'I am actually stuck between these obnoxious noble children.'
Claude looked around the long, elegantly carved wooden table. Rich tapestries adorned the walls, chandeliers spilled golden light across the room, and the hum of idle noble chatter filled the air. It was supposed to be a grand celebration, a night of dancing and laughter. Instead, Claude found himself sitting among children so arrogant they could probably power the entire estate with sheer ego.
He wanted to just disappear when he noticed Marina, Dorian, and Enya exchanging pointed, venomous glances across the table.
'Of course. The noble children of Water would have a dispute with the noble children of Fire. Why would this night ever be peaceful? That would be too easy, right?'
Claude could already predict how much more obnoxious this little table of horrors was about to become. He did not like it one bit. Yet what could he do other than sit back and enjoy the upcoming disaster like the trapped audience he was?
And naturally, his prediction came true faster than he would have liked.
Enya leaned forward, a smirk twisting her lips, her voice dripping with venom as she spoke.
"So, what is it like being covered in seaweed?"
Marina sneered back at her, not missing a beat.
"Better than being drowned in smoke all day."
Dorian, sitting beside Marina, looked at his sister, then sighed and looked away, clearly losing interest in a conversation that had barely even started.
'I like this guy already,' Claude thought with grim approval.
In all honesty, Dorian's instinct to mentally check out was probably the smartest move anyone could make in this environment. Claude could easily picture himself doing the exact same thing: nodding politely while internally plotting the fastest escape route.
Unfortunately, Enya was not so easily deterred.
"At least being drowned by smoke does not leave me crying like your poor uncle did," she said, casually delivering the verbal equivalent of a dagger between the ribs.
Claude was slightly amused, sipping mentally from the bitter cup of schadenfreude.
'Well, that escalated quickly.'
He turned his head slightly to glance at Dorian and Marina. This time, Dorian was paying very close attention, his relaxed facade slipping.
"My uncle was not the one almost sold into slavery," Dorian retorted calmly, his voice as smooth as polished steel.
Claude's fingers twitched slightly as a wicked thought crossed his mind.
'What would her reaction be if I told her I was the same boy who freed her? Oh, the irony.'
For a moment, it looked like Enya might literally combust. Her fists clenched, her face twisted in rage, and Claude half-expected her to spew fire across the table like an angry dragon.
But she was not the only one simmering with anger.
Sylvia shot up from her seat so suddenly the heavy wooden chair screeched against the marble floor. She slammed her palms against the table with such force that the silverware rattled dangerously.
"Both of you shut up!" she barked, her voice sharp enough to cut glass. A vein on her forehead looked ready to explode.
Claude raised an eyebrow, mildly impressed by the outburst.
Sylvia, her chest heaving, glared at Enya with pure, righteous fury.
"How dare you say that, Enya! You know how much they cherish Lord Aziel and you still had the nerve to say that? What if it had been your uncle, Enya? How would you have reacted then?"
Enya opened her mouth, probably to spit another volley of venom, but for once decided against it. She closed it again, fuming silently.
Sylvia then turned to Dorian, her voice no less sharp.
"And you, Dorian. You know she was not the only one almost sold into slavery!"
Claude watched the chaos unfold like a spectator at an especially trashy play, secretly amused. It was only when he realized all of them were staring at him expectantly that it clicked.
'Oh. Right. I was almost sold into slavery too. Well, technically the real Elyas was. I was going to be killed if it was not for [Nothing, Forever]. I think.'
Claude still was not entirely sure if [Nothing, Forever] was what saved him back then. It was the most logical explanation, but the bigger mystery was how it had activated and why it now stubbornly refused to respond.
Feeling the weight of everyone's attention, Claude grimaced internally before putting on his best Elyas impression.
"U-uh, L-Lord D-Dorian did not mean to insult me... I think."
He winced inwardly at how pathetic he sounded, but he had to keep up the act.
Sylvia immediately turned to him, her expression melting into one of deep worry.
"Elyas..."
Claude fought the urge to gag.
Enya, not missing the opportunity to be utterly insufferable, grinned cruelly at Sylvia.
"What a joke you are, Sylvia. After all these years, you still have not moved on from your silly childhood crush, even though there are literally a billion other boys who are better and more handsome than that weak little Elyas."
Claude felt insulted deep in his soul. He would have loved nothing more than to just stand up, turn around, and walk away from this clown parade.
'I cannot be bothered with this nonsense.'
But of course, life had other plans.
Sylvia's face twisted in fury. She looked about two seconds away from leaping across the table and punching Enya squarely in her smug little mouth.
Claude almost started counting down.
"How dare y—"
Before Sylvia could commit social homicide, Bramric stood up.
Claude's head tilted up, and up, and up.
He had known Bramric was tall. While sitting, he already towered over everyone else like a looming tree. But standing, he was a living monolith. He was shorter than his giant of a father, sure, but that was not saying much.
An immediate, stunned silence fell across the table.
Claude blinked, confused. Bramric was tall, but aside from that, he did not seem particularly intimidating. Apparently, the others disagreed.
In a deep, calm voice that brooked no argument, Bramric spoke.
"Stop fighting like children. Just enjoy the ball."
One sentence. That was all it took.
All of them immediately slumped back into their chairs, avoiding each other's gazes, pretending to be very interested in their food or the random patterns on the tablecloth.
Claude was not surprised that Bramric managed to silence them. He was surprised by something else entirely.
He turned his gaze toward Sylvia, eyes wide with disbelief.
Standing beside her was Elyas.
The real Elyas.
Claude's breath caught for a moment as he stared at the boy, who gazed at Sylvia with an expression of longing so raw and aching that it made Claude feel like an intruder, which he was.
But He had never seen that look before, not even when he met Elyas' parents.