Year 497 of the Imperial Calendar, the Grand Ballroom of the Roquemagne Imperial Palace.

It was blindingly decorated with gold leaf and rubies. A night where nobles draped themselves in silk and jewels, their lips coated in honeyed flattery.

In the center of it all, he sits perched on the throne, slowly rolling his eyes. He scanned the ballroom. As if appraising livestock.

Under the light of the chandeliers, he frowned as if annoyed whenever his slicked-back silver hair fell loose. The long silver earring hanging from one ear swayed and reflected the light, sparkling every time he turned his head.

'Guest.'

He taps the armrest of the throne with his finger. Without rhythm, just a signal that he is bored.

The sound rings out strangely clearly through the buzz of the ballroom. A few nobles sitting nearby held their breath to that beat. It was the point where the absence of his master was starting to become uncomfortable.

A suffocating silence descended upon the ballroom. This sight—dozens of nobles in one space, yet as quiet as a funeral—was the true face of the Empire he had created.

Those who were quick-witted had already sensed that the fact that one 'person' had not yet arrived was scratching at his nerves.

The musicians began to play again, sensing the mood, but the melody trembled unsteadily. The violin bow slipped on the strings. A single sharp noise tore through the smooth melody.

...Now.

He slowly raises his upper body at the unpleasant sound.

Just before he fully stands, the massive doors swing open. The sound of footsteps echoes through the ballroom, which had felt empty as the murmuring and music stopped.

A steady pace, neither slow nor fast. A back and head held straight.

His lazily lowered eyes slowly open, following only the one person walking in while lightly greeting the nobles lined up on either side.

You're late.

The masterpiece of Ottiline. That one is mine.