"Let's all calm down, shall we~?"
Lavender's voice sliced cleanly through the air.
Everyone turned to her. Mira's shoulders tensed. Lucien paused mid-thought. Even Eirlys perked up slightly from behind Charlotte, blinking like a startled rabbit.
Lavender swung her legs lazily where she sat on a mossy boulder, then flicked a tiny pebble into the air with her thumb. "You'd think we were rehearsing a tragedy, not recovering from one."
Her gaze swept theatrically across the group, and she tilted her head with exaggerated concern. "Don't you think you're all being just a teensy bit rude?" she added, teasingly drawing out the last word.
She stretched her arms behind her head. "I mean, I don't know what awkward little soap opera is going on between you two—" she motioned vaguely between Mira and Lucien "—but setting the atmosphere to hostile silence doesn't seem very team-spirited, don't you think?"
Then her voice softened—not serious, but lightly chiding.
"You're scaring poor Eirlys over there…"
Her eyes flitted toward the trembling girl peeking from behind Charlotte's shoulder.
"—and our adorable baby boy here," she cooed as she turned to me, giving an exaggerated wink that made my little arms twitch in amused confusion.
Lucien let out a slow breath, then dipped his head slightly—his posture shifting subtly, spine straight, hand placed lightly against his chest as he spoke.
"I do apologize for our discourtesy," he said, voice calm with noble restraint. He stepped forward, one palm extended in a disarming gesture, his eyes sweeping across the group with quiet earnestness.
He nodded once more, gaze settling briefly on Eirlys. "It seems I owe my current condition—and possibly my life—to you." He bowed ever so slightly, the gesture elegant, precise. "I deeply regret not expressing my gratitude sooner."
Lavender's eyes lit up.
"Awwwww, that's more like it!" she clapped, hopping down from the rock with a spry bounce. "See? Progress! Manners! Applause-worthy behavior!" She made a show of pretending to wipe a tear from the corner of her eye. "I was starting to think I'd have to give out friendship demerits."
She spun once, dramatically brushing invisible dust from her dress. "Now if only everyone else would follow this shining example of accountability…"
She turned toward Mira with a wide, expectant smile—one eyebrow raised in sly challenge.
Mira blinked, caught mid-scowl. "Wh… what?" she mumbled.
Lavender didn't reply. Just kept smiling. Waiting.
Mira fumbled.
She looked down, face flushing pink, then back up. Then away again. Her grip on me loosened slightly as she glanced toward Eirlys, toward Lucien… and finally exhaled.
"I…" she began, hesitating. Then she looked at Lavender, her voice dropping.
Lavender gave an unapologetic shrug, grinning wider.
Mira finally sighed, shoulders dipping in visible humility. "I apologize."
Lavender, looking pleased, clapped her hands sharply. This time, the tone in her voice shifted. No longer playful—it had a brisk clarity to it.
"Wonderful," she said. "Now that everyone's stopped acting like emotionally repressed pine trees—let's address our situation, shall we?"
Absolutely — here's the next scene, richly layered with gesture, tension, dialogue flow, and character dynamics. The shift from formality to conflict, then back to uneasy diplomacy, will feel natural and believable.
The air settled again. There was a weight now.
Lavender's eyes shimmered under the soft light. Her usual teasing energy simmered just beneath the surface, but her posture was upright. She had taken command not just of the conversation, but of the entire clearing.
Her voice came smooth, deliberate.
"Now that everyone is here," she began, her tone composed, "let's redo the introductions."
She turned gracefully, her cloak catching the breeze slightly. Facing Lucien fully, she lifted a hand with open fingers—palm angled toward him in a poised diplomatic gesture.
"I offer my greetings to the Second Archduke of the Ordanhelm Empire, Archduke Lucien Alaric."
She dipped her head slowly—elegant, but not submissive. When her eyes lifted again, they lingered—just a second too long.
Lucien met her eyes in silence. His back straightened instinctively, a nobleman's pride rising into his posture. But his expression remained unreadable, save for the subtle twitch of an eyebrow.
Then her head tilted just a little.
"Hmm. You're taller than I expected."
Lucien blinked, slightly caught off guard by the sudden return of her usual irreverence peeking through the formality.
Lavender pivoted again. She stopped before Mira, taking a deep breath like she was shifting her tone entirely to be more reverent.
"And his wife," she continued, with a softness to her voice now, "praised to be the most beautiful in all of Ordanhelm…"
She extended a hand slightly, fingers fanned, as if gesturing toward a radiant painting.
