Chapter 7: The Celestial Weaver's Atelier
Cassian the Weaver
The moment they stepped onto the bustling streets of Eryndor, the air shifted.
The presence of House Vaelthyr had always carried weight, but today, it was different. The people hushed, eyes drawn instinctively to the veiled woman and the small figure beside her. Though their faces were concealed, there was no hiding the ethereal allure that clung to them like a second skin.
The sigil adorning the carriage—a silver tiger entwined with a storm—left little room for doubt. House Vaelthyr rarely ventured so openly into the city, and when they did, it was cause for speculation.
Whispers rippled through the crowd.
"Who are they?"
"I've never seen them before… but that child—"
"Could it be? The rumored bastard son?"
Kitsaro paid them no mind, his posture poised, his movements deliberate. He walked just a step behind his mother, mirroring her grace with practiced ease.
Sylvara, ever composed, merely cast a glance at him through the thin lace of her veil. "Do not acknowledge them," she murmured. "They are beneath your notice."
Kitsaro nodded once. There was no need to waste energy on idle curiosity. He would let them wonder.
They continued forward, weaving through the streets with an unspoken elegance, until they arrived before a grand establishment—a masterpiece of artistry and aristocratic refinement.
The Aurevellis Atelier.
A haven of luxury, its entrance was framed by silver-etched pillars, the doors carved with intricate constellations woven into flowing patterns of golden thread. The emblem of the atelier, a radiant peacock with its tail unfurled in cosmic splendor, gleamed against the polished wood.
This was more than a tailor's shop. It was a place where garments were crafted not just as fashion, but as declarations of power. Every noble worth their name sought to be adorned in attire tailored by Cassian Aurevellis—the famed Celestial Weaver.
And today, they had come for something far greater than mere fabric.
The Celestial Peacock's Gaze
As they stepped inside, the scent of rare incense and fine textiles enveloped them. Rows of mannequins displayed breathtaking garments—robes embroidered with celestial sigils, capes woven with enchanted thread, gowns that shimmered with an ethereal glow.
The moment their presence registered, a figure emerged from behind a gilded partition.
Tall and striking, his beauty was nearly unreal—features sculpted to perfection, his raven-black hair cascading in artful waves, and his robes flowing like liquid silk. But it was his eyes that truly captivated.
A shifting kaleidoscope of colors, as though the entire sky had been captured within them.
For a heartbeat, he simply stared.
Then, his lips parted, and in a voice rich with amusement and reverence, he exhaled—
"…Well."
A slow smile curled his lips as he stepped forward, fingers brushing against the pearl buttons of his high-collared tunic. "To think I would live to see the day that Sylvara Vaelthyr graces my humble atelier." His gaze swept to Kitsaro, and his smile deepened.
"And with such a stunning young shadow trailing behind her."
Sylvara's lips quirked, her voice carrying its usual smooth, controlled lilt. "You exaggerate as always, Cassian."
Cassian laughed, a low, indulgent sound. "My dear, if anything, I do not exaggerate enough." He placed a hand over his heart and sighed dramatically. "To think that I, the most dazzling creature in this wretched kingdom, would be outshone in my very own domain…"
His gaze flickered back to Kitsaro. "And by a mere child, no less."
Kitsaro remained silent, studying the man before him. Cassian Aurevellis.
A name whispered in noble circles, not only for his peerless craftsmanship but for the power he wielded behind the scenes.
The Aurevellis bloodline was descended from Aetheris, the Celestial Peacock—a divine beast renowned for its ability to see through deception and weave fate itself into tangible form.
Even in the world of nobility, Cassian was untouchable.
Because beneath his gilded persona, he was a master of information.
Sylvara's voice was smooth as silk. "Kitsaro, this is Cassian Aurevellis. A dear friend."
Cassian's eyes sparkled with mirth. "Dear friend?" He pressed a delicate hand to his chest, feigning offense. "My heart bleeds at such an underwhelming introduction."
Sylvara merely tilted her head. "Shall I call you my informant instead?"
