The days passed by as usual. Selaphiel was known to be glamorous, preferring the finer things in life—balls, jewelry, court intrigue, and the occasional gossip.
This alone made her an outlier even among elves.
However, her reasons for organizing a ball this ti weren’t rooted in vanity, as most would assu—especially with the country still knee-deep in a brutal war with Heieg.
No, her reasons ran far deeper than appearances.
Firstly, she’d been away from Ophris, and from the northern human enclaves, for over a decade.
A blink to an elf, but a lifeti for humans. In that ti, allegiances would have shifted, power structures broken and remade.
Betrayals, deaths, coups, and new contenders rising from the ashes—she had missed it all. And that was unacceptable.
Knowledge was power. No race knew that more intimately than the elves.
Which is why her invitations reached far beyond Pyrellis, encompassing all corners of Ophris.
Nobles of every rank, influential families from the provinces, rural warlords, drug kingpins, pirate captains, smuggling ring leaders, bishops and cardinals of the Church—everyone and anyone of consequence received one.
And few dared decline, lest they draw the ire of House Von Heim.
This was going to be a grand reception unlike anything the kingdom had seen since the war began.
It wasn’t just a party. It was a ssage. A declaration of Selaphiel’s return, and of the Von Heim family’s continued prestige.
A warning, too. Targeted attacks, assassinations, covert plots, none of it would pass under her watchful gaze.
But such brazenness drew attention, not just from the common elite, but from those operating in deeper shadows. Underground organizations stirred, proxies from magical civilisations raised their heads.
Even the mysterious group that Emrys once belonged to had taken note. Despite the chaos Selaphiel stirred, they remained undeterred in their hunt for the Ring of Nyx. But they still sent agents to watch.
Farther afield, the ruins of Drakensmar had birthed more graveyards.
Powerful mages and rival organizations clashed there, eager to uncover what led to its downfall, or to pillage whatever artifacts it left behind.
The wreckage had beco a wonder of the world.
And then—
"Stop pushing!"
"I’m not pushing."
"Will the both of you calm down?!"
Lugh flinched. The pencil in his hand jerked, dragging a crooked line across the blueprint. He let out a slow sigh, reaching for his eraser.
Once the error was gone, he went back to asuring and sketching, adjusting the curved fras of another Rhywing variant
A breath tickled the nape of his neck. He stilled.
"What are you doing?"
"Watching"
Ca the soft reply.
It was Sela. Standing directly behind him, her mismatched eyes were locked on the blueprint.
He turned his head slightly, confird her presence, then refocused on his work. She leaned in again. His eye twitched.
"Ha! We made the headlines again!"
"Those aren’t the headlines, idiot."
"Who are you calling an idiot?!"
"I told you to stop yelling!"
Lugh turned again to see Mirelle, Lirienne, and Aveline bickering, as they had been all week. Ever since their grandmother arrived, his room had beco their favourite gathering spot.
At first, he didn’t care. Now, their constant noise was starting to needle at sothing within him.
An impressive feat, considering he once thought he couldn’t feel irritation anymore.
His eyes drifted to the parchnt they were huddled over. Black pages, white ink, co to think of it...
"What is that?"
He asked.
They froze. Lugh didn’t ask questions often.
"Oh, this?"
Mirelle waved it.
"It’s a newspaper."
"It doesn’t look like the ones I know"
He said, frowning.
"Well, that’s because it’s... different. Co, I’ll show you."
He walked over to the bed and sat as they spread the pages before him.
THE OPHRIS DAILY ORACLE
"If it bleeds, it leads."
Volu 214, No. 7 — April 7, Year of the Drowned Sigil
Independent. Inford. Indispensable.
JADE TOWER BREAKS ITS SILENCE — ’SELECTION’ RETURNS AFTER DECADE OF DARKNESS
By Arlann Desre, Senior Correspondent (Politics & Arcana)
Pyrellis, Ophris – After ten long years shrouded in silence and speculation, the Jade Tower has finally erged from its self-imposed isolation with a declaration that has already set fires blazing in magical circles across the country.
This morning, in a sealed letter hand-delivered to major arcane news houses and high-ranking noble estates alike, the Tower confird the return of the Selection—the fabled and feared trial by which enforcer candidates are chosen.
