The Ides of Wither [OPEN]

[Pharaoh]

The Ides of Wither
75 Ash, 122 Steel

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The majority of Solunarium Proper participated in the festivities ringing in the hundredth year of their Solar Sovereign's reign. The population was primed to venerate Her Divine Radiance. From their earliest days, when their minds were at their most malleable, most had been conditioned through mundane and magical means to regard the Crown as the true, sacrosanct avatar of their Founding Deities. For most of the attendees, Thalya IV had ruled for their entire lives.

From the Radiant Plaza before the steps of the Palatium Furiarum, the procession began. Wyvern-riders soared overhead along beautifully-choreographed courses in formation, as soldiers from every branch of the Solunarian Military marched or road mounts through the broad streets of the ancient city. Though the sun that shone overhead was artificial, the glistering armour of the Golden Guard shone with an equally unnatural lustre, as Centurions on basilisk-back road between their conscripti.

Merchants had set up stalls to feed the onlookers, as hours were spent watching the festivity as the procession of soldiers gave way to the progress of tamed beasts, Vastian nobles of the senatorial class followed by their Re'hyæan counterparts and eventually royals of divine Varværyn pedigree. Although a great deal of enthusiasm answered the appearance of such lofty figures, the absence of any sign of the Draconic Dynasty served as a subtle and silent disappointment to many of those assembled. Still the festivities were just beginning, and the day promised much more, so the Zalkyrians might yet make an appearance.

The Solar Sovereign's glowing, golden litter was flanked by the kineticists holding it aloft with their Craft and Masqueraders who amplified the natural beauty of the precious metals and gems arrayed as they were with ætherial augmentation. Her Divine Radiance's smile was as faint, stoic and illegible as ever. As surrounded as she was by wards and other enhancements, even a Grandmaster Sembler of Cithæra Princeps' acumen struggled to get a read on the monarch's Aura, and as the Solunarian head-of-state was a Grandmaster Mesmer in her own right, her Symphony was obscured from any who might dare to delve.

Behind all the ornamentations and augmentations, though, Thalya IV Imperatrix was anxious. This was not the jubilee she'd envisioned for herself. Certainly, all the pieces were in place. The parade proceeded without a hitch, the assembled were as enraptured as they were meant to be and, as far as she was aware, the secret weapon poised to preserve her legacy remained intact. But there were concerning developments, lo these past few weeks. Ahead of her litter, she watched the back of her grandson's head as the Princeps Pontifex waved to the crowds on either side. He'd grown reticent of late, and offered no updates as to the developments of his mission to offset Arcas' endeavours in Solunarium. At least she'd been given to the understanding that the benighted demi-god had quit their realms, and she did hope that was to be a lasting absence.

The Solunarian second sun was making its march through the firmament as the parade's participants processed below it. Hours passed and, in time, the parade reached its terminus: The Fortis Lacerta Arena. Those who rated highly enough to be seated within the stadium itself would be treated to food and drink, whether seated on the sidelines or the nosebleeds. So coveted was a spot within the stadium, that even the loftiest of Vastians was seated in the distant stands far above the freshly raked sands of the arena.

All poised themselves for an evening of entertainment, as each branch of the royal House of Sol'Aværys was expected to offer a gift of diversion to complement their renewal of fealty. It was rumoured that Prince Drævyn, on behalf of Gens Danann, would present an exhibition match between storied gladiators. The Princeps Legata, representing Gens Astræon, was to present a choreographed flight of wyvern-riders upon their mounts. Gens Sorokyn was to offer exotic elementalist dancers, Gens Naxos a public sacrificial execution by Lex Agni, and Gens Vlahos a theatrical excerpt from the most renowned opera singers in all of Solunarium. But it was Gens Phædryn, the cagiest of the lot, who would present first though few knew what they planned to offer.

Those gathered hushed at the sound of the fanfare presaging the arrival of Her Divine Radiance, the Solar Sovereign, into the royal box. It was only a few moments, before the Phædryn materfamilias, Cithæra Princeps Sibylla, stepped out onto the sands of the arena and approached the royal box flanked by her two legitimate children, Valæra and Phocion Princeps, and proceeded by her baseborn son, Raithen, and a complement of twelve Silver Sentinels clad in black- their faces veiled from view.

