When the day of the engagement arrived, the priest of the god Sangus arrived at the Douglas residence, which at that hour was buzzing like a hive. Servants ran back and forth, decorating carriages, preparing offerings, and arranging ceremonial garments. Sophia Douglas, impeccable and serene, personally supervised every detail. For her, perfection was not an option... it was a sacred duty.
Lusian observed everything with a mixture of respect and apprehension. He had never felt the pressure of such an absolute, such an irrevocable oath. The temple waited, silent and solemn, as if the god Sangus himself were holding his breath before the pact that was about to be sealed.
Each step he took toward the ceremony was a reminder of the invisible chain binding him: a blood contract, sanctioned by a god, that he could not break... without condemning another person. Emily.
The divine responsibility fell upon her, yes, but the moral weight—that uncomfortable mixture of fear, solemnity, and anticipatory guilt—sank into his chest like a stone. He did not want to see her suffer because of him.
The sound of his boots on the marble echoed like a silent war drum. Lusian swallowed. A chill—a mixture of respect and fear—ran down his spine.
This was not just a ceremony. It was the first step toward a path where every decision could trigger tragedies.
In front of the mirror, Lusian adjusted his black suit, whose golden embroidery seemed to shine with its own light. The white cape fell over his shoulders like a mantle of authority and destiny; the threads formed the figure of the two-headed wolf and the two crossed swords, ancestral emblem of his house.
But neither the symbols nor the elegance could hide the unease in his gaze.
—Are you scared, Lusian? —Sophia asked softly as she saw his shoulders tense.
He took a deep breath, trying to mask the truth with serenity.
—A little, mother —he admitted—. I know the spell is mandatory... but it's just a tradition. There won't be complications.
Sophia smiled at him with that elegant pride characteristic of the Douglases, although part of her knew very well that her son did not fear the ceremony. He feared what would come after. The future. The events pressing in from the horizon like indecipherable shadows.
And Sophia, without fully understanding it, felt a slight shiver. As if she sensed that, after the oath, something much greater than a simple engagement was about to awaken in her son.
When they arrived at the ceremonial hall, the Douglas family was already waiting before the altar.
Laurence Douglas, with his imposing presence, stood like a marble statue: solemn, distant, unshakable. Martha, beside him, wore a gentle smile, but in her eyes danced a complex mixture of pride and melancholy. Caleb and Catalina, on the other hand, kept neutral, almost cold expressions; for them, this was nothing more than a political formality. None of them seemed truly happy. In the duchy, even celebrations carried the weight of obligation.
The murmur of the guests gradually faded, as if a silent mist were enveloping the hall, when Emily Carter entered.
Lusian raised his gaze... and his breath stopped.
Emily advanced down the aisle as if she were floating, wrapped in a light blue dress whose embroidered flowers seemed to reflect the first light of dawn. The temple's soft glow slid across the delicate pink lace, and each of her steps echoed on the white marble with a calm, almost sacred elegance.
The guests stood up. Silence became absolute.
Only her steps could be heard... and her parents' behind her.
When Emily's eyes met Lusian's, he felt the heat rise to his face. Emily gave him a soft, serene smile, so perfectly controlled it almost seemed natural. But Lusian, who had seen the fear in her gaze days earlier, felt that calm was a mask as fragile as it was beautiful.
For a moment, the world stopped moving. There were no gods, no destiny, no dark future. Only her. Only that suspended moment.
The chief monk approached the altar and extended his hands. His deep voice echoed through the temple dome.
—We will begin the oath ceremony under the gaze of the god Sangus.
He took a small silver puncture tool, placed it on Lusian's finger, and pressed. A drop of blood fell onto a silver ring on the altar.
Then he repeated the gesture with Emily. Her blood fell beside his.
Both drops glowed, first individually... and then merged into a faint red radiance that traveled through the symbols on the ring, as if the metal were breathing.
The murmur of magic filled the hall.
—With this oath —the monk proclaimed— the promise of union is sealed. May Sangus be witness, judge, and guardian of this sacred pact.
A wave of energy swept through the temple, a deep pulse that raised goosebumps on those present. The air grew heavier, as if the god himself had turned his gaze toward them.
Lusian felt the weight of the pact sink into his bones. Emily lowered her gaze with an almost imperceptible tremor.
