The giant monster had three eyes placed vertically one after another, like some deranged deity's fever dream. Its mouth, positioned where a beak should have been, split open to reveal a grotesque serpentine tongue that crawled out, twitching and writhing as if it had a mind of its own. Its body was even more disturbing; it was long and sinuous like a serpent but disturbingly wide, resembling some mutated lizard that had lost a bet with evolution. Its black flesh was a chaotic mess of glossy scales and greasy, matted feathers, as if nature had cobbled it together in a fit of drunken madness. Six pairs of massive leathery wings sprouted unevenly along its bloated body, each one flapping lazily with a bone-chilling creak.
The monstrosity let out a deep, blood-curdling howl that shook the ground under Claude's feet as it descended onto a vast, circular platform in front of the estate. The platform itself looked suspiciously like it had been built specifically to house a flying abomination of this caliber, which did little to reassure him.
Claude, frozen in place, felt ready to throw away his life then and there. Surely this creature was only moments away from lunging at him, snapping him in half like a brittle twig, and leaving a Claude-shaped smear on the expensive marble.
'That is ridiculous. How can someone even think of taming that thing?' Claude thought, wild-eyed.
He knew monsters existed. The world was full of horrifying creatures in theory, tucked safely away in travelers' tales and dusty books. But seeing one like this in person shattered all the comfortable lies he had told himself.
Claude had always thought of monsters as scary but manageable. Humans could kill them after all, so how bad could they be? Apparently, very bad. Humans were clearly not the apex predators he had once smugly assumed.
'I better avoid whoever was crazy enough to tame that thing,' he thought grimly.
Squinting into the distance, Claude saw figures descending from the monster's back, one after another. A veritable flood of nobles casually treating the dragon-bird-abomination like a personal travel service.
Leading them was none other than who he assumed to be the Duchess herself, Seraphina Ravenshaw.
She was a striking figure. Long, jet-black hair fell behind her like a river of darkness, looking less like something grown and more like it had been conjured from the void itself. Her dark red eyes gleamed like cursed rubies, glowing faintly against the stark contrast of her hair. Her skin was an immaculate shade of creamy white, so smooth and untouched that it was almost unnerving. Her expression was a paradox, calm and composed yet exuding a stern authority that dared anyone to question her.
Trailing behind her were her two daughters, Sylvia and Sylvaine, who resembled her so closely it was almost comical. If one of them had not chosen to chop her hair short, Claude would have assumed some evil sorcerer had conjured a mirror duplicate.
The short-haired one looked particularly stressed, practically vibrating with the urge to sprint into the estate to find someone very dear to her.
'Gee, I wonder who she is looking for,' Claude thought, sarcasm dripping from every syllable in his mind.
From that alone, Claude could guess she was Sylvia, the one Elyas was supposedly friends with. Or more than friends, given how melodramatic everything felt. It did not take a genius to piece it together.
'I did not sign up for this... oh wait, I did. Genius move, Claude,' he mocked himself bitterly.
He resisted the overpowering urge to facepalm right there on the spot.
Following the Duchess were the rest of the noble guests, floating down with all the smugness of people who had never truly suffered a bad day in their lives. This supposed ball, advertised as a grand social event, was little more than a strategy meeting disguised under chandeliers and expensive dresses.
Claude's sharp gaze picked out the key figures among the throng.
First was Marquis Thornec, head of Ironhollow March. He was ridiculously tall and so ancient he looked like he had already died twice and was just stubbornly walking around out of habit. Bald, long white beard, hunched slightly forward, he leaned heavily on a gnarled staff.
Next was Countess Cordelia of Seaheart County, a young-looking woman with deep blue hair that rippled like ocean waves whenever she moved. Her pearl-like eyes glistened under the light, serene and distant.
And finally, Claude noticed the Count of the Redheart Family, Emrys. His neatly combed dark red hair caught Claude's attention immediately. It looked suspiciously similar to the hair of the girl Claude had met in the outskirts.
Speak of the devil, and there she was too.
