Beyond the golden gate, we were led to an elevator in what looked like a lobby by the enforcer. I got my first good look at the inside of the Illustris Palace. All dim golden lights set within black walls. A divet for the invitation crystal glowed gold when I inserted mine and curving pipes of shimmering ethereal blue spiralled around the elevator. The spiralling blue kept rising until the elevator itself started rising with it. It rose beyond the lobby and I realized that it was an outdoor elevator running up the length of one of the towers. The Dellish skyline glittered in the night with towers and refineries and more all reaching up to the sky. Lit windows dotted every building. New Delport was not a city that slept. And further beyond that, in every direction, a shroud of radiant green smog hid the ugly parts of the city underneath it.

  “Do you think she is hosting the party on the roof for this view?” I asked while hugging myself for warmth when a surprisingly cool breeze blew into the elevator.

  “Of course. That's what I would do in her place.” Fahria rolled her eyes. The elevator stopped and a metal door opened up before it.

  The first things that hit me when I entered were the music and lights. A song that didn't have any vocals beyond a gentle feminine humming and yet told a story through prismatic flashes of ghostly images at the edges of my vision. At first I thought it was the system acting up but then I could see the tale unfolding within. Something without words but it was epic nonetheless. A man with silver hair and ten followers behind him, and an army behind them all. A great black shadow threatened to engulf them from above. Love, moments of bliss, tragedy. The lights dimmed as the man fell to his knees in grief. And then he rose with determination and triumph. Flashes of purple and blue played across the floor and on people, a thousand different stories and a thousand different lives all with their own joys and pains were carried and conveyed through the humming. For a moment, I was at the foot of a vast tapestry of flickering blue light that held all those stories, but the voice guided me along them so it was never overwhelming. I could pull myself away from the song at any moment if I so desired, and yet I could let myself sink deeper into the song. Another scene played in fragmentary strobing lights, two factions warring over what was to be New Delport. The song was the song of this city, of its history. But it was not jingoistic, there was no pride here, no romanticized aspiration. Only men and women, flawed ones at that. The song was subtle, a sweet non-intrusive humming that guided me towards something, one thing. A sense of vague love and melancholy. Not of loss but of a longing about what could have been. I shook myself out and the reverie shattered. The lights turned mild and retreated to the edge of my awareness, barely even there and yet ready to drown me in it if I wanted it to.

  The next thing was the smell. A subtle smell that still made my nose twitch permeated everything, including me in just moments. Alcohol, incense, something else I couldn't identify and many more tiny things.

  The elevator door had opened up to a large circular open-air stage with a second and a third floor that formed rings overlooking the stage. They also acted like partitions and ceilings for sections that were not occupied by the stage. Shimmering glass railings and stairs that reflected and refracted the light ran across and down from the upper floors. Orange lamps stood intermittently across the floor. Above was a view of the open and more importantly clear sky. Stars shone on and were reflected in the glass. The actual floor was a dark mirror that reflected the stars and the lamps but distorted them like it was water and not solid reflective… something.

  On a raised pedestal at one corner was the musician, a woman in a sheer blue silver and black dress that had to be sticking to her with magic. An instrument of glowing starlight that looked like the unholy offspring of several of them was held in her lap as she strummed at it. With a start, I realized that I had seen this woman. She was with me back during the retchroot extermination expedition. She began to hum a different tune as the Dellish history performance started to fade. A woman standing on the second floor balcony tipped her glass to the musician.

  Besides the musician was a person clad in panels of hexagonal blue light. They danced in the air on waves of the light and every motion, every movement, every expression of life sent forth new waves of light forwards.

  All of that, I noticed at a single glance with some liberal application of Superego. Almost immediately, a woman with an ageless kind of beauty materialized right besides us. I stiffened. I knew this woman. Her face was one of the most recognizable ones in the city, found on papers everywhere, in posters, on pamphlets. In a way, she was the face of New Delport. Lady Ayn of the Illustris Council.

  “Oh, hello. You are Anya Hartford, right, if I'm not mistaken?” Something told me that she was keenly aware that she was not mistaken.

  “Yeah. High Councilor Lady Ayn.” I added and hurriedly made a shallow bow. She laughed and her eyes glinted with the strobing lights of the performance. Out of the corner of my vision, I could see Medea's hairs standing on their end.

  “Now now, none of that formality. Just Ayn or Lady Ayn if you have to.” Lady Ayn then. “I must say, I never got the chance to formally thank you for your aid in apprehending the convict, what was it, Kalkiin? Yes, Kalkiin. New Delport needs people like you to thrive, now more than ever.”