Cithæra, in a sleek, simple gown of black and silver that flowed with the light evening breeze, bowed to the empress. Her children and the attending Vigils followed suit, and Thalya looked down upon them from above expectantly.

"Cousin." The Sovereign looked down imperiously from her lofty seat. "You may begin."

"Gratias, Your Divine Radiance..." Cithæra ventured to lift her head to regard the monarch above, and the packed crowd surrounding her on all sides. "I think it meet that our gift should precede our obeisances, and so on behalf of Phædryn's house, I offer unto thee, noble sovereign, a gift of music that blends our ancient traditions with the novel, foreign customs that have begun to seep into our culture as Solunarium advances into a new epoch." She walked in a lazy circle making sure to address all sides of the stadium, gesturing to the rear entrance, which opened to reveal a tall, handsome human pale of skin but light of eye. Following him into the arena was a troupe of well-known musicians from the Umbrium, known to supplement their artistry with their sundry disciplines of ætheric Craft.

"I give you Finn Farstrider and Euterpæ!" Cithæra smiled broadly to Finn, her Sembling eyes unable to miss the glint of the otherwise invisible Emblem rounding his brow. She inclined her head encouragingly, as she swept by and cleared the staging area for the musicians.

[Hilana Chenzira]

The last couple of days since the pilgrimage had been busy indeed. And much to her surprise for the second time in less than a month, Hilana was dressed in an outfit that screamed refinement. But at least now she had a better idea as to how and why she had merited an invitation; and further, expectations of how to style and behave herself. The Aurisian ball had been a start, and this was more of the same. But with all that had transpired since then… this seemed to have higher stakes. Though perhaps it was just that she was slightly more aware of them.

The Vastiana was one of the rare few without any Re’hyaean blood on the sidelines. There were Arvaeryan mixed bloods around, though the vast majority were Re’hyaeans. Her attire represented the house that she could be assumed to be connected to, and those assumptions about those connections were for others to make. Her lessons in Tertium had taught her how to carry and present herself, and the sweeping satin and silk sari outfit was familiar garb for her indeed. She was dressed in the colours of House Phaedryn; black and silver, with no shortage of silvery chains contrasting sharply with her skin and onyx hair. While the black blouse with the embroidered adornments allowed for her toned, tanned arms to be free, she was still appropriately covered. Every curve she had was hugged by the draping, pleats, and folds of the fabric. Crescent moons and no shortage of stars, some of which formed constellations of flying dragons, decorated the long sari. Over the blouse were any number of delicate silver chains, draped from the ornate necklace and down, crisscrossing her body and resting at her hips and connecting at the back of the necklace. Her oiled hair was braided and pinned in a cascading style that ended in an elegant bun held in place by silvery sticks, each ending with more of the chains that hung and others that connected to each other. She didn’t need any more height, considering she already had her long legs, and as such had black, slipper-like shoes on that were secured at the ankle.

But around her shoulders was her usual companion, Tiaz. The black, grey, and white python was draped and coiled, a relaxed living accessory, though his head was up and his tongue flickered, tasting the scents of those around him. She accepted the offered drink, her eyes bright as she watched Princess Cithaera with her daughter and two of her sons. She had to wonder about the third; she hadn’t seen Arvaelyn since she had gone into the Thalamum Draconum. She hoped he was alright, and she wondered if he was amongst those Sentinels who were with the others. Though it was hidden to those who looked at her, Hilana had worn her Mask of Midnight’s Mother… allowing her far more safety than she might normally have had amongst such a lofty crowd. It actively dissuaded against those that might try to inspect her aura or listen to her Symphony, all while it gave her the opportunity to see who was connected to whom. As Finn was introduced, the girl made the appropriate sounds with the crowd, thoroughly pleased and delighted to see her friend given the opportunity to set the bar for the rest of the events to follow. She had faith in him, and she was looking forward to seeing the show.

[Finn]

Finn didn't want to be here.