"Archduchess Mira—daughter of the Great Witch of the North."
Her voice lingered on that final title.
Mira's back went rigid at that last title. Her eyes flickered. Something passed behind them—pride? Discomfort? A storm held behind composure.
Mira averted her gaze slightly, a small exhale escaping her lips. Her fingers absentmindedly trailed the edge of her sleeve, and she glanced toward me—clutching me just a little closer, not protectively, but perhaps grounding herself.
Lucien didn't miss the change in her demeanor.
Now that I think about it…
I don't really know anything about Mother.
My tiny brows furrowed slightly. The words Great Witch of the North sparked no memory.
Even Lucien, to be honest…
Hmmm… intriguing.
Just quiet curiosity from me
Lavender took a slow step backward, hands clasped now behind her back. Then she smiled, lifting her chin proudly.
"I, Lavender Solmire, offer these greetings as the leader of the Stormforged Vanguard—and as a representative of the Iltherian Ascendancy."
She gave a bow—not too deep, but just enough to carry the weight of her title. There was finality in her words, and for a moment, silence reigned.
Lucien's eyes narrowed instantly. Mira's expression turned sharp, her head jerking ever so slightly in surprise.
Both their bodies stiffened.
Lucien's gaze sharpened, his noble calm now edged with warning.
"The Iltherian Ascendancy," he echoed slowly, "has no cause to be on Ordanhelm land."
His tone had dropped—controlled, but dangerous.
Then he added coldly, "And by Solmire… I presume you're acquainted with that woman."
Lavender tilted her head innocently, her eyes widening in mock surprise. Her fingers rose to her chest in an exaggerated gasp.
"There, there," she said, flashing her usual grin, "relax. We have zero reason to antagonize you. In fact—"
She pointed lazily between them all.
"—we're technically on your side."
Lucien didn't smile. He didn't even blink.
"You haven't answered me," he said, a notch colder, "What business does the Iltherian Ascendancy have on Ordanhelm land? Especially with the Stormforged Vanguard—an entity long regarded as myth—suddenly appearing without warning."
His hands were folded behind his back again—but now his fingers twitched. Mira took half a step forward, her eyes locked on Lavender's. She said nothing.
Lavender exhaled deeply—overly dramatically—rubbing her temples like a teacher dealing with a troublesome student.
"Ughhh, why are you so tense?" she whined, pacing a few steps away before spinning back around. "No need for all that pressure. I don't disagree that the question's important, but I honestly don't think now's the best time for that."
"I've already hinted to Miss Cutie over there,"—she flicked her eyes toward Mira—"but we haven't escaped that estate's clutches yet. We're still within its grasp. Still in danger. So maybe, just maybe…"—she twirled her finger around—"…we should focus on not dying before playing politics, hmm?"
She grinned again, resting her hands on her hips.
"Everything else is secondary. Of course I'll answer, but let's survive first, yeah?"
Lucien didn't move. He merely inhaled—slowly. Then…
"It seems," he said, voice as sharp as polished obsidian, "my… current messy state has caused some to forget who I am."
Suddenly—a shift.
The air tightened.
An unseen force began pressing down on the clearing like gravity had just doubled.
A magical aura began pouring from Lucien—not wild, not uncontrolled. Refined. Intentional.
But terrifying.
It wasn't the kind of power meant to inspire awe.
It was meant to kill.
Mira turned slightly to his direction, her voice low—just a whisper:
"Lucien…"
Even Charlotte's eyes narrowed.
From Mira's arms, I felt it too. That force. It wasn't admiration. It wasn't respect.
It was like a predator had entered the clearing.
The source?
Lucien's gaze—locked entirely on Lavender.
But Lavender… didn't flinch.
Instead, she clapped her hands once, her expression twisting into a grin.
"Oh my scary~," she cooed.
She twirled a strand of hair between her fingers, clearly unfazed.
"I understand the sudden urge for answers, really," she said, tossing her hand flippantly in the air. "But like I said—it's a pain to explain right now. And not exactly our priority."
She stepped forward—not aggressively, but firmly.
"I give you my word," she said with a wink, "once we're out of here alive, I'll tell you everything you want to know. That I promise."
Lucien's aura didn't recede immediately—but his stance loosened just slightly. His brows relaxed. The air grew breathable again.
"…Very well," he said finally.
He folded his arms, voice even again.
"So… what's our current situation?"