...A soft clink echoed across the hall as Seraphina tapped her glass again, this time not to raise a toast—but to silence the chaos.

Her voice rang out, smooth and commanding, piercing the fog of confusion like a dagger.

"Please, do not bother with resistance," she said, as her eyes swept across the stunned gathering of nobles. "The wine you've all been enjoying tonight was laced with something rather special."

She raised her glass once more, twirling the liquid in it with a touch of amusement.

"A rare plant—Whispering Bloom. Odourless. Colourless. Its only trait: the slow dampening of Aether. A wedding gift from the dungeons. Unless, of course, one possesses ample Aether Sense... a rare trait in these lands."

Panic was a creeping fire.

Murmurs grew into frantic whispers as nobles lifted trembling hands, trying to summon light, flames, barriers or anything. But all they got was silence. Emptiness. Their cores felt distant, smothered, like someone had placed a hand around their throats and slowly begun to squeeze.

Then came the roar.

Viscount Hadrian stepped forward, his noble robes melted away into a red mist as his blood surged around him, hardening into an unnatural second skin. His veins lit up like molten rivers.

"Crimson Mantle," someone gasped.

"In the name of the Somara Empire," Hadrian bellowed, voice echoing with violent delight, "we begin the cleansing!"

Beside him, Viscount Cedric vanished into the shadows, reappearing beside a trembling noble who barely had time to scream before his head hit the floor, dead. Cedric was the first to draw blood.

Eclipsing Fangs.

Then the screaming truly began.

A noble lunged forward, trying to flee, but one of the Tyrell kingdom's soldiers blocked his path. Relief passed over his face.

"Help me! We must get to the King!"

The soldier smiled. Then drove his blade straight through the noble's gut.

Gasps.

Another soldier turned on a duchess, cutting her down where she stood. Guards who had sworn loyalty, who had stood beside these nobles for years, now moved with cold precision.

"They were bought," someone shouted. "The soldiers were bought!"

"No," came a calmer voice, an older count with blood staining his beard, "they were always theirs."

Seraphina turned, calm as ever, her voice honeyed. "We only want your surrender. Lay down your arms, your pride, your titles, and you may yet live."

But pride, as always, burned brighter than reason.

One noble raised a dagger, his hand shaking. "Never. We are the blood of this kingdom! You think we'll bow to eastern swine?!"

Cedric's claws slit his throat before the last syllable left his tongue.

Bodies fell. Screams overlapped. Goblets shattered. Silk gowns stained in red.

The wives of Richie Von Rich were not spared. Some wept, others begged. One even tried to offer herself to a soldier in exchange for mercy, only to be silenced with a blade.

Yet above the blood and madness, Seraphina stood radiant, untouched, eyes like those of a goddess watching a ritual sacrifice.

On the far end of the hall, Velma stood frozen. She had not drank the wine. After all, she had been too busy trying to care for Oliver, and therefore did not stay in the banquet hall so long. Now, as her eyes took in the massacre, rage and horror welled within her.

Aether ignited around her.

Crimson Frost.

A chilling blaze.She was not weak, and immediately began with the nearest soldier.She was effective. But even her knew this. She could not fight back alone. But even a little change could save lives.However just as she moved to protect a younger noble girl who had collapsed, a shadow fell across her.

(Author's note: if you read this far, please leave a follow)

Sir Bolton.

His blade hummed as if tasting the blood in the air.

He grinned as his eyes glinted with cruel amusement. "Don't run, little flower. You've always had fire in you that I found quite irresistible... but I wonder, will it be enough?"

Velma raised her blade as frost curled from her fingertips.

Sir Bolton was stopping her in this place of chaos and blood. Velma had known Sir Bolton for a while now.

After all, he had seemed to court her the proper way. Although she always felt like he was hiding something from her, or had a much higher goal, she never knew what it was.

Then again, was there a noble that did not have a greater agenda, or some hidden motive for more wealth, Power or higher status?

Back then she did not care. There was no need to. Besides, she was also getting together with him to also increase her authority and power circle.

But this... this was entirely different.

She was no fool. That smile on his face, like he had been waiting for the right time to unleash this side of him.

Also adding to the fact that the soldiers of the Somara Empire were not attacking him, and for some reason, he could unleash his Aether, she instantly knew he was not on her side.

Velma's gaze focused on him. 'I really should have picked the table knife when I had the chance', she thought to herself.

He advanced and she prepared for battle.

"You'll die screaming," she hissed.

Bolton chuckled, stepping forward. He had fond amusement in his eyes. Like he was enjoying her futile effort. "But you will sing in pain for me."

---

Meanwhile, in his room above it all, Oliver sat frozen in the corner. His heart hammered heavily in his chest.

He could even hear the servants screaming about for their lives. Some pleaded, and some tried to fight back. Such was the loyalty of the people of the Tyrell kingdom.

Of course, it was of no use. After all, this so called cleansing was not just happening within this bloody banquet, but in different corners of the kingdom.

This was a nation wide threat at seizing not just an entire kingdom, but also enslaving it.

In the known history of this world, only the Somaran empire had done such a thing.

To take an entire kingdom, not to conquer and rule it, but to chain and enslave it.

This was the beginning of the great TRAFFICKING era, where whole countries were observed as mere commodities.

Oliver had thought of fleeing—had even packed his satchel. But his legs wouldn't move. His body wouldn't obey. His fingers trembled as he gripped the hilt of the dagger that his elder sister had given him.

"Am I a coward?" he whispered to the silence. "Should I run… or should I fight?"And yet another thought popped up, 'FIGHT!? And how are you going to do that?'

The screams that continually pierced the night gave him no answer.

But it told him one thing...