The Extra's Rise-Chapter 753: Avalon’s Grand Ball (3)

Avalon’s Grand Ball to celebrate New Year’s Eve was shaping up to be the most significant political gathering in decades. Everyone major around the entire world had been invited, and as Crown Prince of the Windward family, my invitation had been as inevitable as the northern winds that shaped our continent.

My father wasn’t attending, following the grim necessity that kept all Radiant-rankers close to their territories these days. The miasmic species threats that had been emerging across all five continents required constant vigilance from the world’s most powerful mages. Each continent needed at least one Radiant-ranker present to respond to potential incursions, making gatherings like this the domain of younger generations while our elders maintained the barriers that kept civilization safe.

But my mother, Queen Helena Windward of the North, would be there. This was an event that transcended even age-of-coming ceremonies or royal weddings in its scope and importance. Representatives from all five continents would gather in Avalon City, creating opportunities for alliances that could reshape the political landscape for generations.

As I was escorting two remarkable women who had become essential parts of my life and my future.

Seol-ah Moyong and Deia Solaryn had both adapted remarkably well to the Northern continent, despite it being so different from the Eastern lands they called home. For Seol-ah, the transition had been relatively smooth—her composed nature and strategic mind had quickly grasped the political complexities of Northern court life. But for Deia, every day still brought discoveries as she encountered technology that was nearly three decades ahead of what her isolated island had possessed.

"The neural-link heating systems still amaze me," Deia had confided just that morning while marveling at how our entire delegation’s quarters maintained perfect temperature despite the howling blizzard outside. The system responded to thoughts and biological feedback, adjusting not just temperature but humidity and air circulation based on occupants’ needs. "On my island, we had smart climate control, but nothing that could read intentions like this. It’s like the building knows what I want before I do."

I smiled at the memory as I watched her now, standing by the grand windows of our temporary quarters while we waited for the final members of our delegation. The windows themselves were a marvel—transparent aluminum with embedded display capabilities that could show real-time weather data, magical readings, or even entertainment content. To someone from 2020-level technology, it must have seemed like pure magic.

We were all students at Mythos Academy, in our final year, and after graduation I was planning to propose to both of them. The Northern continent had different marriage traditions than most of the world, and plural marriages among nobility were not just accepted but often expected for political stability.

Deia turned around, her red hair flicking as her golden eyes met my verdant ones. The movement was graceful and unconscious, the kind of natural elegance that had first caught my attention years ago.

"Why are you looking at me like that?" she asked, tilting her head with curious innocence. She was wearing a comfortable white long-sleeved outfit with a skirt that showed her long legs, accented with golden trims that complemented her eyes perfectly. The fabric itself was another technological marvel—adaptive fibers that regulated temperature and could shift opacity or color based on environmental conditions.

"Because you look stunning," I said simply, meaning every word. The response was automatic by now—Deia’s beauty had a way of stopping conversations and derailing thoughts, even after all these years.

Deia’s face quickly turned as red as her hair, her defenses against direct compliments still remarkably weak as she spun around to hide her blush. Despite everything we had shared over the years, she remained endearingly flustered by straightforward expressions of affection.

"I wonder when she’ll ever get used to it," Seol-ah whispered into my ear, her voice maintaining its characteristic calm composure while carrying an undertone of fond amusement. Her breath was warm against my skin, and I caught the subtle scent of the winter jasmine perfume she favored.

I had to agree with Seol-ah’s assessment. After everything Deia and I had experienced together—battles, political crises, quiet moments of intimacy, and the gradual building of trust that had grown into love—she was still caught off-guard by direct expressions of affection. Not that I dared complain about such an endearing trait.

The Windward delegation was coordinating with the other ruling family of the Northern continent, the Creightons, ensuring that our arrival in Avalon would present a united front that demonstrated the strength and stability of Northern political unity. It was a calculated move designed to reinforce our continent’s position in the broader international landscape.

The smaller noble families from the North had already departed, arriving ahead of us to handle preliminary negotiations and establish the groundwork for more significant discussions. This left the primary royal families to make the grand entrance that would set the tone for the entire Northern continent’s participation in the ball.

I was reviewing the final coordination details when familiar footsteps reached my ears, causing me to turn toward the delegation’s main entrance. The sound was distinctive—confident, measured, carrying the authority that came from years of royal training and genuine magical power.

Rachel Creighton appeared first, leading the Creighton delegation with the natural grace that had made her famous throughout the magical world. She was wearing a golden dress that matched her blonde hair perfectly, the fabric seeming to capture and reflect light in ways that made her appear almost luminous. As always, she looked every inch the Saintess and princess that the world knew her to be.

Beside her walked Kathyln Creighton, Rachel’s older sister and the current heir to the Creighton domain. At twenty-six, Kathyln possessed a different kind of beauty than her famous younger sister—her silver hair cascaded in elegant waves that caught the light like spun moonbeams, while her deep blue eyes held the wisdom that came from years of political responsibility. She had been managing much of the Creighton family’s day-to-day governance, allowing Rachel to focus on her Saintess duties and academy studies.

