It was enough time to figure out who the Ross family really was. Influential, rich, deep ties to magical engineering. Not exactly a surprise, but definitely something that would shape a few things down the line.
Noah didn’t care much. He wasn’t the type to obsess over noble hierarchies or family power plays. But it was useful information. Variables needed to be accounted for, especially now.
They stood in line just outside the auction hall, right in the heart of the city’s richest district. Lampposts carved from enchanted stone lit up the street like a red carpet, and sleek carriages lined the entrance like some kind of royal parade.
Noah adjusted the crimson mask in his hand. His suit was jet black, sharp and minimal.
Next to him, Cordelia turned slightly, letting the fabric of her dress trail behind her. The backless design revealed smooth skin down her spine, contrasted by the high neckline at the front. The cut was sharp, modern—even by Earth’s standards.
She looked over her shoulder. "You like it?"
"It suits you," Noah replied, handing her the navy-blue mask. "Put this on. Almost our turn."
She took it with a smirk, adjusting it over her face.
Noah glanced ahead. Three more pairs left in front of them. "Alright. You remember what we’re here for?"
Cordelia nodded. "Yeah. An item that helped Saphielle Veyren bring her master back to life."
"Correct. When it shows up, I’ll let you know. It’s the only thing we need from this place. With it, we can probably skip everything else."
"Why didn’t you go for it last time?"
Noah’s jaw tightened for a second. "Do I really have to say it, or do you already know?"
Cordelia blinked. "...Cael."
"Exactly. Don’t bring him up again."
Noah exhaled, calm again. "Don’t worry about it."
The line moved. The couple ahead of them was let in.
"Names, please?" the worker at the entrance asked politely, clipboard in hand, eyes glowing faintly with identification magic.
Cordelia stepped forward without hesitation. "Ross family."
The man scanned the list, then smiled. "Ah, Ross. Please, come in. We hope you find something to your liking."
They stepped past the threshold.
"I thought this was supposed to be anonymous," Cordelia whispered.
"It is," Noah replied. "They just need to know who’s walking in. If your name’s not on the list, you don’t get past the door. That’s why I told you to use your family name to make the reservation during that dinner with your parents."
Cordelia raised a brow. "How were you so sure we’d get in?"
"After seeing your family were magical engineers? Obvious. After seeing the wealth? Even more obvious. Looks like the Ross family—your local version—is a big deal. Let’s just hope that doesn’t bite us in the ass."
"I doubt it. But if I hadn’t gotten the reservation, what would you have done?"
Noah snorted. "Who do you think you’re talking to? You’re looking at the top 0.1% of players. I’ve got almost every achievement in the game."
Cordelia rolled her eyes. "Right."
They moved forward into the building, light washing over their figures.
Behind them in line, two pairs of eyes remained fixed. One on Noah. Cold, steel-blue-grey. The other on Cordelia. Rose-colored and unblinking.
Cordelia took a slow breath as they stepped into the auction hall.
The ceiling arched high above, carved with golden patterns that shimmered under floating lights. Magic pulsed faintly through the marble floor beneath her heels, elegant and refined. Everything smelled like money—old, polished, and powerful.
Dozens of guests filled the room, each masked, dressed in tailored silks and enchanted fabrics. Soft music drifted from a distant balcony, the sound of arps played by invisible hands.
Cordelia didn’t speak at first.
She let the silence wrap around her while she took it all in. This was her world, technically. Her family’s kind of world. But standing here now, she realized how far removed she actually felt from it.
She glanced sideways.
Noah walked beside her like he owned the place. His steps were steady, mask in place, shoulders relaxed. He didn’t fidget, didn’t hesitate. Like he’d been here a thousand times.
He looked... natural.
’Of course he does,’ she thought. ’He’s already played this game.’
For a moment, Cordelia felt a small flicker of distance. Not jealousy, not quite. Just the quiet reminder that he still knew things she didn’t.
Things he might never tell her.
"Let’s find our seat," Noah said.
She nodded and followed, her heels silent against the marble.
Deeper in the crowd, just past the entrance where new guests still trickled in, two figures stood apart from the rest.
One of them leaned against a polished pillar, wearing a dark blue dress that hugged her figure tightly. Her mask was simple, elegant, but it did nothing to hide the piercing blue-grey eyes behind it.
She hadn’t looked away since he entered.
’Why is she so close to him... again.’
Lys didn’t blink. The thought came sharp and bitter, not even dressed in denial. It wasn’t about Cordelia’s looks, or the way she smiled under that mask—it was the way Noah looked at her.
That should’ve been her spot.
And she hated that it wasn’t.
Across the room, near a velvet-curtained archway, another figure stood poised.
Golden blonde hair curled around her shoulders, shining softly under the floating lights. Her dress was yellow, radiant and intricate, clearly expensive. Her mask matched, with delicate details in pink and silver.
She was watching Cordelia.
A voice interrupted the moment.
"Your Highness," a soft-spoken man said, bowing next to her. "Your seat is ready."
Several heads turned.
And just like that, the title pulled the curtain away.
Smiling faintly, she gave a slow nod. "Very well. Let’s begin."
The seats were self-assigned—first come, first claimed.
Noah had already chosen. Fifth row, center-left. Good sightline to the stage, enough distance to avoid attention. A quiet middle ground, perfect for observation without commitment.
He sat with arms crossed, one leg over the other. Cordelia was beside him, her posture perfect, eyes scanning the room through her navy-blue mask.
The hall around them glowed with low golden light. Whispered conversations melted into the background hum. A few nobles laughed too loudly, others didn’t speak at all. The air was heavy with wealth and performance.
Noah’s gaze shifted casually across the seats ahead.
A woman had entered alone.
Tall, pale, and slow in her steps like she didn’t care who watched. Her black hair fell straight down her back, smooth as ink, past her waist. Her skin was moon-pale, almost unreal under the chandelier light.
A black dress, minimal and cold. A black mask, featureless but sharp. Every step was with grace.
Cordelia followed his eyes. "That’s her?"
"Yeah," Noah murmured. "That’s Saphielle."
She walked without looking at anyone, and took a seat three rows ahead of them, perfectly centered.
Noah watched her a moment longer.
’Fits the goth girl archetype a little too well.’