Of course, he loved to perform. He had certainly been excited at the prospect of collaborating with Solunarian artists and presenting before this widest of audiences. But the eyes and ears he most wanted present were not. Arvælyn was somewhere deeper in the city, into the mountain, and he couldn't hear his symphony. It had been so long since they were so far apart and he didn't like it. Farstrider, they called him now, but he couldn't reach his amatus.

Finn was, he hoped, a consummate professional. So if he wasn't smiling, perhaps it was the gravity of the celebration; with so many suns in Solunarium, a sunny disposition wasn't required.

He walked out with the Euterpæ. Arvælyn would have been proud. From the crown of his head to the soles of his feet, he was made more than presentable to the divine and royal masses. His wavy hair was lightly oiled such that each wave was articulated like the brushstroke of a painter. He was shod in golden sandals, the nails of his toes lacquered to catch light. Everything in between was a happy marriage of Kalzasern and Solunarian style, and the golden lyre in his hands—lent to him from the collection of Arvælyn's family—was likely worth more than he was.

The bard—for today, he acknowledged that he had achieved that title in his own mind—bowed to his patron, Cithæra, and then bowed lower to the Imperatrix. He plied no magic to amplify himself, though, of course, he was attuned to the symphonies around him, if not the heavily warded queen's. His own was kept measured. And he hadn't yet learned to control Aværys' gift. He hadn't spoken of it to anyone who hadn't been there on Kaladon with him, though he didn't know who there might not have shared news of his invisible crown. People certainly took greater, more appreciative note of him. They understood him better, even when he spoke imperfect Vastian.

He also found that he craved some of the adulation he received, thinking—hoping in some ways—that it was Aværys' craving and not his. A part of him, that Aværys part, wanted that adoration to grow into submission.

► Show Spoiler

What followed was not the entirety of his work, but rather a shorter, edited version. They said he was pushing the limits of public attention at twenty minutes, and so he stripped down the themes, if not the complexity, and they performed a thing that was complex and dynamic, celebratory in parts but working through public glory and private feelings. Whereas Finn knew Talon personally, his work for him was more intimate. Finn did not know the Queen of Solunarium, and so this music was as much his response to her and to Solunarium itself as anything. Still, the Euterpæ had been excited when they read the notes he had put down, and their fervor had only grown with rehearsal, spinning his reel with string, woodwood, brass, and percussion. There were even points where his and their voices rose to add wordless flourish to the music, more layers for those with discerning ears.

Perhaps someday the hours of music the full score entailed would be heard, as well as the words written to accompany it, but for now, there was this, grand as it was.

[Aeros]

TIMESTAMP: -
NOTES: -

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- - -

- - -

Ash had been a remarkably, unexpectedly, busy season for Æros. Given the circumstances, the festivities thrown in the Solar Sovereign's honor were a welcome distraction from all that had transpired on top of how busy he had been since he'd been welcomed back into the fold of his kin. Ever the hedonist, he delighted in every aspect of the jubilee's grandiosity. Given the fact that the vast majority of Solunarium’s population was in attendance, this event also served as a rather convenient way for him to reconnect with a variety of nobility he had been estranged from over the last several years.

By the time the procession had made its way to the arena, the star-touched Færie found himself within the stands in the company of his kin. Æros had heard plenty of speculation and rumors regarding what each of the royal families were going to offer in terms of entertainment in the Solar Sovereign's honor, though one house in particular managed to keep whatever it was they had on offer out of circulation. It made sense, of course, given the very nature and purpose of house Phædryn.

When the time came for the offerings of entertainment to begin and the nature of house Phaedryn's performance was unveiled, Æros was of several minds. He was surprised, all things considered. The primary performer was somebody he recognized, though he had only met him once in passing. He'd actually learned a fair bit more about the man from speaking with his lover than he had from him directly. A strange coincidence, that. Further, there was something undeniably different about Finn, yet for now, such an abnormality was outside of his ability to understand.

