Orion stepped outside the towering Opera Epiclese, the great glass doors shutting behind him like the final curtain of a drama he didn't ask to star in.
The sunlight hit him like applause—bright, overwhelming, and full of judgment.
"Woah... that was intense," Frieda mumbled under her breath, straightening her scarf as if trying to shake off the weight of the trial.
"Yes, it was," Felix muttered, wings twitching as they descended the grand staircase. "That man... Neuvillette. His presence... his strength... All of it was immense."
"More than Crown Ignarion?" Orion asked, curious but composed.
Felix shook his head, scales glinting under the sun. "No. I won't say he's stronger than Lord Ignarion himself... but he is certainly stronger than any Frost Dragon under Lady Yandelf."
Their feet echoed on the marble steps—until the echo was drowned out.
By noise.
By chaos.
A crowd had gathered below the steps, swelling like a rising tide. Reporters, nobles, influencers with handheld holo-mirrors, and a few overly enthusiastic fur-coat-wearing Fontaine socialites all surged forward.
Click. Flash. Quill pens scratched furiously.
Questions flew like arrows from a thousand tongues:
"Prince Orion! Is it true you're in Fontaine to challenge Furina's Divinity?"
"Do you actually ride dragons, or was that staged?"
"Who designed your cloak? It screams 'exile-core' and I love it."
"How do you plead to allegations of seducing the Hydro Archon during trial?"
"Are you single? Hypothetically asking for a friend."
"What did the little girl mean to you? Is she your ward? Or… your daughter?"
"Can the dragon talk again, please? He was so sarcastic, it was divine."
"Are you truly a prince… or just a noble cosplayer from Sumeru?!"
Felix made a low growling sound. "I swear, if one more person asks me if I'm his pet, someone's losing a leg."
A high-society noblewoman in a sapphire dress fanned herself dramatically.
"Such regality! You must come to my tea salon, Prince Orion—we have imported grapes from Natlan and scandalous conversation!"
Frieda leaned over and whispered, "We need to move. Or we'll be answering questions until the next Archon War."
Orion exhaled slowly. "Agreed."
But just as he prepared to carve a path forward with pure royal energy...
A flash of red and gold caught his eye.
Someone in the crowd wasn't just watching.
They were studying him.
And not with awe...
But with intent.
A cloaked figure, half-shadowed by the rising light, made brief eye contact—and then turned, vanishing into the crowd with surgical precision.
Orion's gaze sharpened.
"...Did you see that?" he murmured.
Frieda nodded grimly. "I saw them too. That wasn't a fan."
"Nor a reporter," Felix added. "That was a predator."
The crowd surged again, unaware.
"PRINCE ORION—WHO DOES YOUR HAIR?"
"DO YOU BELIEVE IN TRUE LOVE AT FIRST TRIAL?"
He clenched his jaw.
"Let's get out of here."
Before another microphone could be shoved into Orion's face—or another noblewoman could propose marriage via business card—
a whistle shrieked.
A sharp snap echoed, and then—
"Gardes! Forme de dissuasion, maintenant!"
Like clockwork, a phalanx of Fontaine Gardes surged in from both flanks, rifles pointed upward this time, forming a living barricade between Orion and the ever-growing swarm of elites.
"Clear the steps! Citizens, step back! This is official state business!"
The crowd groaned, booed, and complained with the grace of rich toddlers denied dessert.
Feathered fans were clutched. Reporters cursed in elegant cursive.
A Hydro camera got trampled.
And then—
the real silence hit.
Because from the gilded threshold of Opera Epiclese…
they emerged.
Neuvillette and Furina.
Side by side.
Like a thunderstorm walking with a lightning bolt.
He was serene, composed, walking with the gravity of a river that never forgets its course.
She was radiant, chin high, glass chalice still in hand, the very picture of "I win even when I lose."
The Gardes snapped to perfect posture as they passed.
Citizens parted like reeds in a flood.
Orion met their approach with calm resolve.
Felix, however, muttered behind him, "Oh boy. Now this looks like a field trip with a death quiz."
Furina spoke first, swirling her drink like it owed her money.
"My dear Crown Prince… before you vanish back into the mist of diplomatic immunity, might I request your glorious presence for a little chat?"
Neuvillette added, voice like low tide smoothing over broken stones:
"There are matters of national security. And… of curiosity."
Orion raised a brow. "From both the Archon and the Iudex?"
Furina smirked. "Don't flatter yourself too quickly. It's not just you we're curious about."
Her gaze shifted—briefly—to the subtle shimmer around Orion's silhouette.
The faintest ripple of duality.
A second soul—watching. Listening.
Felix stiffened. "You can… sense her?"
Neuvillette nodded. "Two essences, one vessel. A rare phenomenon."
Furina grinned. "A forbidden duet! How dramatic. I love it."
She leaned in with the subtle grace of a stage diva.
"We'd like to speak with both of you."
Orion felt Frieda stir in his thoughts. "I don't trust them."
"Neither do I," he replied silently. "But we'll hear them out."
He gave a respectful nod.
"Lead the way."
The Gardes parted once more.
Together, Orion and Felix followed Neuvillette and Furina—down the gleaming path, away from the chaos of the crowd, and toward whatever secrets awaited them behind Fontaine's gilded walls.
Inside the Office of the Iudex – Palais Mermonia
The room was vast and echoing, carved from pale stone and veined with channels of flowing water that moved as if by breath. Light filtered down through aquamarine crystal skylights, casting rippling patterns across the polished floor.
Orion and Felix were offered proper seats—heavy-backed, velvet-cushioned, and far too ornate for a casual conversation.
Neuvillette sat across from them with his usual measured grace, sipping from a crystal glass of water as if it were wine.
Furina lounged beside him, legs crossed, swirling her drink with a bored finger.
"So, Prince Orion," Neuvillette began, his voice calm but firm, "shall I take it that you come to Fontaine with peace in mind?"
"And also," Furina added without looking up, "what exactly is the purpose of your visit? I do enjoy an unexpected plot twist."
Orion stiffened slightly.
He inhaled deeply, then met Neuvillette's gaze with clear sincerity.
"I do come with peace in mind. But the words I carry are meant for the Hydro Sovereign, and no one else in Fontaine."
A quiet stillness rippled through the room—like the pause before lightning.
Neuvillette's eyes widened a fraction. Just a fraction.
Then he nodded, setting his glass aside.
"Certainly. You are speaking with him right now."
"What do I owe the pleasure?"
Orion's expression dulled.
He stood.
Calmly.
Quietly.
Dangerously.
He patted Felix on the head as the dragon growled low in his throat.
"I see. So you're treating this as a joke."
"Come, Felix. We're leaving."
Neuvillette stood partway, unsettled—not offended, not angry, just… quietly shaken in a way he couldn't articulate.
"I… apologize, if I've offended you in any way, Mr. Orion."
"But I am the Hydro Sovereign. That is the truth."
Orion turned his head slightly, looking at him—not with fury, not with pride—but with cold, unwavering conviction.
"I know a Sovereign when I see one."
He stepped toward the door, silver hair catching the ripple of the skylight above.
"And you… are not the Hydro Sovereign."
Furina's glass paused mid-swish.
Felix exhaled smoke.
Neuvillette said nothing.
But the water lining the walls… trembled.