The announcer stepped forward again, her golden mask catching the soft light as another servant lifted the velvet cloth.
What lay underneath was... unremarkable.
A simple pair of glasses. Round lenses, thin metal frame, slightly worn at the edges. No glow. No embellishment. Just... glasses.
But the room hushed anyway.
The announcer cleared her throat. "Next item. A rare magical artifact of unknown origin, capable of projecting the memories of a person—once. The subject must consent. The user may select the memories shown."
She let that hang in the air for a moment.
"Single-use. No recharge. Ideal for interrogation, dispute resolution, or personal closure. Starting bid: 100 gold."
Noah straightened in his seat.
He just reached into his coat and pulled out the compass-shaped device: the Veilpiercer. Its needle flicked once, then locked onto the glasses instantly.
Cordelia noticed. Her voice was low. "That important?"
Noah didn’t look at her. He just nodded once.
That was all he said.
Cordelia glanced at the glasses again. Simple, unassuming... but if Noah wanted it, there had to be a reason.
She raised her placard without hesitation.
"100 gold. Number 69."
"110 gold. Number 1."
The voice floated down from above.
Cordelia’s hand was still raised when she heard it. Her eyes snapped upward. Noah’s followed a second later.
There, seated in one of the elevated balconies draped in gold-trimmed fabric, was a familiar figure. Yellow dress. Blonde hair styled to perfection. A soft pink mask adorned her face, but the rose-colored eyes behind it were unmistakable.
Cordelia felt her stomach tighten.
Of course she’s here.
Noah tilted his head slightly. Then smirked. "Well, well. Look who’s joined the fun."
"Your bestie the princess," he added, tone light but mocking. "Didn’t think she was the memory type. Maybe she wants to project how it feels to get insulted by you in public."
Cordelia shot him a glare. "Not the time."
Noah leaned back, clearly enjoying himself. "Hey, I’m not judging. I love revenge shopping. It’s therapeutic."
The announcer’s voice returned. "Do we have 120?"
Cordelia raised her placard again. "120 for number 69."
Then Meliora’s voice rang out again—cool and distant from the balcony. "130 for number 1."
Cordelia exhaled slowly through her nose.
Noah’s grin widened. ’Oh yeah. This just got personal.’
"140 for number 69," Cordelia said, her voice calm, eyes still on the stage.
"150 for number 1," came Meliora’s reply from above, just as steady.
The crowd began to stir. Not loudly—just a few subtle glances, a couple of murmurs, a shift in posture here and there. The tension was building, thin but undeniable.
To most, this was just a bidding war.
To the ones actually bidding, it was something else entirely.
"160," Cordelia said.
Noah leaned closer, not whispering, just speaking low. "You gonna let her win?"
Cordelia didn’t answer.
"Thought not," he added.
From the balcony: "170 for number 1."
The announcer, sensing the growing interest, paused slightly after each bid now—milking the silence between numbers.
Cordelia stayed composed, but Noah could see her fingers curling ever so slightly around the edge of the placard. She hated this.
"280 for 69," she said.
"300 for number 1," Meliora responded without pause.
Noah exhaled slowly. "She’s not letting go."
"Should I stop?" Cordelia asked, her tone clipped.
Noah shook his head. "No. Push her once more."
Cordelia raised her hand. "350 for 69."
Then: "500 for number 1."
Even the announcer hesitated.
"500 gold... for number 1. Going once. Going twice... Sold."
A soft round of applause followed, but no one really cared about the object anymore.
Meliora leaned back in her chair above, posture perfect. She didn’t smile, but her satisfaction was obvious.
Cordelia lowered her placard with a quiet breath.
Noah just muttered, "Well... she really wanted that one."
Cordelia lowered the placard onto her lap with a quiet thud, fingers drumming once against the wood.
She didn’t say anything for a few seconds.
Noah sat beside her, arms folded, eyes still on the now-empty podium.
"So..." she finally said. "Was it really that important?"
Noah gave a small shrug. "Not essential. But useful? Hell yeah."
Cordelia turned toward him slightly. "What did it even do?"
"Those glasses could project a person’s memories," he said. "Once. You pick what gets shown, assuming the subject agrees."
Cordelia blinked. "Just once?"
"Yeah. One-shot tool. But imagine the scenario. Say you don’t trust someone, or they’re holding something back. You show the memory, no lies, no drama. Straight to the truth."
She frowned a little. "Would’ve saved us a lot of time with certain people."
"Exactly, I could just show them my memories from my past life since I still have them."
Noah looked up at the balcony, where Meliora was still seated, now having the glasses handed to her by an attendant.
He snorted. "Funny thing is, I doubt she even needs them. She probably just didn’t want you to have them."
Cordelia rolled her eyes. "Yeah, well... mission accomplished."
Noah leaned back again, voice calm. "Don’t stress it. Would’ve made things easier, sure. But I’ve played through worse setups."
Cordelia didn’t respond immediately.
Then, with a sigh: "Still annoying."
Noah smirked. "Welcome to politics."
The glasses rested gently in their silk-lined case, now secured in the hands of one of Meliora’s attendants. The servant stood beside her silently, awaiting further instructions.
Her fingers drummed once against the armrest of her seat—light, composed, satisfied.
She hadn’t looked at Cordelia once during the exchange.
But she had seen the tension in her shoulders. The way she raised her placard just a little sharper with each number. The brief glance she cast upward when the bidding ended.
Meliora sat straighter now.
And more than the object itself, it was what that win meant.
She remembered Cordelia’s voice from that day, months ago. Not loud. Not cruel. Just matter-of-fact, like it meant nothing.
"You’re just a spoiled little rich girl playing priestess."
Meliora had let it slide then. Out of pride. Out of principle.
But that didn’t mean she forgot.
She looked down now at the case in her lap. One use. One truth, preserved in memory. She didn’t even know what she’d do with it yet.
But it didn’t matter.
Cordelia didn’t have it.