The performance itself was lovely, though Æros did not understand why Finn had opted not to amplify it at all with his own Mesmer. In many ways, that was exceptionally disappointing. He recalled back to when the two had met and the man had spoken of his reticence regarding his use of the Craft for particular purposes. What he would have never expected, however, was that Finn would still possess such reticence during an occasion like this. Magic flowed through Solunarium as blood did everything that lived; given the immense honor it was for one to perform in this context, why in the world would somebody in his position opt out of using whatever magic they possessed? Were Æros not so uplifted by his inebriation, he might have felt that the choice to abstain from casting was insulting.

- - -

'Thoughts'

"Vallenor Tongue/Speech"

"Vastien Tongue/Speech"

"Valasren Tongue/Speech"

"Common Tongue/Speech"

[Cetus Argenti]

Cetus stood in line with the others; like them, he’d been dressed and suited in silks (black) threaded with silver bits and pieces that shined against the light of their false sun. His coarse black hair had been tamed through an attack of fine-tooth combs and scented oils, leaving him with hyacinth curls that shone as bright as any jewels. Nails and skin lacquered with lotions, of course, to better catch light.

A thin, black veil covered his face. He’d been made-up, perfectly, to fit House Phædryn’s arrangement. There’s been tension, recently, between House Phædryn and the other houses.

“The sun disappearing won’t have helped. Neither the appearance of those shadow creatures.”

Gala. She sounded far away. She felt far away. Their bond stretched from here to there, wherever she was. Cetus could imagine a tightrope between them, taut and close to breaking.

”Aren’t you near?”

”How worried you sound,” she answered, laughing; her voice felt like champagne poured into a crystal fluke, like bubbles bright and bursting. ”You needn’t be. I busy myself the same as you do."

Cetus let the full of his feeling bleed through to her; bitter concerns and baubles of curiosity, the weight of him, completely, open to her. The recent rumors of disagreements between the great horses - and the threat of what that might lead to - and his father, always so heavy in his mind, especially with Khyan’s transfer to House Len’Sælyan. There was much reason to worry.

Gala scoffed, deftly deflecting his barrage of thoughts with a practice nonchalance.

”Do not spend your time, now, focused on what could be. What demands your focus is where you are, Cetus.”

---

The performance was as perfected as anything else; the music and voices had blended perfectly though the air, the arena amplifying everything beautifully. The instruments had carried their notes high, out into the air, and everyone had seemed swayed by the performance.

Impressive.

[Læbirius]

♅ 75th of Ash, Year 122, A.o.S ♅
Company: His father| Thoughts: So extravagant| Mood: Intrigued

☠ There he sat in the box designated for those of his noble rank, watching the fanfare as the empress was approaching. Gatherings like these were not his forte, they never were. Being that he grew up nomadically, Læbirius was not used to such elaborate festivals and gatherings so it was a true culture shock for him, but a good one. He was dressed in the finest clothing he owned and was accessorized to match. his father sat next to him, arms folded and eyes closed as they awaited the arrival of her Golden Radiance.

The chatter of the stadium lulled into a hushed whisper as she appeared, Læbirius seeing her for the first time since his arrival in the Solunarium. He could see why they gave her that name, her visage bright as the sun that they forged in the sky. She was stunning, beautifully so. Once she took her seat the festivities began, the first to present their gift to her of a song that was to showcase both old and new ways.

- - - -

Læbirius found himself in tears, the melodies so perfectly blended that he was moved, feeling something in the very pit of his soul. The man leading the symphony was someone named Finn Farstrider. The man was a genius if this was a work he composed himself. When it was done, Læbirius wiped the tears from his eyes and looked to his father who help a simple half smile as he watched his son absorb the culture.

Patting the young half-elf on the shoulder he turned his gaze back to the arena. "Are there other songs like this in your culture?" he whispered, not wanting others to know just how out of depth he was with his current living situation. His father chuckled slightly, nodding as he looked at his son out of his peripheral. "This and much much more my child." he teased. ☠

---

"Common Speech"
"Vastian Speech"
"Vallenor Speech"
"Self-Thoughts"

[Talon]

D A E M O N

Staring at the visage of Thalya IV, he could see the stoicism that had made her such an imposing figure within her court. He could also see the aethereal manifestations of the veritable fortress of enchantments that was being used to guard her. His silver eyes drifted from one member of the royal house to the next, examining them from a distance. Much had transpired in the nearly ten days since he had went to the Altar of Domination at Mount Kaladon. He had learned much. He had been humbled. He had been strengthened. He had been freed. He was not the only one who had been freed however.