She stood there with long, wavy dark red hair, her bright burning eyes scanning the crowd with predatory calmness.
Claude clenched his fists.
He really, truly wanted to lunge at her. To break her, to make her pay for whatever deep primal wrong he could not even properly name.
Common sense, however, that tedious, annoying voice, reminded him that she was surrounded by nobles who would protect her without hesitation. Plus, she almost certainly had an Aetheris ability of her own, probably fire-based given the whole walking bonfire aesthetic.
Even if he somehow survived the ensuing bloodbath, fighting her would most likely turn him into a well-done Claude steak.
'Yeah. Sure. Let us fight the noble fire witch in the middle of a diplomatic gathering. That will end well,' Claude thought dryly.
Shoving down the bloodthirsty impulse, Claude walked toward the Eversleys, who stood in a neat line in front of the grand estate doors, ready to welcome their illustrious guests.
He stood beside Lloyd and waited with the patience of a man being forced to smile at his executioner.
As soon as the Duchess Seraphina stepped onto the estate grounds, Howard stepped forward and bowed low, welcoming her with all the grace and groveling that centuries of noble etiquette demanded.
Claude watched Howard and Seraphina carefully, which unfortunately meant he was completely caught off guard when a blur tackled him.
Sylvia.
Tears filled her eyes as she slammed into Claude with the subtlety of a stampede.
"Are you alright?! Did anyone hurt you?! I was so worried!" she cried out.
Claude was not listening.
His body, honed by sheer paranoia and survival instinct, immediately began redirecting all his Aether to protect his vital points. His mind calculated weak spots in her grip and the fastest ways to escape if she turned out to be an assassin in disguise.
'Twist her elbow. Kick her abdomen. Stomp her throat. Run,' Claude thought mechanically.
Unbeknownst to him, he was preparing to violently maim a girl who was just worried about him.
His muscles tensed instinctively, but then, somehow, through the haze of suspicion, he snapped out of it.
Claude consciously forced himself to breathe normally and circulate his Aether back to its natural flow. His hand relaxed, and he looked Sylvia in the eyes, actually seeing her for the first time.
"I-I was not hurt," he said stiffly.
Sylvia stared at him for a long, awkward second.
Then realization seemed to dawn. She stepped back quickly, blushing so hard that Claude was surprised her hair did not catch fire from the heat.
"O-oh! Sorry... It was rude of me," she mumbled, mortified.
She retreated a step, looking anywhere but at him.
After that particularly awkward exchange, the Eversleys resumed their duty of welcoming guests, and the ball finally began in earnest.
It was, Claude begrudgingly admitted, a nice party.
The ballroom was immense and glittering, with golden chandeliers hanging from the arched ceiling, throwing dazzling light across the polished marble floors. Velvet drapes adorned the walls, and the scent of exotic flowers drifted faintly through the air, carried by the soft strains of music played by a hidden orchestra.
Ladies and gentlemen twirled across the floor in practiced, graceful dances, laughing and exchanging sharp, glittering smiles.
Claude made it a point to stay as far away from the windows as physically possible. He kept half an eye out for the dragon-bird-monster just in case it decided to lose its mind and crash through the wall, with Claude as its first victim.
Instead, he found himself sentenced to sit at a long table set aside for the "children."
Eight of them, including himself, sat there, pretending not to notice the awkwardness hanging in the air like a bad smell.
First were Sylvia and Sylvaine, seated side by side and chatting animatedly.
Next was Bramric, son of the Marquis Thornec, who looked every bit like someone who would rather be wrestling bears than attending a dance.
Next were Dorian and Marina, the glittering son and daughter of Cordelia, who looked like they had stepped straight out of a painting.
Leonis, the son of Marquis Lewis, was there too, flashing a smug smile that screamed "punchable."
Enya, the daughter of Count Emrys, lounged at the table like she owned it, fiery red hair tumbling over her shoulders.
And finally, there was "Elyas."
Or, you know... Claude.
The imposter. The fraud. The guy who would really rather be anywhere else right now.