Chapter 21: Unreachable
The Empire's heart pulsed with festivity, nobility, and ambition. From dazzling court banquets to hush-hush political councils, the upper echelons of society buzzed with a single name: Sirius Farah Von Ross.
At thirteen, Sirius was already a phenomenon the world hadn't seen in centuries. A Swordmaster. A 7th Class Magician. A noble with strength vast enough to silence even the most arrogant dukes. The Tenth Pillar of the Empire. The heir to the Grand Duke. But titles were just noise. And Sirius was silence.
He walked through the Imperial Palace as though it was beneath him—not in arrogance, but in detachment. Cold. Untouchable. Eyes that seemed to stare past this world. People looked at him, hoping for a smile, a glance, a word.
They received nothing.
He was polite when duty required it. Courteous, even. But not kind. Not warm. The language of emotions, of charm and noble flirtations, never reached him. As if it had been cut away from his being altogether.
A baron's daughter, clad in her finest silks, waited hours for a passing moment—hoping to capture his attention with a bow, a compliment, a rehearsed line of poetry.
Sirius walked by.
He did not glance.
He did not pause.
He did not even see her.
Not because she was beneath him. Not because he hated women.
But because she did not matter.
Because none of them did.
Whispers spread like wildfire across noble circles. Girls who once turned heads now questioned their worth. Mothers exchanged anxious letters, wondering if their daughters had done something wrong. Even foreign courts began to take notice of the icy silence from House Farah's heir.
Some believed Sirius was simply too young to care.
Others thought he was waiting for someone special.
But the truth was far simpler—and far colder.
He wasn't waiting.
He had already been chosen.
His heart, soul, and every corner of his being had already belonged to Abylay, the Moon Goddess—not in metaphor, but in unshakable truth.
He was hers.
Not because she waited for him. But because she had already taken root in the very core of who he was.
No one else could compare.
No one else could reach.
No other woman, no matter her beauty, her nobility, her lineage, would ever be anything to him but background noise in a world already silent.
The court, of course, did not understand this. They pushed on with their schemes.
Noble ladies began inventing excuses to appear at his family's estate. They "accidentally" wandered into corridors where he was said to train. Gifts began arriving—expensive fabrics, enchanted trinkets, rare books, poems.
None of them reached him.
They were intercepted, unopened, by the Grand Duke's servants.
The Grand Duchess once asked him, gently, if he found any of the girls charming. She already knew the answer, but still—she asked.
Sirius didn't even lift his eyes from the book he was reading.
"I do not notice them," he said plainly. "There is no need to."
The only ones allowed near his heart were his parents. His father watched him with solemn pride, realizing more with each passing day that Sirius was not simply a prodigy—but something far beyond this world's grasp. His mother, powerful and perceptive, never pushed. She only stood at his side when he sat beneath the moon, watching him sketch in silence.
By the end of his thirteenth year, Sirius had spoken fewer words than most boys would in a week. He answered when addressed. He fulfilled every duty. He trained until the stones beneath his feet cracked from pressure.
But he did not socialize.
He did not laugh.
He did not care.
The world called him distant. Cold. Inhuman.
But Sirius did not mind. He didn't seek understanding. He didn't want companionship.
His world—his truth—was already beyond their reach.
And it would remain that way.
Because no matter how much the court schemed, no matter how many eyes followed him with hunger or awe—
Sirius Farah Von Ross had never looked.
Not even once.
Because he already belonged to someone.
And everyone else… was nothing.