Cassian's expression froze for half a second—so brief that most would have missed it. But Kitsaro saw the flicker of sharpness behind his prismatic gaze before it smoothed back into an easy grin.
"Ah, my dear, you wound me." He gestured grandly, stepping aside. "Come, come. Let us not keep the young master waiting."
With a snap of his fingers, a procession of attendants entered the room, each one carrying rolls of enchanted fabric.
Cassian turned to Kitsaro. "Tell me, young master," he purred. "How would you like to be adorned for the Awakening Day?"
Kitsaro studied the lavish fabrics, but before he could speak, Cassian leaned in, his voice dropping to a whisper.
"…Or shall I tailor something worthy of the storm brewing in your veins?"
Kitsaro met his gaze—and did not look away.
A slow, knowing smile spread across Cassian's lips.
"Oh," he murmured. "You truly are your mother's son."
Whispers Behind Silk Curtains
As the attendants guided Kitsaro towards the measuring chamber, Cassian led Sylvara to a secluded VIP suite—a hidden space reserved for only the most elite of clients.
The moment the doors closed, the air between them shifted.
Cassian's usual theatrical charm faded, his expression sharpening into something far more dangerous. He moved towards an elegant table, pouring two glasses of rare moonflower wine before offering one to Sylvara.
She accepted, settling into the velvet seat across from him.
For a long moment, neither spoke.
Then—
"You knew I would come," Sylvara said, swirling the wine in her glass.
Cassian smirked. "Of course. But I must say, your timing is impeccable."
He leaned back, gaze gleaming. "I was just thinking about how… fascinating it is, don't you agree?"
Sylvara arched a delicate brow. "Be specific."
Cassian exhaled, fingers tapping against his glass.
"All the great noble houses," he murmured. "The heirs to each bloodline—each born in the same year."
Sylvara remained silent.
Cassian chuckled. "It's almost as if fate itself has woven an elaborate game." His gaze turned sharp. "One where the pieces are falling into place far too neatly."
A pause.
Then, his eyes flickered towards the chamber where Kitsaro was being measured.
"How curious it will be," he mused. "To see what kind of man your son becomes in a world where all the wolves are sharpening their fangs at the same time."
Sylvara sipped her wine, unbothered.
"Oh, Cassian," she murmured, setting the glass down.
A slow, dangerous smile curved her lips.
"He won't just be a wolf."
Cassian's eyes glowed with intrigue.
"He will be the storm that devours them all."
~~~~~
Kitsaro was led through a grand corridor, its walls lined with enchanted mirrors reflecting shifting constellations. The attendants moved with rehearsed precision, ushering him into a luxurious chamber adorned with celestial motifs. A plush divan rested against one wall, and a gilded mannequin stood in the center, surrounded by rolls of exquisite fabrics imbued with arcane energy.
The moment he stepped inside, the doors shut soundlessly behind him. Servants immediately set to work, measuring his frame with ribbons that hovered and glowed, recording every inch of his physique without the need for touch.
Kitsaro remained still, watching their efficient movements while lost in thought.
He had expected Cassian Aurevellis to be influential, but the sheer extent of his presence in the noble world unsettled him.
'Mother called him a dear friend.'
It had been a casual statement, but the weight behind it was undeniable.
Kitsaro knew Cassian from the original story—he was the one who had crafted the legendary battle garments for Rieken Valerion. The protagonist had sought him out, gathering rare materials to forge an outfit imbued with divine protections, a suit that would serve as both armor and status.
But Cassian had remained neutral, favoring no noble house, always serving only those who could afford his craft.
So why was his mother, a woman shrouded in secrecy, connected to him so deeply?
Sylvara never flaunted her influence. She had always moved in the shadows, ensuring that the world only saw what she wanted them to see.
'How deep does her reach go?'
Kitsaro had assumed House Vaelthyr's downfall was inevitable. That Sylvara had perished along with their name while Cassian, ever the survivor, had endured past their ruin.
But what if that wasn't true?
What if his mother's influence ran far deeper than he had anticipated?
And what if her presence in the original timeline had been deliberately erased?