  “I was just doing what any Dellish woman should do, Lady Ayn.”

  “Perhaps, but ‘should’ and ‘would’ are not the same, are they? Bah, enough of that nonsense, let us leave that for some other day. Tonight's a night to mingle and revel. Who is your lovely companion, Anya?” I let out a breath I wasn't even aware I was holding when her attention drifted to Fahria.

  “Greetings, Lady Ayn. I'm Fahria, Fahria Shakirn. It's a pleasure to meet you. I've been living in your beautiful city for a few months now in preparation for the Crucible of the Phoenix.”

  “Oh? I didn't know we had a Crucible aspirant living so close. If I knew, I would have personally extended an invitation.” She let out a small scandalized gasp. Right, she didn't know that Fahria was a Shakirn in her city. More likely she thought that Fahria was not likely enough to make it to try to build inroads with. She smiled and waved it off but judging from the slightly brighter orange in her blonde hair, I doubted she bought it. Of course I could be overthinking as usual.

  “Of course. It is beyond unreasonable to expect someone as busy as to keep personal tabs on everyone in such a massive city. Why, Delport makes even the whole of the Firebird peninsula seem tiny in comparison!” Yep, not overthinking it. Even though her smile was the image of congeniality, her hair was definitely a shade brighter.

  “No, no. It’s a failure on my part. I will have words with my employees about it.”

  Before I — or Fahria, could say anything else, Lady Ayn turned to someone behind us. “Well, excuse me, my dears, but it seems that I have a few other guests to attend to. Please make yourselves comfortable. Oh, by the way, another Crucible aspirant from the peninsula is also attending.” She raised a hand and a server holding a tray full of glasses of something appeared where she had been, a second prior.

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  “Drinks, ma’ams?” I grabbed a small glass of something that sparkled blue and tentatively took a sip. My eyes widened. This was actually good!

  “Holy crap, Fahria, you should try it. Fahria?” But she was not paying attention to me. No, she was gracefully stomping, if any method of locomotion could be described as such, towards a group of people who were chatting and laughing with each other. The men didn't wear suits but stiff collared robes that split down both sides after the waist but trailed almost to their feet. The women wore robed dresses like mine but I was suddenly self conscious that mine was not fancy enough. The man at the center of that group was a stereotypically handsome man in an old school way, like something you would see in a monochrome photo advertising a luxury car or something. American fucking dream. He had blazing golden hair with hints of orange in it and I noticed that the hand that held a wine glass didn't have any gloves on it, revealing crooked orange clawed fingertips in all their glory. Another Shakirn, the one the High Councilor had mentioned. As she neared them, Fahria's pace slowed to a confident saunter and I followed after her.

  The man's eyes lit up when he spotted her and a plastic grin appeared on his flawless clean-shaven face. “Cousin Fahria! It's a surprise and a pleasure to meet you here. You are as lovely as ever.” Fahria held out her right hand and with a deft movement of his own, he removed her glove and pressed his lips to the hand. At least that was one gesture that was common across these two worlds. The glass of wine had found itself in the hands of one of his compatriots.

  “Likewise, Cousin Elstrad. I hadn't known that you were coming to this city. I haven’t had news from the Peninsula in a while, how are things back home?” Elstrad didn't answer her for over a minute, kissing her hand in silence as she waited with a patient smile. Finally, he let go and I froze time to see a smouldering angry red impression of too perfect lips burned on to her hand. She pulled it back but it had been too quick, too abrupt and Elstrad smiled. I had the feeling that Fahria had lost this battle of wills or whatever this was.

  “You know how the peninsula is. Servants constantly badgering me about things. ‘Lord Elstrad, please drink this tonic. It will empower you so that you can succeed your father.’” He stressed ‘your father’ “‘Lord Elstrad, if you learn this skill then you will instantly master your class.’ Hah! As if an eighty level class can be mastered like that. Surely you would know?” If she had any experience with level 80 classes then she wouldn't be here, would she? I didn't know how Fahria had tolerated this guy's constant humblebragging, even beyond the very needless cruelty of that hand kiss but I stayed my mouth. But even then, something must have tipped him off because he turned to me next.

  “But enough about that, cousin. Why don't I introduce you to my friends here? And then you can do the same for yours.” The most gracious of all mercies, the introductions didn't take long and Elstrad and his gang got bored enough of us to move away. Fahria let out a groan and nursed her injured hand.

  “Gah. I need a drink. You want to come along?” Of course. I was not a serious alcoholic, at least I didn't think I was one, but I had picked up the habit in the refugee convoys.

