The grand castle shimmered under the glow of countless chandeliers, their crystal facets casting golden light over the arriving guests. The vast hall, lined with towering marble columns and velvet drapes, thrummed with polite conversation and the soft clink of glasses.
Mi-Ran descended the sweeping staircase, the deep red of her gown flowing like liquid fire with each step. She was poised, regal, effortlessly commanding attention. Before she could take another step, a presence approached—Seo-Hwan, his lips curled into a knowing smirk.
"Ah, like a rose in full bloom," he mused, extending a hand. "Beautiful, untouchable... but let's not forget, roses have thorns."
Mi-Ran met his gaze without a word, slipping her hand into his. He led her down with ease, guiding her towards the grand dining hall where an opulent feast awaited.
The long table stretched across the room, adorned with golden candelabras and delicate floral arrangements. Plates overflowed with lavish dishes—succulent roasted meats, exotic fruits sliced into intricate designs, and desserts so delicate they seemed crafted by fairies. Crystal goblets reflected the chandelier's light, making the wine inside glow like rubies.
As they settled into their seats, Seo-Hwan leaned in slightly. "That lesson on the descendants earlier... was it meant to bore us all into early retirement?"
Mi-Ran, swirling her wine lazily, smirked. "You must be talking about yourself. I, for one, found it quite enlightening."
Seo-Hwan chuckled. "Enlightening, sure. If by that you mean realizing half of our so-called 'noble ancestors' were little more than over-dressed troublemakers."
"Sounds familiar," Mi-Ran mused, arching a brow.
Before their banter could continue, Mi-Ran excused herself. As she moved through the hall, she took deliberate turns, navigating past bowing butlers and waiters until she reached one in particular. With barely a whisper, she slipped a folded piece of paper into his hand before disappearing into the crowd.
Back at the table, Seo-Hwan tossed back his wine in one go, his sharp jaw tightening as he crushed the cap in his hand. The room hushed as he stood abruptly, voice booming.
"Enough of this sitting! Let's dance!"
The ballroom came alive. Golden and white balloons floated along the high ceiling like stars caught in midair. The orchestra struck up a lively tune, and couples twirled and swayed beneath the shimmering glow.
From the edge of the room, Arthur watched the scene, his expression unreadable. After a brief moment, he turned on his heel and exited. Gwan-Ri, ever observant, narrowed his eyes and silently followed.
Meanwhile, at one of the castle's high points, Mi-Ran stood with a commanding view of the festivities. Her lips curled as she spoke softly, her words carrying only to Seo-Hwan's ears.
"If you think this means victory for you, then you're in for a rude awakening, Seo-Hwan."
Her gaze drifted downward, catching sight of Arthur moving swiftly through the crowd. With a scoff, she muttered, "Look at him, pacing like a lost dog. Pathetic."
A presence stirred behind her, silent as the shadows that draped the castle walls. The man, clad in a crisp butler's suit, stood with the rigid poise of someone who had long learned to blend into the background. His voice was smooth, laced with something unreadable.
"It won't be long now."
Mi-Ran's fingers trailed down to the delicate chain resting against her skin. Slipping between the valley of her bosom, she retrieved a small, intricate locket. The metal was cool against her fingertips as she flipped it open, revealing a tiny clock face inside. The ornate hands inched forward, relentless. A smile—small, knowing—curved her lips.
She closed the locket with a soft click and let it disappear once more beneath the crimson silk of her gown. Turning, she leaned back slightly, her body arching, one foot lifting off the ground, knee bending in a poised, almost unnatural stillness—like a dancer frozen at the height of a backflip. The tension in the air held with her, as if waiting for the inevitable.
Then, with a lazy flick of her fingers, she snapped.
The ballroom below remained a swirl of movement—nobles twirling in perfect time, their laughter mingling with the music. Then, with a soft pop, the first golden balloon ruptured.
Fire.
It curled from the torn latex like a living thing, licking hungrily at the air. For a second, there was silence, a collective inhale—then an earsplitting blast. The explosion tore through the room, a shockwave of searing heat and force. Gilded drapes snapped loose, chandeliers swayed violently, and the once-carefree dancers were thrown into chaos.
Above it all, Mi-Ran stood untouched. The wind from the blast surged up, billowing her gown, sending loose strands of her hair whipping around her face like a crown of wild flames. The butler, beside her, remained eerily still, the chaos below reflected only in his cold, unwavering eyes.
Mi-Ran extended an arm toward him, palm upturned, fingers slightly curled. Her voice was a low, sultry whisper, smooth as silk and laced with amusement.
"Shall we dance, or are you afraid I might lead?"
On the ballroom floor, amidst the grandeur turned to chaos, a pair of dancers moved in perfect rhythm. Their steps were deliberate, unbothered by the flames that curled and twisted around them. The leader of the pair, a tall man with sharp, calculating eyes, turned his gaze upward, narrowing them at the golden embers swirling through the air.
"What's that?" he asked, his voice calm despite the growing inferno.
The fire spread rapidly, consuming the gilded decor and trailing up the marble columns. The air thickened with heat and smoke, and screams echoed through the grand hall. Some nobles fled, their fine silks catching alight as they ran, while others, engulfed in flames, collapsed mid-sprint. The orchestra had long since abandoned their instruments, leaving only the sound of destruction to fill the space where music had once played.
Through the devastation, Seo-Hwan emerged from the smoke, his suit burned and torn, the edges still smoldering. His skin bore no signs of pain, no hint of weakness—only irritation flickered in his dark eyes. His jaw tightened as he rolled his shoulders, brushing off the charred remains of his jacket. Without a word, he strode to a nearby table, gripping one of the untouched glasses of wine.
The deep red liquid swirled as he brought it to his lips, downing it in one effortless tilt of his head. Then, with a slow exhale, he crushed the glass in his palm, shards digging into his skin—but no blood spilled.
Beyond the castle walls, in the depths of the forest, Arthur walked with an unhurried pace, his hands tucked into the pockets of his black suit. The fabric clung perfectly to his frame, unbothered by the distant chaos he had left behind. The thick canopy above let only slivers of moonlight spill through, casting shifting shadows along his path.
Far behind him, Gwan-Ri moved silently, his presence a whisper in the night. His sharp gaze remained fixed on Arthur's back, his thoughts swirling.
"Where is he going?" he wondered, his brows furrowing as he quickened his steps, determined to find out.