Though it had been a monumental effort of willpower to overcome the domination he had been under, a domination that had nearly resulted in him betraying the very ones he had promised to help, he had fulfilled his promise. The ordeal had left him exhausted. Since then he had retreated to the Republic of Cathena in order to take a respite from his burdens alongside his husband. The two of them had been living there quietly ever since. On this day, however, he had been ushered back to Solunarium.

For this jubilee would indeed be a celebration, but he doubted it would be the one that the Solunarian’s were expecting.

He was wearing an outfit that befit his station as a nobleman. A white chiton with silver embroidery that formed runic pictographs enchanted by his own power. A pair of silver bracers covered his forearms and matched the silver plated boots on his feet. A sash hung from his waist, bearing symbols of his lineage both mortal and divine. Earrings pierced his right ear and a ring graced his left ring finger. The most regal thing about him were perhaps the pair of silver wings that were at his back. The only crown he wore was one that could only be perceived by the highest form of masters among the Sembler’s craft. It was the only one he needed and it placed him higher than any of the mortals around him. He made no effort to truly conceal himself. Undoubtedly, the Solunarian monitors that kept hold of that simple contract he had agreed to would be in an uproar.

Not that it mattered.

“Masterful as always, dear Finn.” He spoke softly. He joined the rest of the stadium in rendering applause to the magnificent bard. He was glad that Finn was alive. He was gladder still that such a skilled musician was finally being recognized for his craft before a crowd of gentry, nobility and royals. Finn deserved the praise. He glanced to his side and beheld a figure he had not seen in some time. No doubt they were likely glad to be rid of his presence. Still, he felt somewhat guilty that he had not visited nor checked in on the young nobleman.

"Enjoying the festivities, Dominus?" There was a lilt of amusement in his voice as he dropped his hands, standing near to Aeros. His eyes returned to the events of the stadium though he remained attentive to the nobleman's reply. If it were a decidedly negative one...well...he supposed he had earned that.

[Pharaoh]

Thalya IV Imperatrix and Cithæra Princeps Sibylla were officially recognised as the two most powerful mages in all of Solunarium. Like many Sovereigns before her, Thalya had made Mesmer her principal discipline, and the Princeps Sibylla was a potent Sembler by definition. As the princess turned from the queen, both took note of an unusual presence in the stands, but only one of them seemed surprised. The Solar Sovereign stiffened ever so slightly, her golden eyes darting to find the tall, winged figure. She hadn't clapped eyes on him before, but there was no mistaking his identity. Behind her, Prince Vrædyn gasped as a projection of the Sovereign's æther sprung forth, tightened about his throat and cutting off his air flow.

"What..." Her lips barely moved as she hissed, "...is he doing in my capital? In my very presence?"

As she turned to glance over her shoulder at him, she released the ætheric grip. Through clenched teeth, Prince replied:

"His contract is complete, grandmother."

The Solar Sovereign pursed her lips, and shifted her gaze forward to regard the musical spectacle as it began.

Meanwhile, Cithæra glanced behind her, meeting the eyes of one of her Sentinels. Even veiled as he was in garb enchanted to ward against her Craft, his Aura was perfectly legible to the High Sentinel's Sembling. He seemed nervous... distracted. In a rare moment of warmth, the Princeps Sibylla offered Sentinel Cetus a comforting smile before turning back to enter the rear holding area at the far side of the arena opposite the Royal Box.

While the Finn Farstrider, peregrinus that he was, may not have employed his Craft to augment the performance, the Euterpæ ensemble did not share his reticence with their magicks. They were all masterful musicians in their own right, but they were known more for the stunning ways in which they enhanced, what we shall for lack of a better term call, mundane music with innovative displays of arcane arts.

