Chapter 34: The Weight of Expectation
The Everhart estate basked in the soft golden glow of the afternoon sun. The ball had long since ended, and life had returned to its usual rhythm. Yet, for Leonhardt Valerian Everhart, things were never truly usual.
He sat in his personal study, a room lined with shelves of ancient tomes and manuscripts. The large window allowed sunlight to filter in, casting shadows across the polished wooden floor. Before him, stacks of books lay open, their pages filled with knowledge from various eras—magic theories, ancient battle techniques, and forgotten histories.
But his mind wasn't focused on the text before him.
He tapped a finger against the desk, his fiery red eyes narrowed in thought. The birthday ball had been a distraction—one he had endured because it was expected of him. Yet, the weight of expectation never lessened.
The nobles had watched him after closely that night.
They whispered about his talent, marveled at his swordplay, and speculated about his future. Some sought to bind him to their families through marriage proposals, though their words had been thinly veiled under layers of courtesy.
Pathetic.
Their daughters had approached him, their voices soft, their gazes hopeful. He had rejected them all with cold indifference.
None of it mattered. Only one person mattered.
Aetheria.
Leonhardt's fingers curled slightly as he thought of her. Though they were worlds apart, though neither could see nor touch the other, the connection between them had not faded.
She is waiting… just as I am.
A knock at the door pulled him from his thoughts. "Enter," he said, his voice calm yet commanding.
The door opened, and his younger sister, Celeste Everhart, stepped inside.
Celeste, with her long, moonlit silver hair and piercing blue eyes, had an elegance beyond her years. She was only eight, yet her presence already carried the noble grace befitting a daughter of House Everhart.
"Brother," she greeted, her tone neutral but laced with curiosity.
Leonhardt nodded, gesturing for her to sit. "What brings you here?"
Celeste moved gracefully to the chair across from him, her sharp gaze studying him. "The nobles are still talking about you," she said. "Some say you were too cold. Others say you were merely acting as the heir of Everhart should."
Leonhardt exhaled softly. "And what do you say?"
A small smirk played on her lips. "I think they're fools if they believe they could impress you with pretty words and desperate smiles."
Leonhardt allowed a faint chuckle. "At least you understand."
Celeste's expression turned serious. "Father was pleased with how you handled the ball. But… Mother said you seemed distant."
Leonhardt's gaze flickered. His mother—Empress of Magic, the strongest mage in the world—was perceptive. Too perceptive. He had made sure to play the role of the noble heir flawlessly, but even so, his mother had sensed something was amiss.
"I was merely uninterested," he replied.
Celeste tilted her head slightly, unconvinced. "You never just do something, Brother. Even when you're uninterested, you make a choice."
Leonhardt leaned back in his chair, his fingers lightly tapping the armrest. His sister was young, but her mind was sharp. She had been raised in the heart of political warfare, where words and actions carried hidden meanings.
"…There is something I seek, Celeste. Something greater than titles or reputation."
Celeste's gaze sharpened. "Then I hope you find it."
Leonhardt studied her for a moment. She was an Everhart—strong, intelligent, and ruthless when necessary. In time, she would carve her own path in this world.
But for now, she was still his little sister.
"Thank you, Celeste," he said, his voice softer than before.
She smiled slightly before standing. "Mother wants to see you."
Leonhardt sighed. "Of course she does."
Without another word, Celeste left the study, the door clicking shut behind her.
The Empress of Magic
The Empress's personal chambers were vast and elegant, filled with rare artifacts and magical tomes that pulsed with energy.
Leonhardt entered without hesitation, his eyes meeting those of his mother—Lady Evelyn Everhart, the strongest mage in the world.
She stood near the grand window, the sunlight illuminating her long black hair and regal features. When she turned to face him, her golden eyes held the wisdom of one who had seen far more than she ever spoke of.
"You've been preoccupied," she said, not bothering with pleasantries.
Leonhardt met her gaze evenly. "I have many responsibilities."
Evelyn raised a brow. "That, you do. But this is different."
Leonhardt remained silent. His mother was not one to be deceived by half-truths.
"You did well at the ball," she continued, stepping closer. "Yet, there was something… distant in your eyes."
Leonhardt's jaw tightened.
Evelyn studied him for a moment longer before speaking again. "I won't ask what it is. Not yet."
Leonhardt exhaled quietly. His mother would not push him for answers, but that did not mean she was not watching.
"Whatever path you walk, Leonhardt," Evelyn said, "make sure it leads to where you truly wish to go."
Her words lingered as he left the room.
That Night: Beneath the Moonlight
The estate was silent when Leonhardt slipped into the shadows, his presence concealed by magic. He made his way to his usual training grounds, where the weight of the world disappeared, leaving only his sword and his magic.
He needed to become stronger.
Not for the empire. Not for his family.
For her.
His blade glowed under the moonlight as he moved, his strikes precise, his power sharp. His magic surged through him, whispering secrets of a forgotten god.
And far beyond the reach of mortals, Aetheria Nyx Lunaris Solis gazed at the same moon.
Unseen, untouchable, yet irrevocably connected.
The chains that bound them would not last forever.
And when the time came—the world would tremble at their reunion.