The Auction was dragging.
Noah leaned back, arms crossed, one leg casually extended past what etiquette allowed. Cordelia sat beside him, placard on the table, gaze unfocused behind her mask.
On stage, the announcer lifted another velvet cloth with all the ceremony of someone who still cared. Beneath it: a silver brooch shaped like a falcon. Enchanted, apparently. Minor speed boost in combat.
"Starting bid: 80 gold."
"60," someone mumbled from the left section. A noble in too much silk and too little presence.
"Sold to number 143."
Noah didn’t even blink.
’Should’ve just given it away.’
The next item was a magic mirror that only reflected your "best self." Whatever the hell that meant. Bidding was slightly more active—vanity always sold well—but it still ended under 150.
Cordelia shifted beside him. "Think they’re saving all the good stuff for after the food?"
"They always do," Noah replied. "Let the rich drink themselves stupid before throwing their gold away."
She didn’t laugh, but her lip curled just slightly.
The announcer took center stage again. "This concludes the first half of tonight’s offerings. Our honored guests are invited to the banquet hall while the next phase is prepared. Please follow the attendants at your leisure."
Applause, soft and automatic.
Noah stood up and cracked his neck once. "Finally. I was two trinkets away from chewing the seat cushion."
Cordelia smirked. "You’ve sat through worse."
"Yeah, but back then I had popcorn."
They followed the slow stream of masked nobles toward the open archways that led to the dining hall.
The real game was about to begin.
The dining hall shimmered with quiet magic—soft lights, floating music, and tables lined with steaming food. Nobles drifted in, masks still on, but the air felt lighter now that the bidding had paused.
Noah and Cordelia picked a table near the edge.
He filled his plate with roast meat, vegetables, and a slice of bread, then poured himself a glass of wine. A moment later, Cordelia returned with a plate almost identical to his.
He blinked. "No salad this time?"
She shrugged, sliding into the seat across from him. "Didn’t feel like it."
Noah arched an eyebrow, but didn’t press. He just carved into the meat and took a bite.
"Good choice," he said. "Actually has flavor. Shocking."
Cordelia rolled her eyes, but he could see the edge of her lip curve slightly.
The two ate in relative silence, letting the background noise of laughter, clinking glasses, and hushed gossip fill the space. Neither of them had to say much.
After a while, Noah leaned back in his seat.
"So... think Princess Meliora’s coming for round two?"
Cordelia didn’t look up. "She might."
The noise around them faded into a distant hum as the initial wave of chatter and greetings settled into routine dining.
Noah and Cordelia ate in relative silence, but this time it wasn’t awkward. It was focus. Both of them had shifted into the mental space they knew best—preparation.
Noah finished the last bite of roast, set his knife down, and looked across the table.
"Eyes forward," he said casually, though his tone had sharpened. "They’re getting ready for the second half soon. The real items."
Cordelia gave a short nod. "What exactly are we looking for?"
Noah reached for his wine but didn’t drink yet. He tilted the glass slightly, watching how the light passed through.
"It looks like a fragment. Glass, cracked. Held in place by a silver lattice frame, like it’s barely holding together."
"That doesn’t sound impressive."
"It’s not supposed to," he said. "Most people just think it’s broken junk. But if it activates, it can anchor the soul of a recently dead person into a stable state. Not permanent. Temporary. But enough for communication or rituals."
Cordelia’s brows lifted slightly. "So it’s like a soul stabilizer?"
"Exactly. The game called it the Hollow Echo. One of the few items that let you interfere with death without necromancy."
"And that’s what Saphielle needs."
"That’s what she used in the original timeline," Noah replied. "With it, she brought her master’s essence back long enough to finish a forbidden pact. That’s what started the fall of a lot of territories around."
Cordelia’s voice lowered. "Then we can’t let her get it."
Noah leaned back in his seat, eyes fixed on the stage across the dining hall.
"No," he said simply. "We can’t."
The ambient lighting shifted slightly, indicating the approaching return of the auctioneer. Quiet murmurs ran through the crowd as nobles and merchants adjusted in their seats, some rising to stretch or retrieve another drink. Noah, however, remained still, his fingers idly tapping the table. Cordelia sipped her wine in silence.
Then, the sound of deliberate heels echoed across the polished floor.
A noblewoman approached their table with calm precision. Golden hair curled around her shoulders in perfect spirals. Her dress shimmered faintly in pastel silk, tailored to blend nobility with calculated elegance. Pink eyes, sharp and unblinking, scanned the table.
Without waiting for permission, she sat across from them.
"Lady Ross," she said, her tone perfectly polite.
"Your Highness," she responded after a beat, her voice even but lacking warmth.
Noah didn’t miss the way Cordelia’s back straightened. Or the way her grip on the wineglass subtly tightened.
Meliora turned toward him next, offering a slight nod.
"Noah," he said, casually raising his glass. "Just Noah, your Highness."
The princess studied him for a second longer than necessary before turning her gaze back to Cordelia. "I was surprised to see you here tonight. I thought you didn’t attend... trivial events."
"I go where I’m needed," Cordelia replied, her smile sharp.
"Of course. Though I didn’t expect to see you arrive with company."
Cordelia said nothing.
Noah raised a brow and glanced between them. He could practically feel the friction in the air—cordial on the surface, razor-edged beneath. He leaned slightly back in his chair.
"Well," he said, standing up with a stretch. "I’ll leave you two to catch up. Gotta check something. Be right back."
He didn’t wait for a reply. As he walked toward the side corridors, he muttered under his breath:
’Yeah... definitely not my place right now.’
The marble tiles of the banquet hall’s guest lavatory gleamed under the soft golden light. Noah washed his hands in silence, letting the cold water run across his fingers.
A strange stillness settled over the room.
A sharp pressure behind him, fast and precise, like the air itself had split open.
Noah didn’t hesitate. He turned on his heel, his muscles tensing, legs shifting instinctively into a low stance that pushed him sideways across the floor.
A flash of something silver grazed his shoulder. Fabric tore. A sting followed.
He hissed, but didn’t fall. His reflexes had saved him.
Eyes narrowed, Noah spun fully around — and froze.
Three figures stood near the back of the room, barely illuminated by the dim light seeping through the high stained-glass windows.
No words. No movement. Only presence — heavy and undeniable.
A slow breath escaped Noah’s lips as he straightened. Blood trickled lightly down his arm from the shallow cut.
Turning without a word, he reached for the towel beside the sink, dabbing the wound, careful not to expose too much of it. Then he adjusted his collar and began walking toward the exit.
His mind raced, calculating. Who? Why now?
But his face showed none of it.
He remained composed — calm on the surface, in control beneath.
Still, the message was clear.
This night had taken a sharp turn — and someone didn’t want him walking out of it.