Amongst their orchestra masters of every major magical discipline were represented. There were Kineticists who executed complex choreographed dance routines while playing ther instruments with their arcane Craft. There were Elementalists painting moving portraits in the air above, which were further enhanced by practitioners of Masquerade. There were Animists with specially made instruments that could never be played by a creature with as few limbs as your typical humanoid, and Summoners who contracted celestial exemplars of beauty, grace and ecstasy to weave through the midst of the crowd and deliver them into heights of bliss and awe. Naturally there were Mesmers manipulating ætheric Symphonies, as they played their musical symphony and Semblers to gauge the reactions of the crowd and guide the others toward improving the experience of their audience.

In the shadows of the holding area, Cithæra turned her gaze to the roiling magma of her youngest son's eyes. "Your amatus is truly talented." She offered, placing a hand upon his shoulder. "You'll finally be reunited soon."

As the music drew to a close, the applause broke the Solar Sovereign from her reveries. She'd been quietly seething throughout the entire thing, but she'd come to the realisation that the time had come to show her hand. She didn't know what the Phædryns were plotting, but for the sake of her legacy, she would need to shore up her position.

As the performers took their bows, Cithæra smiled to Arvælyn and withdrew her hand. She stepped away from him as her contingent rejoined her to march back across the sands of the arena to stand before and below the Royal Box. The princess parted her lips to speak:

"Your Divine Radiance. As Materfamilias of Gens Phædryn-Sol'Aværys it is my duty to pose a fealty pledge to my Sovereign. I would-..."

Suddenly the queen held up a halting hand and rose from her throne, the miniature sun hovering in rotation above her crown rising with her.

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"Before you offer your oath, We have an announcement." Her lips curled into an icy smirk, as her words echoed through the stadium. She lifted her eyes to the stands, addressing the whole of the realm and scanning the faces in the crowd as she orated.

"In the aftermath of The Bellum Successionis, which did position Us upon the Radiant Throne, a great tension gripped Our realm. The war ended, but the conflict that forged it burned on. Distrust and paranoia sundered the Divine line of Aværys. But We would see us reconciled and united as a true family once more. And so, today We cast aside an old subterfuge that felt necessary to undergo at the time..." She glanced over her shoulder to where the Aurisian ambassador sat, with the tall, handsome Sir Ayreon at his side.

"On this day, the 15th of Wither, in the One Hundred Third Year of the Age of Steel, We bore a child. We hope you will forgive the deception, but the babe did not perish as was reported through the official channels..." And the Grandmaster Mesmer extended a sense of compassion and understanding into the crowd, which other Mesmers in her employ amplified spreading the urging throughout the stadium and even beyond into the streets where crowds gathered to listen to the performances and get glimpses of what bits crested over the top of the Fortis Lacerta Arena.

"Instead, Our son was sent to Auris as ward to House d'Averyx. There in the shadow of Mount Kaladon, he grew to manhood and he stands here now." She gestured, and Sir Ayreon stood forth, his white-blonde hair and pale features seeming to glitter beneath the artificial sun looming above.

"And so, Solunarium, at long last allow Us to introduce you to Our Starborn son: Hyperion Vlahos-Sol'Aværys Arkænyn Princeps!" He grabbed his hand and lifted it over their heads and, smiling more broadly than most had ever seen, she sent forth a surge of the pride and reverence she felt for the son she'd sent away into the Symphonies assembled around her.

"We give you Prince Arkænyn the Platinum!" In all their history since the Rending, there had never been an instance when a Starborn member of the Unbroken Line was alive that they did not succeed the throne. Thalya IV turned her eyes down to Princess Cithæra and, to her vexation, the woman did not seem perturbed by this revelation. In fact, the Solar Sovereign found her sneer returned in kind by the Princeps Sibylla.

"Now, Princess Cithæra... You may offer unto us your fealty pledge."

[Cetus Argenti]

Cetus’ own emotions were a leaf caught in the wind of Mesmer.

He felt his own heart stir; the tended fires of compassion burned from a sudden compression of shock and confusion, everything replaced quickly by a sudden crisp understanding. Ah - of course. A deception, yes, but one killed with an easy truth. And, better, the child was Starborn. Cetus felt his nerves still. His anxiety was overwhelmed by an absolute (and immediate) understanding that the revelation was a good one.

