eight rare and majestic pegasus’ of Numariya. As we approached the grand opera house, its towering arches illuminated by the soft glow of moonlight, my breath caught in my throat. The building was a masterpiece of craftsmanship, with intricate carvings and gilded details that shimmered in the night.

But it was nothing compared to the figure at my side. Lennon walked with a confidence that bordered on regal, every step purposeful and smooth. His arm was linked with mine, the strength and warmth of his presence grounding me in a world that felt surreal. I stole a glance at him, and my heart skipped a beat. The red and maroon crown atop his head was breathtaking, a dazzling array of jewels that caught the light and sparkled like stars. It sat perfectly amidst his black, wavy tendrils of hair, framing his face in a way that made him look every bit the prince he once was—no, the prince he still was. His suit, crafted from the finest fabric I had ever seen, was a deep, luxurious maroon that contrasted beautifully against his golden-brown skin. It was tailored to perfection, hugging his broad shoulders and tapering down his lean form with an elegance that spoke of wealth and power. The suit was undoubtedly worth more than anything I had ever owned, more than I could ever dream of owning. But it wasn’t just the suit or the crown that took my breath away—it was the way he carried himself. There was a grace in his movements, a poise that was both intimidating and mesmerizing. He walked as though he owned the very ground beneath his feet, as though the world bent to his will. Yet, despite the opulence and the aura of command that surrounded him, there was something raw and untamed about him. The tattoos that marked his skin peeked through the collar of his shirt, dark lines and symbols that hinted at the rebellious spirit lying just beneath the surface. They were a stark contrast to the polished image he presented, a reminder that he was more than just the prince who had turned away from his crown—he was a warrior rebel, a being of magic and strength, and perhaps something far more dangerous. I couldn’t tear my eyes away from him.

I played the part of his guest as best as I could, channeling every ounce of poise and grace I could muster. My heart pounded in my chest, but I held my head high, determined to match his energy, to walk beside him as if I belonged in this world of elegance and power. My long, pearly hair was styled into a half-braided crown, the intricate plaits woven tightly across the top of my head, holding the hair back from my face. The rest of my hair cascaded down in loose curls, soft waves that brushed against my shoulders and down my back, a shimmering contrast against the dark fabric of my gown. The dress I wore was a deep navy blue, a rich hue that flowed like water as I moved. The gown was elegant, the material fine and luxurious, yet simple in its design. It hugged my figure in all the right places, the bodice fitted and flattering, before cascading into a full skirt that swirled around my ankles with every step. The color was chosen with care, a perfect match for the maroon suit Lennon wore, creating a striking contrast between us—dark and light, night and dusk. But it wasn’t just the colors that bound us together. There was something more, an invisible thread of connection that hummed between us as we walked side by side. I felt it in the way his arm remained linked with mine, the steady warmth of his hand a constant presence, reassuring me, grounding me.

As we approached the entrance to the opera house, the grandeur of the place threatened to overwhelm me, but I held onto that connection, that silent bond between us, and forced myself to exude the same calm, composed demeanor that Lennon carried so effortlessly. I had to be strong, confident—his equal in every way. The elegance of the gown and the intricate style of my hair were more than just an attempt to fit in. They were a mask, a way to hide the turmoil that churned beneath the surface, the nerves that threatened to unravel me at any moment. But for now, I played my role to perfection, a guest of honor, an outsider who might just belong, at least in Lennon’s world.

As we stepped into the opera house, the stark difference between the Sidhe here and those from the Dread became immediately apparent. Though we were still within the realm of Visu, the atmosphere felt worlds apart from what I had experienced before. Sidhe here were a sight to behold, their appearance immaculate and their demeanor polished. They wore elegant garments of fine fabrics that spoke of both wealth and refinement, their faces marked by an air of grace and civility. They moved with an effortless poise, their gestures measured and polite, their conversations hushed and respectful. Unlike the wild, untamed spirits of the Dread, these beings exuded an aura of calm sophistication. As we entered the grand hall, a hush fell over the immediate vicinity. The Sidhe around us—each dressed in a spectrum of rich, vibrant hues—immediately took notice of Lennon. Heads inclined in a show of deference, a sea of bows that rippled through the crowd. The murmurs began almost instantaneously, a soft cascade of whispers that wove through the opulent space. The air was thick with curiosity and respect, mingled with the awe that came from the rare sight of Lennon appearing outside the Dread.