A once-every-five-years tradition before the war derailed its cycle, the Selection has now been revived under ergency doctrine.
The eligibility bracket has widened to include candidates aged 15 to 25, a clear concession to the lost generation of would-be enforcers whose youth was consud by battlefield smoke and whispered sorcery.
Critics question the timing. That the announcent rides so closely behind the Von Heim House’s audacious Grand Gathering has not gone unnoticed.
Sources within the southern prefectures claim the Tower is "moving to reassert control" after a decade of fractured allegiances and unchecked magical interference.
As one anonymous informant from the Coldmark Enclave put it:
"The Jade Tower never acts without reason. If they’re stepping into the light now, it ans the shadows have gotten out of hand."
For the uninitiated, Enforcers are those tasked with the most secretive of missions: preserving the masquerade of magic, silencing leaks, and policing arcane transgressions—even among their own.
Their nas are erased from civil record. Their allegiance is to the Tower alone.
This year’s Selection, already being dubbed the Blood Draft in less reputable taverns, is expected to be more brutal than ever.
Applications open next week. Surviving them, as always, is another matter entirely.
"RIVAL VOICES" QUOTE BOX
— Counterpoints from the Arcane Underground —
"If the Tower thinks it can muzzle magic after what we’ve seen in Drakensmar, they’re fools wrapped in silk. The old world is cracking, and their enforcers won’t plug the dam."
— Haldrin Vex, exiled sorcerer & founder of the Broken Fla Movent
"A delayed purge is still a purge. And we haven’t forgotten what happened to the last batch of ’top rankers.’"
— Ivy Morell, Dissident Channel & Pirate Queen of the Greyshore
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THE WHISPER WINDOW
Your most trusted source for unverified nonsense and inconvenient truths.
BALL OF THE DAMNED?
Rumors swirl like cheap perfu around the upcoming Von Heim Grand Reception, and society is frothing at the mouth.
Lady Selaphiel Von Heim—yes, that Selaphiel, the one who vanished for ten years and supposedly drank tea with the ghosts of Drakensmar—is throwing a ball. In the middle of a war.
Why? Sources claim it’s not for pleasure—it’s for positioning. A show of dominance. A social detonation.
And here’s the kicker:
Pirate captains have received embroidered invitations.
A bishop reportedly wept upon opening his.
Soone swears they saw a drug lord buying a tuxedo.
And one cardinal has already fled Pyrellis "for spiritual reflection."
Insiders say the guest list reads like a confession scroll—nobles, criminals, and every flavor of power broker in between. No one knows what Selaphiel plans... but everyone’s dressing for survival, not style.
A guard near the Von Heim estate claims he overheard servants discussing "liquid scry-blockers" and "diplomatic poison thresholds." Another whisper? The ballroom has been reinforced against aerial intrusion.
Whatever this is—it’s not just a party.
It’s a reckoning. With music.
WHO’S WEARING WHAT (AND WHO MIGHT DIE IN IT)
Because looking stunning while possibly being assassinated is a lost art.
Lady Tharia Almsfield – Rumored to appear in antique silver armor repurposed into a ballroom gown. Sources say the pauldrons alone hide six blades. "I don’t plan to dance," she said. "Just deter."
Count Virell Drenz – Commissioned an outfit made entirely from Leviathan silk and spite. Tailored to conceal two flasks, three daggers, and one very small flute. "For peace," he added ominously.
High Cardinal Enthros – Already left the city citing divine premonitions, but his double is expected in full regalia, sapphire-encrusted chainmail, and a pocket sermon titled "On Forgiveness and Ballistic Retaliation."
Mistress Chi – Cri matriarch and known fashion terrorist. Allegedly plans to attend in nothing but illusions. "If you can see the dress, that’s your problem," she purred.
Selaphiel Von Heim – The lady of the hour. Outfit unknown. All we know is:
Four tailors have vanished.
A cursed mannequin was wheeled into her manor.
One stylist was heard screaming.
Fashion Forecast: 97% chance of drama, 45% chance of blood, 12% chance soone accidentally proposes marriage during a knife fight.
...
Lugh didn’t get surprised often. It had happened 3 tis this week
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