Ren, leaning casually against the wall, smirked and decided to break the tension. "Teacher," he drawled, "who’s the old man? Did we time-travel back to the Age of Elders or something?"

Eira, exasperated, rolled her eyes and shot him a look. "That 'old man' is Lythandor Silaris, the leader of the Nightwalkers," she snapped. Her voice carried an edge of reverence as she continued, "And, for the record, he is old. Two hundred and eight years, to be precise. But thanks to his elf blood, he’s aging like fine wine."

Lythandor’s piercing silver eyes turned toward Eira, narrowing slightly. He stepped forward, his movements graceful yet deliberate, the kind of gait that made people instinctively hold their breath. "You..." he began, his tone laced with faint annoyance.

Eira tilted her head, daring him to finish the thought, but Lythandor shifted his attention to someone else entirely. His gaze landed on Lyria, and a flicker of recognition softened his features.

"If it isn’t Aunt’s little princess," he said, a ghost of a smile tugging at his lips.

Ren’s grin widened as he seized the opportunity. He leaned closer to Lyria, his voice dropping into a teasing murmur. "Oh, she’s not Aunt’s little princess anymore," he said, placing a hand over his heart mockingly. "She’s my little princess now."

Lyria’s face turned as red as a fire ruby. "REN!" she snapped, glaring at him. "I AM NOT YOUR GIRL!" Her voice cracked slightly, and her mind raced with a thousand conflicting thoughts. Why did he always have to make things so awkward?

Lythandor arched a silver brow, watching the exchange with a mix of amusement and bemusement. He crossed his arms and gave Lyria a knowing look. "Is that so?" he said, his tone dripping with playful skepticism.

Trying to regain her composure, Lyria straightened and forced a polite smile. "Hi, Uncle," she said, her voice quieter now, tinged with embarrassment.

Ren, still not done, chimed in again. "She’s just shy, you know. Deep down, she’s—"

"Ren," Lyria cut him off, her voice dangerously low. "Finish that sentence, and I’ll make sure you regret it."

Lythandor chuckled softly, his stern facade cracking for a moment. "I see you’ve surrounded yourself with... lively company, Princess," he remarked. "How charming."

Eira, sensing Lyria’s growing frustration, decided to step in. "Leader Silaris," she began, her voice respectful but firm, "perhaps we should discuss the reason for your visit before this celebration turns into a full blown circus."

Lythandor nodded, his expression shifting back to seriousness. "Yes, you’re right. Let’s get to the matter at hand. But first..." He turned back to Ren, his eyes glinting with mischief. "You, young man. Are you always this insufferable, or is today special?"

Ren grinned, clearly unfazed. "Oh, I’m always like this. Consider it part of my charm."

Lythandor shook his head, muttering something under his breath about the arrogance of youth.

Eira couldn’t help but smirk. "You walked right into that one," she said to Lythandor.

As the group prepared to discuss their plans.

 Ren leaned over to Lyria again, whispering just loud enough for everyone to hear. "So... are we going to tell Uncle Lythandor about the time you fell into the river, or should I?"

Lyria glared at him, her voice icy. "Ren, I swear to all the gods, if you don’t shut up—"

Eira clapped her hands together, cutting off the brewing argument. "Alright, that’s enough. Can we focus, please? Leader Silaris didn’t come here to referee your bickering."

Lythandor raised a hand, a faint smirk still on his face. "Actually, I’m quite entertained. But yes, let’s get to the point."

Lythandor sighed deeply, running a hand through his silver hair as if bracing himself for what he was about to say. "Well," he began, his voice laced with reluctant pride, "I came to congratulate you, Eira."

Eira tilted her head, her lips curling into a teasing smirk. "Congratulate me? Oh, my. Is this real life? The great Lythandor Silaris, leader of the Nightwalkers, offering me congratulations? What’s next? Are you going to kneel? Maybe throw me a party?"

Ren burst out laughing. "Yeah, sir, where’s the cake? A little fanfare wouldn’t hurt either."

