Chapter 84

  Maurice and Syren

  Maurice sits on the plush, velvet couch in the expansive lobby of the Verdant Haven Grand Hotel. The ambiance is luxurious yet welcoming, with warm golden lighting and intricately patterned marble floors that gleam under the chandelier's soft glow.

  The place is filled with activity—guests check in at the front desk, bellhops wheel luggage carts, and well-dressed patrons mingle at the nearby bar.

  A pianist plays a gentle melody from the grand piano in the corner, adding an elegant backdrop to the scene.

  Maurice leans back, one arm draped casually over the edge of the couch as he watches people go about their lives.

  A group of businessmen chat animatedly over drinks, a young couple snaps selfies in front of a floral display, and a child—no older than five—tugs at his mother’s hand, pointing excitedly in Maurice’s direction.

  “Mummy, look! He has red hair!” the boy exclaims, pointing his finger at Maurice.

  “Hush now, do not be rude,” the mother says in a hushed tone, gently pulling the child away.

  Maurice sighs softly and runs a hand through his crimson bangs, the strands catching the light and appearing almost like flickering flames. “I was just born this way…”

  His hair, a deep, striking shade of blood-red, is a signature trait of the Réel family.

  Unlike the more common ginger tones, it is vibrant, bold, and almost unnatural in its brilliance. Maurice has long since stopped trying to explain it to others—it is just how the Réel family is. His father and late grandfather had no real answers about why their lineage bore such a distinctive feature.

  He lets his thoughts drift as he watches the lobby’s activity ebb and flow.

  The sound of clinking glasses, the murmur of conversations, and the pianist’s delicate tune blend into a serene symphony of life.

  Maurice always enjoys people-watching; something is grounding about seeing others live their ordinary, unremarkable lives while he carries the weight of being one of Sylvestria’s [SS] Ranked Magicians.

  “Sorry for making you wait!”

  He turns at Syren’s voice, his relaxed posture straightening slightly as his eyes land on her. She is descending the grand staircase, her presence immediately commanding the attention of everyone in the lobby.

  She wears a long, flowing white dress with an understated elegance that matches her usual composed demeanor. The gown has a subtle shimmer, catching the light with every step.

  Her beauty lies in her effortless elegance. Thin straps frame her shoulders, while the fabric of her dress flows gently in soft waves, cinched at the waist by a delicate silver belt. Her golden hair, usually pinned in a neat bun, now cascades freely down her back in graceful waves.

  She is breathtaking.

  Maurice feels a small smile tug at his lips as he stands to greet her. “You look stunning,” he says softly, his usual teasing tone replaced with something more genuine.

  Syren’s cheeks flush faintly, but she keeps her composure. “Thank you…” she replies, her voice almost shy as she meets his gaze.

  Her eyes flick over his current attire—his blue tuxedo, slightly wrinkled from the day’s events—and she arches an eyebrow. “What about you? Are you not going to change?”

  Maurice smirks, his usual mischief returning as he raises his hands dramatically. “Oh, but I am.”

  -Flick!

  With a sharp flick of his fingers, a faint shimmer of mana envelops him, and his blue tuxedo begins to transform.

  The fabric darkens and shifts into a sleek crimson red, perfectly tailored to his frame. A black top hat appears with a subtle pop atop his head.

  Maurice adjusts the top hat with a flourish, bowing slightly as he takes Syren’s hand and kisses the back of it with exaggerated flair.

  “I have changed, milady,” he says with a smirk, his crimson hair falling perfectly into place as he straightens.

  Syren’s cheeks deepen in color, her fingers twitching slightly in his grasp. “You are insufferable,” she mutters, though the smile tugging at her lips betrays her amusement.

  Maurice grins as he releases her hand, his eyes glinting with playful energy. “Shall we?” he asks, extending his arm for her to take.

  Syren rolls her eyes but loops her arm through his, letting him lead her out of the lobby.

