The garden outside the mansion was already packed, PTVs parked in orderly rows while more kept arriving. Guests stepped out, adjusting cuffs and dresses, greeting each other with tight smiles and practiced charm.
Inside, the air buzzed with soft music and conversation. The grand chamber was full—velvet, silk, polished shoes, glasses clinking. Every time a notable guest entered, the guards at the door announced their arrival in clear, practiced voices.
Then the doors opened again.
"Lady Song Seishan. Saint MoonVeil. Saint Beastmaster."
The room didn't go silent, but something shifted. Attention tilted subtly toward the entrance.
Seishan stepped in first—tall, composed, and striking in a quiet way. She wasn't trying to draw attention. She didn't have to. Her deep red dress was simple, but cut in a way that spoke of old money and sharp taste. Silver jewelry accented her figure without overdoing it. Her skin was smooth and pale gray—like storm clouds caught in stillness. She had the kind of beauty that didn't blink often. Calm, steady, observant.
MoonVeil followed a step behind. She moved slower, more gently. Her soft green gown seemed to ripple as she walked, not flashy, just... graceful. Her silver eyes reflected the chandelier light in an odd way, like water catching the moon. She didn't look at anyone directly, but people still noticed her.
Eunbin came last, and she didn't bother hiding the way she scanned the room. Her heels clicked a little louder, her dress darker and more dramatic, falling in layers that moved when she did. Her look wasn't meant to be polite—it was confident, maybe a bit challenging. People glanced at her, then quickly looked away when she met their eyes.
The three sisters moved through the crowd like they belonged there—not as guests, but as people with business to finish.
Seishan glanced at her sisters. "It's not terrible," she murmured. "But don't forget why we're here."
MoonVeil gave her a soft nod, already drifting toward the edge of the crowd.
Eunbin sighed like she was about to sit through a long meeting. "Mother was clear. Doesn't mean we can't enjoy ourselves a little."
Seishan gave her a look. It wasn't stern, just tired. "Don't start anything."
Eunbin smiled. It wasn't seductive or fake—just amused. The kind of smile that meant she was going to do whatever she wanted, and they both knew it.
Without another word, she slipped away toward the drinks.
Seishan stayed by the entrance for a moment, watching the crowd. She wasn't smiling. She rarely did. But she looked calm. Focused. Like she already knew who she was here to talk to—and what came next.
_____
After the meeting with Elder Knossos, Klaus was... unsettled. Not quite disturbed, not truly conflicted — just troubled, in the way one might be before making a costly move on the board. His request had been reasonable enough. Klaus could do it — of course he could. But whether he should, whether the timing aligned… that was another matter.
Not when Nephis was still missing.
His little sister.
He hadn't forgotten.
Not for a second.
The moment he'd learned she'd been left behind in the Forgotten Shore, Klaus had deployed every resource he could afford—his own elite subordinates, hired mercenaries, independent seekers—to scour the Dream Realm for any trace of her.
But there was nothing. Not a whisper. Not a shadow.
And worse, many of those he sent never returned. The Death Zones were named well—regions of the Dream Realm so merciless, so unnatural, that even the Awakened feared to speak of them. Sending people there felt less like a rescue mission and more like sacrificing pawns to an invisible god.
Klaus stood in the shadowed alcove of the second-floor hall, overlooking the glittering ballroom below. A glass of whiskey rested in his hand, untouched but slowly warming in his palm. His expression was carved from ice — beautiful in its austerity, and just as cold. Midnight-black hair spilled down his back in quiet waves, almost regal, while his brilliant, violent eyes—glowing faintly—cut through the party like a blade.
His attire, though understated, spoke volumes: a classic-cut long-sleeved shirt in crisp white, perfectly buttoned and topped with a black single-breasted vest. Rows of tone-on-tone buttons carved out the silhouette of his torso. Over it hung a tailored jacket of the same black, its wide lapels and slightly dropped shoulder lending him an effortless, refined air. One sleeve was folded back to reveal the cuff of his shirt, while the other hung naturally, as if even his clothes bowed to asymmetry. His trousers fell straight and clean, pleated with precision to elongate his frame, cinched at the waist by a black belt with a simple rectangular silver buckle.
