The Looming Storm

The carriage rumbled along Eredia’s smoothly paved streets, its wheels drumming a monotonous rhythm against the fading twilight.

Rachel leaned back against the plush cushions, her gaze vacant as she stared out the window.

The capital’s grand structures were reduced to dark silhouettes in the twilight, while magical streetlights flickered to life one by one, resembling strings of icy pearls.

Rachel subtly focused her mind, and the persistent crimson hue deep within her vision silently materialized.

[Time until Death]

[03:43:21]

The cold numbers ticked silently, each minute shift feeling like a delicate needle piercing taut nerves.

Less than four hours remained.

Rachel forced herself to tear her ‘gaze’ away, though her fingernails unconsciously dug deep into her palm.

“Lady Rachel?”

Vera’s concerned inquiry came from beside her, her voice still laced with the lingering weakness from her unhealed injuries.

Rachel turned, seeing Vera bundled in a thick cloak, her face pale, one arm bound to her chest with bandages, making her resemble a wounded little animal.

“You… you don’t look well. Are you worried about the banquet?”

Rachel snapped back to reality, quickly suppressing the turmoil churning in her eyes, and forced a smile that she hoped appeared natural. “Oh? Not at all.”

Rachel paused, her gaze falling upon Vera’s bandaged arm, and her voice softened.

“But you, are you still in much pain? It’s all my fault for letting you get so injured.”

Vera immediately shook her head, trying to sit up straighter. “Much better, truly! I was useless, slowing us down…” Noticing Rachel’s face, which was noticeably paler than usual, and the faint shadows beneath her eyes, she clumsily attempted to console her.

“Please don’t worry so much, my lady. Although we were delayed by a day, didn’t we still make it? Look, we’ll be there any moment now. You look so beautiful in that gown; once we enter the ballroom, no one will dare look down on you!”

A warmth bloomed in Rachel’s heart, yet it was tinged with a bitter astringency.

Vera’s comfort was so genuine, and yet so… naive.

Rachel could not share the burden of the blade hanging over her head, nor could she confide in Vera about the encroaching shadow of death.

This unspeakable pressure was hers to bear alone.

“Yes, it’s good that we made it.” Rachel’s voice was a little dry as she changed the subject. “Miriam… she left successfully, didn’t she?”

“Yes, my lady. She slipped away just as dawn broke, as you instructed.”

Vera nodded, then, recalling the unusually serious expression on the pink-haired merchant’s face as she left, couldn’t help but ask again.

“The task you asked her to do… is it very dangerous? Can she manage it alone?”

“She’s sharp as a whip; she’s more reliable than we imagine.”

Rachel tried to lighten her tone, but the worry in her eyes could not be hidden.

“It’s just… time is simply too tight. I only hope everything can be done in time.”

Rachel didn’t specify the task, but the gravitas contained within the phrase ‘in time’ made Vera’s heart clench in response.

Vera could only nod more vigorously, conveying silent support with her eyes.

The massive silhouette of the Silver Mistletoe Estate loomed in the night like a slumbering behemoth, its brilliantly lit entrance swallowing and disgorging elegantly dressed guests.

As the carriage came to a halt, Rachel took a deep breath and straightened her spine.

The simple, deep-purple gown only accentuated her paleness, and her silver-grey hair was swept up, revealing her delicate neck.

Vera endured her pain, striving to keep her back straight as she followed, each step pulling at her injuries, a fine sheen of cold sweat beading on her forehead.

Scarcely had they stepped into this luxurious cage, filled with rustling silks, glittering jewels, and clinking goblets, when a deliberately high-pitched female voice, sharp with a distinct lemon-like tang, pierced the air with precision.

“Oh! Look who it is! Isn’t this the ‘sole commander’ from the Lockwood territory? I hear there are more trees than people in your territory now?”

Rachel’s steps faltered.

She saw a young woman in a fluffy, goose-yellow gown, looking like a walking sourpuss, surrounded by a retinue of hangers-on, her arms crossed and chin lifted so high it could pierce the ceiling.

The young woman’s face bore a triumphant smugness, as if to say, ‘I’ve finally caught you.’

Yuri Harth. Rachel grudgingly dredged up the name from the recesses of her memory.

At best, she was a mere acquaintance, and Rachel recalled having no particular dealings with her.

“Oh dear, oh dear—”

Yuri dramatically covered her nose with a handkerchief, as if detecting an unpleasant odor.

“How peculiar, when did Her Royal Highness’s invitations become so… well, so accessible? Even a ‘great personage’ like you, whose ‘effective governance’ makes their subjects wish they had wings to flee, can gain entry to such halls?”

The girls around Yuri chimed in with a few dainty snickers.

Rachel’s mind was entirely consumed by the countdown, Ariya, and survival.

Yuri’s childish taunts sounded to her like the buzzing of mosquitoes in the background—annoying but utterly harmless.

She merely wanted to find a quiet corner and be a wallflower.

“Oh.”

Rachel responded with extreme perfunctoriness, her gaze not even lingering on Yuri’s carefully made-up face for a second; her eyes simply passed through her, as if she were merely an inconvenient column of air.

“Excuse me.”

Rachel prepared to step around her.

Yuri’s smug expression instantly froze, her carefully prepared lines caught in her throat.

Where was the furious outburst, the flushed face, or the humble defense she had anticipated?

Rachel’s complete and undisguised disregard made her feel like a clown talking to herself!

Her elaborate attire suddenly seemed like a joke!

“Hey! Rachel Lockwood!”

Yuri’s voice rose by an octave, laced with the sharp edge of exasperation.

“Are you deaf? I’m talking to you! Where did you dig that outdated dress out of—a trash heap? How dare you come to the princess’s banquet dressed like that? Aren’t you afraid of making a spectacle of yourself?”

Rachel finally turned her gaze back to Yuri’s face, her brows slightly furrowed.

“Are you some lost child? I’m afraid I don’t have time to help you find your mother; you should seek assistance elsewhere.”

“You… insolent! Stop right there!” Yuri’s face instantly flushed a mottled purple, her carefully styled curls seeming to bristle with anger.

She seized Rachel, who was once again attempting to slip away, just as she was about to erupt—

“Silence—!”

A resonant, authoritative voice, piercing like cracking ice, suddenly rang out, instantly freezing all the clamor in the hall, including Yuri’s shrill outburst.

Time seemed to pause.

All eyes, filled with awe and curiosity, unanimously turned towards the wide staircase at the far end of the hall, draped in a scarlet carpet.

At the top of the stairs, the brilliant light of a crystal chandelier shone down like a spotlight.

A young woman, clad in a moon-white court gown, slowly appeared.

The silver-thread dragon embroidery on her skirt flowed with a cool, ethereal luminescence in the light.

Her pale golden hair was swept up and held by a delicate diamond coronet, revealing a swan-like neck and a face so beautiful it could eclipse the moonlight.

Her skin was luminous white, and her icy-blue eyes, like frozen arctic lakes, calmly swept over the hushed crowd below, carrying an air of detached superiority and absolute control.

The Third Royal Princess of the Holy Loga Empire—Her Royal Highness Ariya Loganis.

Her skirt silently brushed the polished steps.

Yuri, as if instantly throttled, turned deathly pale and hastily lowered her head, her body trembling uncontrollably, daring not to utter another sound.

Rachel also lowered her eyes, adopting a respectful posture like everyone else.

Yet, the moment she bowed her head, a chilling cold instantly shot from her feet up her spine, and her heart felt as if an invisible hand had brutally squeezed it.

She could even distinctly hear the rush of her own blood roaring in her ears.

The banquet had begun.

And the true storm had only just arrived.