Lythandor’s sharp eyes flicked to Ren for a moment, a silent warning, before returning to Eira. "I can take it back, you know."

"Oh no, no," Eira said, her grin widening as she folded her arms. "Please, don’t stop. This is a once-in-a-lifetime moment. Keep going—tell me how strong and amazing I am. I might faint from the shock."

Lythandor pinched the bridge of his nose, muttering something that sounded suspiciously like, "Why do I even bother?"

Ren leaned closer to Lyria, whispering loud enough for everyone to hear. "This is gold. I didn’t know teach had it in her to sass him like this."

Lyria rolled her eyes but couldn’t hide the small smile tugging at her lips.

Finally, Lythandor raised a hand, cutting through the teasing with his usual authority. "Enough. As much as I’m enjoying this... display, there’s another reason I’m here."

Eira raised an eyebrow, still smirking. "Oh, so the congratulations weren’t the main event? Shocking."

Ignoring her, Lythandor continued, "I’m assembling teams—groups of talented individuals to work together against the growing threats in our world. And after some consideration, I believe Ren and Lyria would make a perfect team."

The room went silent for a beat. Then—

Lyria’s eyes widened, her face turning bright red. "What? No! Absolutely not! I don’t want to be in a team with this idiot!" She jabbed a finger in Ren’s direction.

Ren placed a hand on his chest, feigning a wounded expression. "Ouch, Lyria. That hurt. I thought we were friends. Partners. Soulmates, even lo-."

"REN!" Lyria snapped, her embarrassment flaring into full-blown rage. "I am NOT your soulmate! And we’re not friends, either, not am i your lover!"

Ren grinned. "You say that, but your tone tells a different story."

Eira, clearly enjoying the chaos, leaned back against the wall with a smug expression. "Actually, I think it’s a great idea."

Lyria turned to her aunt, her face a mixture of betrayal and disbelief. "You can’t be serious!"

Eira shrugged, her tone casual but laced with teasing. "It’s probably the first time Lythandor’s come up with a good idea. We should honor the moment."

Lythandor sighed heavily, shaking his head. "I see humility doesn’t run in the family."

Lyria groaned, her face burning with embarrassment as she glared at Ren and Eira. "I hate this. I hate ALL of this." Then, before anyone could stop her, she turned on her heel and stormed out of the banquet.

Ren watched her go, his grin never wavering. "Wow, she’s really mad, huh?"

No onw notices it was not just anger. There’s something else mixed in there—which wasn't just embarrassment.

Ren said, his grin turning sly. "You think she’s flustered because of me?"

Eira gave him a withering look. "No, I think she’s flustered because of the sheer amount of nonsense she has to put up with when you’re around."

Lythandor cleared his throat, drawing their attention back to him. "Eira, I trust you’ll ensure that Lyria... adjusts to the idea?"

Eira smirked. "Oh, don’t worry. She’ll come around. Eventually."

Ren stretched his arms over his head, looking far too pleased with himself. "In the meantime, I’ll start planning our team name. Something cool, like ‘Ren’s Rebels.’ Or maybe ‘Lyria’s Guardians.’ She’d love that."

Eira snorted. "How about ‘Ren and the People Who Regret Meeting Him’?"

Ren clutched his chest dramatically. "Wow. The betrayal. Right here, in front of everyone."

The soft hum of music and chatter drifted from the grand banquet hall, where the festivities were still in full swing. The sound of laughter and clinking glasses echoed faintly through the ornate hallways. But Lyria was far from the celebration.

She stood outside in the moonlit garden, her pristine white dress glowing softly under the silvery light. The cool night breeze brushed against her flushed cheeks, doing little to calm the storm of emotions swirling inside her.

She paced along the cobblestone path, her hands gripping the sides of her dress as if trying to steady herself. "Stupid Ren," she muttered under her breath. "Stupid Aunt Eira. Stupid... everyone!"