He looked casual. Beautiful. And faintly dangerous.
Behind him stood Anna.
Her navy hair was pinned back loosely, waves falling like ink over her shoulders. Her face, pale and composed, wore the mask of control — but her hands were folded just a little too tightly behind her back.
She was dressed to match him — a sleek black suit, high-waisted trousers with sharp pleats, and a classic white shirt beneath a black tie. Her jacket was worn over her shoulders like a cape, never once disturbing the lines of her silhouette. Refined, modern… and lethal.
She stood silently as Klaus lifted the glass to his lips. He let the liquor sit on his tongue, then swallowed slowly, as if savoring the burn. His eyes didn't move from the crowd below, but he spoke — his voice amused, low, just above a whisper.
"Isn't it amusing, Anna? So many murderers... dressed in silk and smiling like saints."
Anna's lips twitched. Her composure cracked for a heartbeat, revealing something like nervousness.
"A-ah… yes. Of course… but you're clearly the most civilized of them all, sir. Spectacular, even."
Klaus chuckled. A soft sound, but there was nothing warm about it. He tilted his head, finally glancing at her.
"Mm. Right. You tried to kill me once, didn't you?"
Anna stiffened. Her throat bobbed as she swallowed, a bead of sweat trailing slowly down her temple.
"I… I remember."
"Mm. I do too," Klaus murmured, turning his gaze back to the ballroom. "You almost succeeded."
She had. That much was true. Anna had been stronger — a monster draped in porcelain. Her aspect had turned her into something unstoppable, a Juggernaut in the body of a delicate girl. She had power, raw and terrifying. She had nearly won.
But she'd been injured. Depleted. Her body had betrayed her before her will did. And Klaus — back then still just a powerful Awakened — had taken advantage of that.
She still remembered the fight. The way he broke every bone in her body with that cruel, focused precision. And then, the phoenix — that cursed, gleaming spirit of his — would heal her, only for Klaus to shatter her again. Over. And over. And over.
She had never screamed. But she remembered.
Now, she served him. Which, in her mind, was better than being beaten into the floor again.
She forced a smile, shaky but sincere. "You were… impressive, back then."
Klaus sipped again, then let out a soft sigh. "You're not lying — that's progress."
A silence stretched. Then Anna, still rattled, tried to redirect.
"What do you think about Elder Knossos's proposal?"
Klaus didn't answer immediately. He stared forward, his glowing eyes unfocused—deep in thought.
"Risky," he said finally. "But with high rewards."
Anna nodded, then asked the real question that had been gnawing at her.
It slipped out before she could stop herself.
"Are you afraid, sir?"
Her heart skipped. She knew he was prideful, and pride rarely took kindly to vulnerability.
But Klaus didn't react with anger. He simply tilted his head, considering.
"…A little," he admitted. "But when has fear ever stopped me? I've grown rather comfortable with it over the years."
He shifted slightly, the dim light catching the edges of his jawline, the curve of his grin.
"What do you think, Anna? What's the foundation of courage?"
She stepped forward to refill his glass, fingers just barely trembling. Her voice came slower this time — thoughtful, distant.
"Loyalty," she said. "Loyalty is the root of courage. Be it to a person, a cause, or even your own ambition. The moment you hesitate, the moment you doubt your path… everything becomes more dangerous. Loyalty gives fear a reason to be conquered. Without it, courage is just recklessness."
Klaus raised a brow. "Interesting."
He sipped, then let a crooked grin cut across his face—a smile with too many teeth.
"I can respect that," he murmured.
Then his smile twisted into something darker, feral. A grin that curled like smoke from the ashes of a battlefield.
Anna shivered.
"After all…" Klaus whispered, his voice like velvet wrapped around steel. "I'm the one who planted the bright tree of bravery with my own hands—and nourished it with the blood of my enemies."
Anna stiffened again. Her mouth was dry. She nodded slowly, carefully — as one does when standing beside a coiled serpent.
Watching Klaus in silence, Anna let out a quiet sigh. She hadn't followed Klaus because he inspired hope or loyalty. Not really. She obeyed him simply because she had lost — and he was the winner.
And in Anna's world, the only thing that ever mattered was this: the winner takes it all, while the loser is left to rot.