The murmurs grew louder as they recognized him. “Prince Lennon,” I heard a few voices whisper in reverent tones. “It’s been years since he’s left the Dread.”

Before I could fully absorb the scene, a tall figure approached us, his presence commanding immediate attention. Thadeus, Prince of Anahate, arrived with an air of regality that matched the grandeur of the opera house. He wore a magnificent ensemble in varying hues of green, the colors shifting from deep emerald to soft sage, his jade crown reflecting his high status and noble lineage. His sandy blonde hair fell in soft waves, framing his strikingly beautiful face, while his light green eyes held a captivating, almost ethereal quality. His attire was resplendent, adorned with intricate floral patterns and rich fabrics that spoke of his royal position. As he moved closer, his gaze, sharp and assessing, softened with recognition and a hint of warmth as he focused on Lennon.Lennon’s expression shifted into one of familiar ease, and he greeted Thadeus with a nod and a small smile.

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“Thadeus,” he said, his voice carrying the warmth of old camaraderie. “It’s good to see you.”

Thadeus extended a hand, clasping Lennon’s in a firm but friendly shake. He then turned to me, his eyes assessing with curiosity. “And who is this?” he asked, a touch of intrigue in his tone.

“This is Ace,” Lennon introduced, his voice steady and calm. “She’s the one we’ve been discussing in our letters.”

Thadeus’s gaze lingered on me for a moment longer, his expression thoughtful but with a hint of mischief. “Welcome, Ace,” he said, his tone warm and inviting. “I hope you find the Visu Choir as enchanting as we do. And don't mind the whispers from this stuffy crowd—they’re just trying to figure out if Lennon’s actually brought a human or if they’re just seeing things. You know, it’s not every day the Prince of Mystery rises from The Dread to grace our presence. I’m sure their imaginations are running wild.” His eyes twinkled with amusement as he added, “Let’s give them something to really talk about, shall we?”