The engagement was sealed. And there was no turning back.
After the ceremony, the guests moved to the adjoining hall, where an impeccably arranged banquet awaited them. The aroma of spices, wine, and roasted meat filled the air, mixing with the murmur of nobles offering blessings and congratulations. It was an evening of appearances, calculated smiles, and promises that no god would ever hear.
The blood rings that Lusian and Emily wore on their hands glowed with a faint reddish light, symbol of the pact that now bound them. For many, they were an honor. For them, a chain.
—The noble families approach—
The first family to step forward was that of Count Noah Armett, accompanied by his wife and children. His daughter, Isabella Armett, with snow-white hair and deep blue eyes, looked like a winter flower in the middle of the hall. Her ethereal beauty caught the attention of several... but especially Caleb Douglas, whose diverted gaze did not go unnoticed by Lusian.
"So... this is where their tragedy begins," Lusian thought with a silent sigh.
Then the Kesslers approached, offering their respects, followed by the Macallisters from the Empire of Ithaca. Lusian remembered them perfectly from the game: a house without great military power, but with something more valuable than strength: an ancestral affinity for spatial magic. Their artifacts were coveted across the continent.
As expected, they presented two enchanted bracelets capable of storing magical items in a dimensional space. Emily widened her eyes in astonishment; Lusian maintained a polite expression, though internally he recognized the value of the gift.
The Stanley, Briggs, and Schneider families continued, each following protocol: a greeting, a gift, a smile. The Mondrings, Sophia's maternal family, offered a restrained bow and withdrew without drawing attention; as always, discreet, like noble shadows.
—The Bourlande: strength and fire—
The atmosphere changed when the Bourlandes arrived. Natural warriors, obsessed with combat, renowned for their physical enhancement spells carefully guarded in their family grimoires.
Among them stood Kara Bourlande Bekker, the seventeen-year-old heiress. Fiery red hair, sky-blue eyes, firm posture. She was as beautiful as she was deadly.
Lusian recognized her immediately. In the game, Kara was one of the main heroines, an impossible woman to defeat... literally. Many routes ended in battle against her, and most players died without ever seeing her smile.
She observed Lusian with a mixture of curiosity and challenge. He held her gaze. An invisible spark passed between them: respect... and warning.
—The Denisse: poison disguised—
The Denisses approached next, wrapped in diplomatic smiles. Lusian did not look away from them.
He knew who they truly were: imperial rats, conspirators who would sell the kingdom to the highest bidder. Their presence there was not a greeting... but a silent reminder that danger was already inside the country.
When he shook their hands, Lusian did so with impeccable courtesy. In his mind, however, he saw only blood.
—The royal family—
The murmur of the hall abruptly faded when the heralds announced the arrival of the royal family.
Everyone knelt. Only the three duchies bowed.
Queen Adelaine Erkhan Stanley advanced with the elegance of someone carrying an entire kingdom on her shoulders. At her side walked Crown Prince Andrew and Princess Elizabeth, sharp-eyed and imposing.
Emily, nervous, tried to kneel, but Sophia held her by the arm, preventing a fatal mistake.
The queen congratulated the couple with noble and measured words, delivering a gift wrapped in crimson velvet. Then she withdrew to a private hall, followed by her royal shadow.
The Douglas Gift
It was then that Sophia raised her hand. Two servants stepped forward carrying a long chest covered by a black cloth.
When the cloth was removed and the chest opened, a dark glow illuminated the velvet interior.
The entire hall held its breath.
Lusian felt a shiver run down his spine.
There it was:
Dainslein.
A black-bladed sword, polished like a fragment of night, with a subtle bluish glow that seemed to pulse with the surrounding mana. It did not emanate malice, but a deep calm—a serene darkness that invited silence.
An Ætherion.
An ancient weapon whose function was not to destroy, but to harmonize the flow of mana and reduce the wielder's strain.
Lusian recognized it immediately. Not because he had wielded it himself... but because in the game, the sword was the final reward for killing Dark Lusian. His fallen version. The fate he was determined to avoid.
A barely perceptible smile curved his lips.
—Dainslein... my warning.
That gift was no coincidence. It was as if the world were showing him the weapon that, in the original story, would only appear as a reward for killing him.
The first act had ended. The game... had just begun.