Three days ago, Arks stood amidst the darkness of his secluded room. The space, always draped in cold, gray tones, once engulfed him like a sanctuary from the outside chaos. But on that day, the silence and solitude provided no comfort; his mind was a tangle of thoughts and painful memories. Alexithymia, which followed him like a persistent shadow, limited his ability to understand and express his emotions. He couldn’t even fully grasp why chaos reigned within him.

The curse weighing down on him, a dark inheritance from his family, had become unbearable at times. He felt it burning inside him like a slow flame, threatening to drive him to the brink of madness. The intensity of his stress disorder amplified during these moments; memories of the past struck like endless blows, gripping his soul in a vice. Yet, Arks always tried to hide these wounds, even at the cost of greater suffering.

He needed to prepare for the evening’s party, but his mind wouldn’t settle. His thoughts crashed against each other like turbulent waves, but he had grown accustomed to maintaining his appearance amid this mental chaos. He took a step toward the tall, dark wardrobe in his room and silently chose clothes that reflected his character and signified his noble status. He first selected a white shirt with a high collar, delicately adorned with simple yet elegant embellishments around the collar and cuffs. Over the shirt, he wore a deep blue velvet waistcoat, its golden buttons shining dimly in the low light of the room. The waistcoat fit perfectly, showcasing the elegance and meticulous design that underscored the importance of neatness in the Carnilimos family.

Next, he chose knee-length dark trousers, designed with straps at the back for comfort and refinement. A pair of glossy leather shoes with golden buckles completed the outfit, and he draped a short, dark gray cloak with embellished edges over his shoulders. He arranged his hair, leaving it sleek and tidy. Finally, he placed a small silver pocket watch with a slender chain in the pocket of his waistcoat.

Before leaving the room, Arks took a moment to gaze into the mirror. His red eyes glimmered against the dark clothing, yet something concealed behind them hinted at anxiety intertwined with determination. He took a deep breath and stepped toward the door. As he touched the cold doorknob and turned it, his mind wandered to the party and the events that might unfold.

The palace halls were dark yet magnificent, with tall walls adorned with patterns that spoke of the long history of the Carnilimos family. Arks’s footsteps broke the silence, echoing with a steady but quiet rhythm. He moved in silence, but his mind remained preoccupied. As he thought of Astia, he realized that, contrary to usual, his mind quieted for a moment. That was a truth he couldn’t explain.

Astia made Arks feel, for the briefest of moments, that he could have a quiet and peaceful mind despite his inner turmoil.

Yet perhaps it was this very contradiction that affected him. He didn’t understand why, but when he thought of her, the endless chatter of thoughts in his head would slightly ease. Maybe Astia was what his curse couldn’t touch—a silence found within the heart of chaos.

Reluctantly, Arks entered the noisy, bustling party atmosphere. The dazzling lights and lavish decorations of the hall, while beautiful, felt heavy and overwhelming for him. The grand hall, with its tall walls and golden patterns, was as magnificent as ever. Crystal chandeliers cast dazzling light upon the floor and the faces of the guests, while the soft strains of classical music filled the air. A crowd of noblemen, dressed in their finery, stood chatting and laughing in various corners of the hall.

Amidst all the excitement, Arks felt a sense of alienation. His steps were slow and heavy, as if each stride brought him closer to the center of attention—where he didn’t want to be. He scanned the crowd for familiar faces, hoping to distance himself from that feeling of isolation. Finally, he spotted two individuals who always lingered nearby: Arin and Iliran.

With slow strides, he made his way toward them. Arin and Iliran were deep in conversation, but as soon as their eyes landed on Arks, both fell silent for a moment. Their eyes widened in disbelief; they couldn’t believe that Arks, after so long, was standing before them.

Arin, excitement brimming in his voice, exclaimed, "Arks! You finally came out of your room!" A broad smile spread across his face. Iliran, always calmer and more contemplative, simply gazed at Arks and remarked softly, "Finally, we found you..."

Arks nodded in acknowledgment, but the warmth of his red eyes still held a hint of coolness. Unable to fully articulate his true feelings, he replied tersely, "It’s really too loud here..."

Arin laughed, his voice rising in cheer, as he clapped a hand on Arks’s back. "Come on, little brother! It’s Iliran’s birthday tonight, of course, it’s going to be loud and lively!"

