The next day,Author The Academia's ballroom was a mausoleum of hypocrisy draped in mourning black and shimmering silver. Massive crystal chandeliers hummed with a magical frequency, casting a cold, artificial light over the "Memorial Ball" - a somber tribute to the "shame" of the Graymont Blood Court.Kael Silas Draven stood near the dais, his classic Alpha build rigid in a charcoal suit. He adjusted his cuffs, his sharp features tightened into a mask of bored authority. Beside him, Lyra Graymont played the "Perfect Saint," her ethereal blonde-white hair cascading over a dress that cost more than most low-tier packs earned in a decade."You should look more mournful, Kael," Lyra whispered, her calculating blue eyes scanning the room. "It’s your fated mate we’re honoring, after all.""She was a glitch in the lineage, Lyra," Silas snapped, his voice cold. "The rejection was a political necessity. You know that.""And yet, you haven't stopped looking at the door," she countered, a po
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