I gave a nod, trying to maintain composure as I met Thadeus's gaze. With a practiced elegance, Thadeus took my other arm and guided us through the opulent foyer. The shift in environment was palpable, and I could feel the weight of the change in the air—the respect, the sophistication, the subtle power that radiated from every interaction. We were led to a VIP area reserved for royals only, a realm of luxurious seating and exclusive views. It was a world of contrasts to the raw intensity I had witnessed before, and I couldn’t help but marvel at the seamless grace with which Lennon moved through it. Thadeus’s gaze swept across the crowd, his grin widening as he spotted familiar faces among the other royals. His laughter, warm and infectious, bubbled up as he drifted towards them, weaving through the opulent gathering with an effortless charm that instantly put others at ease. The royals, catching the easy camaraderie, acknowledged Lennon with a nod of respect. It was clear they understood his preference for solitude, or perhaps the presence of an outsider like me made them more inclined to grant him space. As the lights in the opera house began to dim and a soft hush settled over the audience, signaling the imminent start of the choir, the atmosphere turned electric with anticipation. In that grand, gilded space, it felt as though the world had narrowed down to just Lennon and me—an intimate bubble amidst the splendor. The announcer’s voice, deep and resonant, introduced the choir, and Lennon’s hand found mine. His touch was a comforting anchor, warm and solid against my skin. As the first notes of the choir’s ethereal, almost holy music began to waft through the room, holding his hand was like wrapping myself in a cocoon of serenity. The music enveloped us, each note a delicate caress of enchantment, making the moment feel suspended in time—just the two of us lost in the shared wonder of the performance. The moment the choir’s voices filled the room, I could barely keep my mouth from falling open. The sound was otherworldly, a symphony of pure, unearthly beauty that seemed to resonate deep within my soul. Each note was like a caress, a whisper of magic that wove through the air and wrapped around me, sending shivers down my spine. The harmony of their voices was both haunting and uplifting, a delicate dance of sound that felt almost tangible. I could feel the music in my chest, each swell and fall of the melody stirring something profound inside me. It was as if the very essence of the room had transformed, breathing life into the notes and filling every corner with their divine resonance. The choir’s voices floated on the air, a blend of ethereal tones that wove together in a tapestry of celestial grace. Out of the corner of my eye, I caught glimpses of Lennon’s gaze, fixed on me with an intensity that spoke volumes. While the choir’s performance was undoubtedly magnificent, his attention was wholly on me, as if he was savoring every reaction, every flutter of emotion that passed over my face. There was a tenderness in his eyes, a kind of reverent love that made my heart skip. It was as though, despite having witnessed this choir countless times, seeing me experience it for the first time was a revelation for him. His gaze was a silent promise, a way of sharing something profoundly beautiful and sacred with me. The choir’s music continued its celestial dance around us, but the real magic was in the way he looked at me, as if this moment was not just about the performance, but about witnessing the wonder through my eyes. As the choir's celestial music enveloped us, a server materialized seemingly from nowhere, gliding through the opulent hall with a tray of shimmering wine glasses. Lennon’s hand moved gracefully to take two of the glasses, his fingers brushing lightly against the crystal as he lifted them. The wine, a rich, deep red, caught the light and gleamed with an almost mesmerizing allure. I took a glass of water, the cool clarity a welcome contrast to the heady aroma of the wine. Lennon, with a practiced ease, tipped one glass of wine back, draining nearly three-quarters of it in a single, smooth motion. His movements were fluid, almost ritualistic, as he filled the remaining wine with water, creating a pale, delicate pink hue. He handed the glass to me with a reassuring smile.

"This should be okay for you to drink," he said, his tone both confident and gentle.

The strength of the wine in this world was a stark departure from what I was accustomed to. The idea of diluting it without losing its essence was a relief, allowing me to partake in the experience without being overwhelmed. I took a sip, savoring the subtle flavors that mingled with the water. As the choir's music continued to weave its enchantment around us, the blend of wine and water felt like a small, comforting indulgence amidst the splendor of the evening. Almost instantaneously, the diluted wine worked its subtle magic, heightening every sense with an intensity that took my breath away. Colors around me seemed to burst into vivid hues, each shade more brilliant than before, painting the opera house in a breathtaking spectrum. The scents of the evening—the delicate aroma of the flowers, the faint hint of incense lingering in the air—became almost palpable, wrapping around me in an invisible embrace. The choir’s music, which had been ethereal and beautiful before, now resonated on a deeper level. I could hear nuances and layers in the notes that had previously eluded me, each melody intertwining with the other in a symphony of sound that felt both intimate and grand. A sense of awareness washed over me, mingling with an almost euphoric looseness. It was as though I was both fully present and floating, caught in a moment of pure, heightened sensation. A smile unfurled across my face, spontaneous and unguarded. I nuzzled into Lennon’s arm, the warmth of his presence grounding me amidst the sensory whirlwind. My voice was soft, tinged with gratitude.

“Thank you for bringing me here,” I murmured, my words sincere and filled with a depth of emotion that seemed to echo the beauty of the night.

His thumb brushed gently across the top of my hand, the touch tender and deliberate. His gaze, soft yet intense, held mine as he spoke, his voice low and earnest. “Thank you for being here.” The sincerity in his words made my heart skip a beat, and the warmth of his touch sent a shiver up my spine. In that fleeting moment, amidst the grandeur of the opera house and the ethereal music that filled the air, it was as though the world had narrowed down to just the two of us.