"We don’t see things as they are, we see them as we are."
***
The Grand Cathedral of Awakening looked like it was trying too hard.
Twin spires clawed at the morning sky like they were personally offended by heaven’s existence. Stained glass windows the size of manor walls threw rainbows across the approach. Every panel showed so legendary mont. The First Awakening. The Sundering. The Binding of the Elental Lords. All the greatest hits.
The air itself felt heavy. Centuries of accumulated mana pressed against my senses and made my teeth ache. The fresh scar on my chest pulsed in response, still tender beneath my doublet.
The stage is set. The audience is gathering. And here I am, walking into the lion’s den dressed as the world’s most pathetic sheep.
At least this sheep has hidden claws.
"Master?" Lyra’s voice carried the perfect tremor of nervous uncertainty. She adjusted the leather satchel containing my "necessities." A vial of slling salts. A handkerchief for my "delicate constitution." A small flask of brandy for "dicinal purposes."
Props. All props.
"Perhaps we should wait a mont? You’ve gone quite pale."
I let my shoulders draw inward. A subtle hunch that would be visible to the nobles clustering on the cathedral steps. My hands found each other at waist level, fingers twisting together.
"I’m fine, Lyra. Just nervous. What if I embarrass myself? What if the ceremony doesn’t work properly for soone like ?"
The whispers started imdiately.
"Gods above, is that really Kaelen Leone? He looks ready to faint before he even crosses the threshold."
"Poor girl. My father says the Leone house is barely clinging to solvency. She must be the only competent servant they can still afford."
"Do you rember when he set fire to Lady Thornfield’s dress at the Spring Gala? At least this ti everything’s made of stone."
A laugh, quickly stifled. "Assuming he doesn’t find a way to set the stone itself on fire."
I hunched further. Kept my gaze fixed on the worn grooves in the cathedral steps. Let my black hair fall forward like a curtain that partially obscured my face.
Every gesture deliberate. Every visible tremor on purpose.
The massive oak doors stood open wide. Each one carved with spiraling runes that pulsed with inner light. Beyond them, the cathedral’s interior hit in waves.
First ca the warmth from hundreds of floating candles. Their flas ford shifting patterns in the air. Then the scale of the place crushed . The vaulted ceiling disappeared into darkness so high it felt like stepping into a cavern that reached for the stars.
The original novel spent three full pages describing this place. I rember thinking it was the most pretentious fantasy nonsense I’d ever read.
Turns out the author undersold it. Reality has a way of making fiction look modest.
As we crossed the threshold, I felt the Rune of Diminishnt respond to the cathedral’s ancient wards. The carved lines on my skin grew warm. Not painful. Just noticeable. A reminder of what I was carrying.
The effect was like wearing a lead blanket that only I could feel. My presence seed to blur at the edges. Even my footsteps on the marble sounded quieter than they should. My shadow looked less distinct against the polished floor.
Perfect.
The great houses had arranged themselves throughout the nave with the careful choreography of decades-old tradition. Each family claid their section with exactitude that spoke to rigid custom. Their colors and banners created a living map of the kingdom’s power structure.
Who stood near whom. Who faced which direction. Who commanded the sight lines. Who occupied the periphery. It told the story of Aethelgard’s politics better than any textbook.
House Valerius commanded the pri position nearest the altar. Blue and gold banners caught the candlelight like they were glowing from within.
And there, at their center, stood Leo von Valerius.
The protagonist himself.
Seeing him in person again reminded exactly why the original author made him the hero. He was tall without being imposing. Broad-shouldered without being brutish. His golden hair caught the light at angles that seed geotrically impossible. Like reality itself was conspiring to make him look heroic.
Even his posture projected confidence without arrogance. Strength without aggression. He was, in every asurable way, the platonic ideal of a fantasy hero made flesh.
No wonder the original Kaelen resented him so deeply. Standing next to Leo von Valerius must feel like being a candle placed beside the sun and being asked to provide light.
You can’t even be angry about it. The comparison is simply too absolute.
"Master Kaelen."
The voice belonged to Marcus Blackwood. Younger brother to the more dangerous Marcel. A boy about my age who shared the family’s sharp features but none of the cunning that made them genuinely threatening.
He approached with two other minor nobles in tow. All of them wore expressions of barely contained amusent. Bored aristocrats who’d spotted easy entertainnt.
"How unexpected to see you here. I thought perhaps your family might have reconsidered after your recent difficulties at the estate."
I forced my spine to curve further. Made my voice crack on the first syllable.
"I, well, Father insisted it was necessary. Said it was important for the family na, even if I’m not... that is, even if I might not be..."
"Of course, of course." Marcus exchanged glances with his companions. A conversation conducted entirely in smirks and raised eyebrows. He was enjoying this. Savoring it.
"I’m sure you’ll do perfectly well. After all, the ceremony works for everyone, doesn’t it? Even if the results are modest." He let the word hang in the air. "There’s no sha in a D-rank class. Soone has to fill the administrative positions."
"Indeed." This ca from a girl I didn’t imdiately recognize. Her erald dress and the serpent pin at her throat marked her as House Morgenthorne. One of Elena’s nurous cousins.
"Though I must say, I heard your maid is remarkably capable. Perhaps she could tutor you in sword work? I understand she’s shown more aptitude than so nobles."
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