His thoughts were interrupted as the doors to the chamber opened once more.
Cassian and Sylvara entered, their steps silent against the marble floor. The air shifted immediately, as if the very room adjusted to their presence.
Cassian's gaze swept over Kitsaro, his prismatic eyes gleaming with approval. "My, my, young master," he mused, "even standing still, you command attention."
Sylvara took a seat by the grand vanity, her expression unreadable. "Will you be handling the fitting yourself, Cassian?"
Cassian placed a hand over his chest, feigning offense. "My dear, you wound me. Would I dare entrust such an honor to another?"
With a snap of his fingers, the enchanted ribbons unraveled from Kitsaro's form and vanished. Cassian moved with practiced ease, his fingers weaving through the air as golden threads of light coalesced around Kitsaro.
"Now, tell me, Sylvara," Cassian murmured. "Do I have permission to create something… befitting of your bloodline?"
Sylvara inclined her head. "Make it exquisite," she said. "But subtle."
Cassian's smile widened, satisfaction gleaming in his ever-shifting gaze. "Oh, you do know how to challenge me."
With a flick of his wrist, the air shimmered.
Illusions bloomed around Kitsaro—garments of celestial elegance formed and faded, shifting seamlessly from one design to another.
For a moment, Kitsaro felt as if he was truly wearing them. The fabric clung to him, light yet tangible, moving with his every breath. Yet he knew it wasn't real.
'This… this is on a different level.'
Cassian's mastery over illusions wasn't just deception—it was artistry. Even nobles of high divine beast bloodlines would be fooled.
"Impressive, isn't it?" Cassian murmured, watching Kitsaro's reaction with amusement. "I dare say there is no greater craftsman in this kingdom."
Kitsaro remained silent as more designs appeared before him—each a masterpiece of power and grace.
Crimson-trimmed robes woven with subtle enchantments. Midnight cloaks laced with celestial constellations.
Until finally—
Kitsaro's hand lifted. "Stop."
The illusions halted instantly.
He stared at the ensemble before him.
An all-white robe, flowing yet structured, with delicate golden lines running along its fabric. A single, regal cape draped over his left shoulder, while a fur-lined mantle of pristine white fox fur adorned the other. The design exuded a quiet authority—elegant yet commanding.
For a brief moment, Cassian simply stared. Then—
A slow, knowing smile curled his lips.
"Oh, my dear boy," he drawled, stepping closer. "That face… in this attire… will topple not only men but women as well."
Kitsaro's brow twitched.
Sylvara, however, only nodded in approval. "That will do." She glanced at Cassian. "Make mine the same."
Cassian's eyes widened in delighted surprise before he threw his hands up dramatically. "A mother-son ensemble! Oh, how absolutely divine! Truly, Sylvara, you do spoil me."
With another flourish, the illusions faded, and Cassian signaled his attendants to begin crafting the garments for real.
Just as they were about to exit, the atmosphere shifted abruptly.
A commotion stirred outside the atelier. Raised voices, followed by the unmistakable sound of an entitled noblewoman's impatience.
"I demand to see Cassian!"
The door to the main hall slammed open as an elegantly dressed woman stormed inside, her aura brimming with irritation.
Selene Vaelthyr.
The moment Kitsaro laid eyes on her, he felt his mother's posture straighten beside him.
The attendants shrank back, whispering among themselves.
"We told her Cassian was with a VIP…"
Yet Selene had disregarded them entirely, her expression dark with frustration.
Then, her gaze landed on Sylvara.
The air went still.
Sylvara, ever composed, did not react with anger or disdain.
Instead, her lips curled in a slow, almost pitying smile.
"What a disgrace," she murmured.
Selene's expression twisted. "What—"
"To shout so crudely," Sylvara continued, voice smooth as silk, "as the main wife of House Vaelthyr. How… embarrassing."
A tense silence filled the room.
Selene's face burned with fury, her hands clenched into fists.
Kitsaro remained silent, watching the scene unfold, but inside—
A realization struck him.
His mother wasn't just surviving in this world.
She was thriving.
And soon—
So would he.