  A quarter-circular closed off section at edge held a set of booths with comfortable couches and a table each partitioned by thick curtains that only betrayed their occupancy by the shadows they cast against the lights within. No sound escaped from any of those booths but judging from the movement of the shadows in one of the booths, there was a very animated argument occuring in one of those booths. Another looked like the couch there would need to be cleaned once its occupants were done. At least they seemed to be having fun. We didn't linger there once I spotted what we was actually searching for.

  A bar.

  I plopped myself into one of the seats and poured myself another drink. I imagined that I made for a sad sight, drinking by my lonesome at a table with no one for company. But that was fine with me. At some point, Fahria and I separated and went our separate ways. She was here to socialize and build connections, and I was here because you don't refuse an invitation from Lady Ayn even if you were profoundly uncomfortable with the whole situation. I was more than happy to eat the delicious food and skulk around. No way was I going to dance or try to make friends with the clustered gaggles of rich socialites I wouldn't ever meet after this party. Why the hell was I even invited here?

  “Parties not your thing?” A man asked.

  Fahria sighed as she tied her hair back again and used her mana to accelerate the healing of her hand. It was impossible to understate how much she wanted to sink her claws into Elstrad’s chest and before his horrified wide eyes, rip his heart out and stuff it down his mouth. And it was not even just the phoenix blood within being furious at the insults. She did, genuinely, and unambiguously despise him. She despised him so much that she could scream in frustration.

  A sound of the curtain of the booth sliding open and closing behind her brought her out of her spiralling thoughts, or rather, brought the subject of said thoughts before her.

  “Did you know, cousin, I intended to pay you a visit after this silly party? But it is fortunate that we met here.”

  “What do you want, Cousin Elstrad?” Elstrad didn't answer, not at first. Instead he rushed forward and his clawed hand wrapped around her.

  “Sto— stop. We can't fight before the Crucible starts.” She grunted out.

  “Yes. But there are exceptions to that rule, aren't there? Self-defense and retaliation against premature attacks. Aren't there?” Elstrad's eyes gleamed with the malice of the Great Ancestor. Fahria nodded, a sinking pit forming in her stomach. Elstrad's other clawed hand slapped her violently, backhanded and careful so that the claws didn't pierce the skin. He sneered.

  “Answer me, properly. .”

  “Y—yes. Cousin Elstrad.”

  “Good. You haven't lost all your mental facilities yet, then. Let me tell you a story. A man named Turnis Crisham gets a feather of a phoenix that he knows is highly sought after by a clan. But someone, a flightless hen of this clan who thinks she can be a phoenix, steals this feather and replaces it with a replica that would poison whoever uses it. She does this when the clan explicitly forbids acting against one's own. Tell me, oh dear cousin of mine, did this hen not violate the edicts of the clan? Is the clan not within their rights to persecute this upstart hen? Is she not at fault for whatever happens to her now?”

  “Yes, she is.” What else was there to say. If Elstrad was doing this here, in the party, then he had already made arrangements to justify it. And no one, not even Ayn would dare meddle in internal Shakirn affairs. Not for her. A side branch heiress.

  “By law, and by tradition, I, the recipient of that venom, can execute you where you stand with impunity. But I won't.”

  “Yo— you won't?”

  “No. Did you think that you could actually go against and then get to die on your feet? I won't kill you. No, don't worry. I won't hurt you. I won't even touch you. I'm kind. I don't seek to hurt my cousins like you. All I'll ask is that you clean my boots. Polish them all. With your mouth. Lick them until they are shiny.”

  “N-n.” His grip tightened until her head swam.

  “No? Or I can just kill you, right here, right now. Your choice. Bend, or break.”

  In the end, she did bend. The phoenix was a creature of unmitigated pride and it rebelled, rebelled every step of the way. She felt nauseous, her body burnt from within and lesions and tears opened up with every movement. And yet, she did bend. With tears streaming down her face, she licked Elstrad's boots clean.

  “Oh and by the way, I took the liberty of having your servant disposed of. He thought he could participate in a plot to eliminate me, that was beyond his station to even consider. My doesn't extend that far, after all.”

  He left with a mocking laugh while she laid on the floor, trembling as penalties to all her stats appeared in her notifications, one after the other. To be without pride was anathema to the phoenix, and to those that bore its mighty blood. To be humiliated was than death to that avian of endless rage and pride. Stats? That could be regained by levels. But pride had to be earned in blood and more. And until then, her blood would not respond to her as it once did.

  For the next several minutes, until she could recover enough to make her way to a restroom and get cleaned up, only the now distant seeming dream of ripping Elstrad's heart out remained in her mind.