But today, Kathyln’s usual composed demeanor showed cracks of uncertainty. Her hands, normally steady and sure, trembled slightly as she adjusted her deep blue dress. Her eyes darted nervously between the assembled delegations, and I noticed how she kept glancing back toward the entrance as if expecting—or dreading—something.

At least, I wanted to say Rachel looked the same as ever.

But something was different about both sisters today. There was a tension in Rachel’s sapphire eyes that I couldn’t quite identify, despite having known her since childhood. We had grown up together as the heirs to the Northern continent’s two most powerful families, sharing tutors, training sessions, and the complex responsibilities that came with our positions. I prided myself on reading her moods and understanding her thoughts, but this expression was new.

Kathyln’s nervousness was even more concerning. She had always been the steady, reliable presence in Northern politics—the one who handled crises with calm efficiency while others panicked. Seeing her visibly shaken suggested that whatever was happening involved stakes far beyond normal political complications.

My mother stepped forward first, moving with the diplomatic grace that had made her one of the most respected queens on the continent. She opened her mouth to offer the formal greeting that protocol demanded between the two royal families.

"Isolde?" she said instead, her voice trembling with shock that sent ice through my veins.

My eyes widened as I followed her gaze past Rachel and Kathyln to the figure walking behind them. Only then did I understand what had stolen the composure from one of the strongest women I knew.

It was Rachel’s mother, Isolde Creighton, former Queen of the Creighton family. She looked exactly as I remembered her from my childhood—the same golden hair that Rachel had inherited, the same deep blue eyes that both daughters shared, the same regal bearing that had made her legendary among Northern nobility.

But she was supposed to be dead.

Kathyln’s face had gone pale, her silver hair providing stark contrast to her suddenly bloodless complexion. Her hands clenched into fists at her sides, the trembling becoming more pronounced as she struggled to maintain her composure. Whatever circumstances had brought their mother back, it was clear that Kathyln was as shocked by her presence as anyone else.

"Isolde? How..." my mother began, struggling to compose her voice despite the obvious panic building behind her eyes. The two queens had been extraordinarily close, their friendship transcending political necessity to become genuine sisterhood. They had shared the unique burdens of ruling neighboring domains on the same continent, supporting each other through crises that would have broken lesser women.

"Helena, it’s been far too long since I saw you," Isolde replied, her voice carrying the same musical quality I remembered from childhood visits. She smiled as she spoke, the expression appearing natural and warm.

However, her eyes were far from smiling. There was something cold and calculating in her gaze, something that made my instincts scream warnings even as my mind struggled to process the impossibility of her presence.

The silence stretched uncomfortably as the implications crashed over all of us. Isolde Creighton had been declared dead years ago, victim of a magical accident that had shocked the entire continent. Rachel had inherited many of her titles and responsibilities at an age when most princesses were still learning court etiquette, while Kathyln had stepped into the role of primary heir and domain administrator.

"Mother," Rachel said quietly, her voice carefully controlled despite the tension radiating from her posture.

"Mother," Kathyln echoed, though her voice cracked slightly on the word. She seemed to be struggling with something deeper than surprise—there was fear in her expression, mixed with an emotion I couldn’t quite identify.

"My dear daughters," Isolde replied, her smile never wavering even as her eyes remained cold. "I hope you’re both prepared for the journey ahead. Such an important event requires our family to present a united front."

The emphasis she placed on ’united’ carried undertones that made everyone present shift uncomfortably. Kathyln’s nervous energy became more pronounced, her usual political poise completely abandoned as she fought to process whatever family dynamics were at play.

The next hour passed in a blur of forced normalcy and barely contained tension. Protocol demanded that we proceed with departure preparations as if nothing extraordinary had occurred, but everyone could feel the undercurrents of something deeply complicated. Servants moved with unusual efficiency, conversations remained carefully neutral, and nobody dared ask the obvious questions.

As our combined delegations made their way to the warp gate that would transport us to Avalon City, I found myself walking beside Seol-ah and Deia while keeping careful watch on the interaction between the Creighton family members. Kathyln stayed close to Rachel, her nervousness manifesting in small gestures—adjusting her dress repeatedly, running her fingers through her silver hair, glancing frequently at their mother with expressions that mixed apprehension with something approaching dread.

"The family dynamics seem... complex," Seol-ah observed quietly, her diplomatic training allowing her to comment without being overtly intrusive.

I nodded, not trusting myself to comment further without risking being overheard. Whatever was happening with the Creighton family, it was clearly more complex than a simple case of mistaken death reports.

The warp gate activated with a brilliant flash of light, and the Northern delegation stepped through into whatever complications awaited us in Avalon City.

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