Arks’s gaze fell to the ground. His thoughts were still consumed by the events that had transpired over the past three days involving him and Astia. He didn’t want to dwell on the past; amid the chatter, Arks suddenly felt a wave of discomfort wash over him. His eyes shifted to the corner of the hall, where vague shadows began to take shape. Unconsciously, he took a step back, sensing that something unusual was unfolding.

In the middle of Arin and Iliran’s conversation, Arks abruptly interrupted. His gaze fixated on a corner of the hall, seemingly drawn by something invisible. Iliran and Arin looked at him in confusion. Arin leaned closer to Iliran and whispered, "Looks like he’s having one of those moments again..." Iliran smiled gently and said softly, "Let him be. You know how Arks always is."

Ignoring his friends' conversation, Arks moved toward the pillars at the far end of the hall. A heavy, vague sensation—a mix of sacred power and a permeable ominousness—emanated from that direction. His steps were calm and measured, yet the tension within him was clearly visible on his face.

As Arks walked, the eyes of the nobles present at the party turned toward him. For many, he was more than just a noble boy; he embodied an indescribable and ruthless power. Some viewed him as a deadly weapon, a tool for annihilating enemies. Others pictured him as a monster capable of bringing demons to their knees. But what they all believed was that Arks, with all his grandeur and innate strength, would always remain the center of attention.

When Arks reached the pillars at the end of the hall, he paused for a moment. His hand reached out, almost instinctively, toward the cold column, as if he wanted to touch the presence of that invisible power. His mind was a whirlwind of conflicting thoughts: Was this feeling real, or just an echo of his past wounds?

Just as Arks turned his head to see what lay behind the pillar, a heavy silence enveloped the hall. The music and murmurs abruptly ceased. All eyes turned toward the entrance, where the grand doors swung open. Astia entered.

Arks, caught off guard by this sudden change, shifted his gaze from the pillar to Astia. Her presence, exuding a calm dignity and perfect poise, profoundly affected everyone in the hall. For a moment, Arks set aside his thoughts and feelings of danger, focused solely on Astia. In the midst of all the chaos, she was the only thing that could soothe his complex mind.

Astia entered the hall gracefully, her presence like a silent, gentle wave that impacted the atmosphere around her. Her attire, a blend of white, silver, and gold, shone under the chandelier lights, and her captivating eyes drew everyone in with a deep sense of calm. Without uttering a word, her quiet dignity commanded admiration from all.

As Arks’s gaze fell upon Astia, he sensed an unexpected tranquility washing over his mind. The intricate thoughts, noise, and worries that typically swirled around him quieted, like waves receding from the shore. He didn’t know why, but every time he saw Astia, he felt something good and warm rising from deep within him—a sensation he still couldn't fully comprehend.

With his alexithymia, Arks had always struggled to understand and express his emotions. Even in a situation like Astia’s entrance, where all the guests reacted with excitement, joy, or even curiosity, he couldn’t respond naturally like them. His expression remained cold and detached, as though nothing significant had occurred. Yet inside, a different story unfolded.

He couldn’t grasp what he was feeling. There was neither joy nor excitement, nor fear. None of those emotions were clear to him. Amid this confusion, however, he sensed something unusual in his heart; his pulse quickened, as if a hidden storm raged within. This strange, unfamiliar feeling plunged him into a deep thought and a heavy silence.

Suddenly, Arks was jolted from his daze of focus on Astia. The sound of Ryan’s voice, heard from behind the scenes, filled the heavy silence. It reminded him of something he had been searching for earlier. He rushed back toward the pillars at the end of the hall, as if the invisible and ominous power was calling to him. His small hands touched the cold, mysterious columns, and his keen gaze scanned the surroundings, but there was nothing behind the pillar.

Yet, his intuition advised him not to give up. A strange power flowed through the hall; something that pulsed like a wave of sacred yet ambiguous and dangerous energy, known only to Arks. He felt this energy was invisible to others, yet he alone could perceive it. This power seemed to transcend the understanding of others, and as Ryan’s words concluded, the atmosphere of the hall slowly began to return to normal, Arks continued to weave through the crowd. The gazes of the nobles, which had always subtly focused on him, felt heavier this time.