Prince Arkænyn the Platinum would take the throne. It was the way of such things. No other House would threaten that. Whatever imagined war he’d worried up was -

“Cetus,” and as ever, Gala’s voice wrought the pink of his hope down to the much colder gray of reality, “Look. Her lips. And the Princeps’.”

And, from one to the other, he saw their lips twist. They reflected each other perfectly, for a moment. A sneer for the Sovereign. A sneer for the Princeps.

Manufactured pride and reverence were doused, in Cetus, as realization cut through the dull fog of magic and -

“No - feel as they would have you,” Gala infused their bond with her own lofty ideals of herself - and of Cetus. Pride as heavy as anything spun in that arena. Reverence she lacked, but Cetus didn’t; and so, she remembered his father and mother, and the value of being Argenti. Those brief moments of awe, before she’d intervened to bring him to her awareness.

“I don’t like this game, Gala.”

“Do not think I do, mortal mine. This is all but a distraction.”

“What distraction -.”

“Who, Cetus. Arkænyn. The newest royal Starborn finds himself in a spider’s web. But did she predict it?”

Cetus hadn’t needed Gala to explain that, at least. Cithæra. He tried to still himself, to keep feeling what Gala remembered, to try and keep himself open to the magics at play. Even still as he could make himself, there were more than a few magicians who could catch his emotional misstep.

“You have names to call if things sour. I make haste to the Umbrium.”

Cetus didn’t respond but kept himself aware - as best he could - of the pulses of Mesmer. He stayed open to their influences, as much as he could manage, while trying to keep a closer eye on the Queen and Princess.

[Hilana Chenzira]

Hilana was not disappointed. The music was masterful - she had had the opportunity of listening to Finn on multiple occasions, including private concerts from the Kalzasern bard when she had taken him out into the Sands during their lessons. Some of them had led to camping under the stars in bedrolls and maybe a tied tarp cover between trees in oases. The girl wasn’t always one to bother with a tent - she stayed up most of the night, if not all of it, on the regular when they were on those trips. Besides that, the weather had rarely required it.

Finn may not have used Mesmer, not that Hilana would have been able to tell with his subtlety and skill in the discipline, but the display of the accompanying troupe was formidable. The combination of magical effects was slightly lessened by the mask that she wore, but that didn’t mean that she wasn’t thrilled with the show. But as the performance came to an end, Hilana cheered as loud as the rest of those assembled around her, if not louder, delighted as she was for Finn. He deserved the opportunity and the stage at such a lofty event. She was proud of him, and she knew that if his golden amatus was here, he would have been, too.

She was quiet as Princess Cithaera took to the centre of the arena floor once more, listening as she addressed the realm’s beloved Solar Sovereign, only for the Imperatrix to interrupt the Princess Sybilla to make an announcement of her own. Hilana looked on, her drink lowered, as her python coiled around her shoulders, shifting. He, too, was hidden by the mask; the girl was not taking any chances with her pet. She, like the crowd around her, was hushed, though Hilana did feel empathy as she spoke on. She may have avoided the full force of the Mesmer being worked through the crowd, but the Vastiana was not at all immune to the effects. She could understand it; well, some of it. Sometimes precautions had to be taken considering the very nature of politics in this kingdom.

Cithaera may not have been surprised, but Hilana certainly was. Raithen had mentioned him a few weeks ago after the ball at the Aurisian Embassy. Oh, Founders! Her shock would have been palpable, if not for the mask. Her eyes went to Prince Vraedyn, where he had been behind his Grandmother’s throne. He, who had been groomed for it for years upon years, and had been widely expected to succeed her... and now he had a Platinum uncle. And surely, he was no longer next in line. Not with a newly announced Starborn prince.

Her eyes darted around, glancing to see how those around her were impacted by the stunning revelation. She noticed Æros, barely dressed though he was, but at the same time, that was something of his usual style, and Hilana loved that about him. But beside him was a surprisingly tall Avialae, and that intrigued her. She hadn’t seen many besides her Raithen, and certainly not in the Capital. Tertium, sure. Here? Far less so. But to see one beside Æros was a surprise indeed, and she resolved to ask him about it later. He hadn’t mentioned an Avialae in his family before, and she was certainly curious.