"Lumyn," Alden whispered unconsciously.
The name felt familiar… yet utterly foreign. Like something buried beneath layers of dust and time.
He didn't know why Amyra's smile reminded him of her. He just knew it hurt.
His thoughts were clouded. His gaze slowly shifted toward Amyra. Her face full of smiles just a few moments ago had a single tear rolling down.
"Amyr—" He wanted to ask if she recognized the name.
An immense pain assaulted his mind. It was sharp and violent. Like something inside him had cracked open.
He stumbled back, his grip slipping from Amyra's hand as his vision twisted into chaos.
The music, the lights and the voices—all blurred into a mess of color and noise.
His knees buckled slightly as he clutched the side of his head.
It felt like his very soul was being ripped apart. Then, without a word, he turned and walked away.
His steps were uneven. The noises in his skull grew louder with each movement.
A waiter carrying a tray crossed his path as Alden bumped straight into him.
Someone shouted at him but he didn't process the words.
He wasn't in any condition to process.
He didn't stop. Didn't apologize. Didn't even look back.
His feet moved on instinct. He needed air. He needed space.
He reached the far end of the hall as he saw the tall glass door that led to the balcony was slightly open. He stepped through without any hesitation.
He leaned against the railing as the pain increased even more.
He didn't know how long he stood there.
The pain eventually receded. He let out a breath. But something felt… off.
What… was I doing again?
His last clear memory was…
Amyra. They were dancing. Her smile.
Why am I on the balcony?
Before he thought could finish—
"Hey—" A voice called him as someone grabbed the back of his coat and pulled him backward.
He was caught off guard and before he could regain balance, his back slammed onto the ground.
He looked at the person who pulled him back.
A handsome blonde boy with narrow green eyes looked at him with a frown. But he wasn't a human.
Alden wasn't in the mood for some useless annoyance.
"What are you doing?" He asked, his voice cold.
The elf crossed his arms dramatically. "You ruined my special suit woven from Obloove silk, found only in the high caverns of Rizzania—do you even know how much this costs?"
The elf continued to ramble something… Names. Prices. Prestige.
But Alden didn't care. His mind was still focused on the memory gap.
The elf grabbed him by the collar. "Oi, are you even listening?"
Alden looked at the elf… then at his ruined clothes. Purple wine stained his pure white suit.
"I'm sorry about your suit," he said flatly. "I'll pay the price for your loss."
The elf let go of Alden's collar. For a moment he didn't say anything. Then, he let out a slow laugh.
Alden took it as a sign that the elf accepted. So, he turned around to leave.
Something small hit his back lightly. He turned as he saw a black glove on the ground.
"I, the Seventh Prince of Sylvenia, challenge you to a duel." The elf declared. "The price will be an arm of the loser."
Alden looked at the elf. His face was calm… but his mind was filled with chaos.
All he could do was curse because he recognised the elf now.
What the hell is this nutcase doing here?
The person who took Lucien's arm in the future. The mad prince who'd one day become the Elven Empire's only Sword Master.
Prince Zarien Vael'thir.
Elves rarely wielded swords. Their natural affinity for mana made most of them powerful mages.
They considered swordsmen to be brutish. But among them was this nutcase. Zarien.
Born with barely any talent for magic… yet his swordsmanship rivaled even the greatest.
After the fall of the Elven Empire, he joined the demons—
And in the war that followed, he faced Lucien… and severed his arm.
"I apologize for the damage, Prince, but this is a formal banquet. Not a place where anyone can spar. So, I rejec—"
But before Alden could finish his rejection, a deep voice cut through the air.
"Oh… a duel?" The tone was authoritative. "That sounds entertaining."
The atmosphere shifted.
Alden turned and his body froze. Standing on the entrance to the balcony was a man.
His white hair was perfectly combed back. But it was his eyes—a shade of violet so deep that they seemed to pierce straight through his soul.
The man looked eerily similar to Lucien.
But he wasn't Lucien.
He was Emperor Kaelith Celestrian.
Ruler of the Vallorian Empire and perhaps one of the most dangerous men alive.
"Two young rising stars, challenging each other over spilled wine?" He stepped closer. "Sounds like something worth watching."
Zarien bowed with pride. "Your Majesty honors us."
"I approve," Kaelith said, his eyes pausing on Alden.
Alden's jaw tightened.
He wanted to speak. To reject. But he knew better.
Kaelith wasn't offering a choice. He was testing him.
The Emperor wasn't here to stop a fight. He was here to start one.
Why is he doing this?
Is it because of Amyra?
Come to think of it, where the hell is she?
I remember dancing with her…
I still can't remember.
No point thinking about it.
He calmed himself down immediately. He knew thinking about it wasn't going to solve the current problem.
All he could do now was hope that the situation wouldn't get anymore chaotic.
But a part of him already knew—
Because Chaos, apparently, had an unrequited crush on him.