  As they walk, the onlookers cannot help but stare—two figures, one regal and composed, the other flamboyant and mischievous, yet they seem perfectly balanced.

  ════ ?★? ════

  Maurice and Syren finally arrive at the entrance of La Lumière étoilée, one of the finest restaurants in Verdant Haven.

  The grand establishment exudes sophistication, with its golden-framed doors and glowing lanterns casting a warm light across the cobblestone path. Inside, the soft hum of string instruments playing in the background melds perfectly with the faint clinking of silverware and murmured conversations.

  A sharply dressed host, wearing a tailored midnight-blue suit adorned with a subtle Aether-crystal pin, steps forward, his practiced smile welcoming.

  “Good evening, Monsieur and Mademoiselle. Welcome to La Lumière étoilée. Do you have a reservation?” he asks politely, his voice smooth and professional.

  Maurice tips his hat slightly, flashing a charming grin. “Indeed. Under the name Maurice Réel.”

  The host glances at the ledger on the polished mahogany stand and nods. “Ah, yes, Monsieur Réel. Right this way, please.” With a practiced gesture, he grabs two menus and motions for them to follow.

  He leads them through the restaurant’s opulent interior, its intimate yet luxurious atmosphere unmistakable.

  The tables are adorned with crisp white linens and enchanted, softly glowing floral centerpieces. Crystal chandeliers overhead cast a warm golden light, and the aroma of exquisite dishes fills the air.

  Maurice and Syren are guided to a secluded table by a large window overlooking the cityscape of Aurelior, Verdant Haven's shining capital. The view of glowing rooftops and illuminated spires gives the scene an almost magical quality.

  “Here you are, Monsieur, Mademoiselle. Please make yourselves comfortable,” the host says as he gestures toward their seats and hands them the menus. “Your server will be with you shortly.”

  Maurice pulls Syren’s chair out with an exaggerated flourish. “Milady,” he teases, bowing slightly.

  Syren rolls her eyes but cannot hide the faint smile that tugs at her lips. “Thank you,” she says as she sits down.

  Maurice takes his seat across from her, adjusting his cape dramatically before propping his elbows on the table with a mischievous grin.

  A waiter in a white uniform approaches, bowing politely. “Good evening. I will be serving you tonight. Would you care for some water while you look over the menu?”

  “Yes, please,” Syren answers with a polite nod.

  The waiter places two glasses on the table, filling them with chilled, crystal-clear water from a silver decanter before leaving to give them time to browse the menu.

  Maurice picks up the menu, flipping it open with curiosity. His crimson brows rise slightly as he scans the descriptions of dishes.

  “Fancy, huh?” he remarks, his finger trailing down the list of entrées. “I see they still have Rago?t de Mana-B?uf. I remember trying this once—it had that hint of enchanted truffle. Delicious.”

  Syren glances at him over the edge of her menu. “You have been here before?”

  “Once or twice,” Maurice admits, his grin widening. “What can I say? I like treating myself now and then.”

  Syren rolls her eyes but smiles, returning her focus to the menu. She reads through the selection, her fingers brushing lightly against the fine parchment pages. “I think I will go with the Filet de Sylvestrian Saumon. It sounds divine.”

  The waiter returns, standing at attention with a notepad in hand. “Are you ready to order?”

  “Yes,” Maurice says, casually closing his menu and leaning back. “I will have the Rago?t de Mana-B?uf with a side of the Pomme Purée éthérée.”

  The waiter jots it down before turning to Syren. “And for you, Mademoiselle?”

  “I will take the Filet de Sylvestrian Saumon with the Herbed Infusion Risotto,” Syren says, handing her menu back with a polite smile.

  “Excellent choices,” the waiter says with a practiced nod, tucking the menus under his arm. “Would you care for any wine to accompany your meals?”

  Maurice glances at Syren, silently letting her decide.

  “A glass of Chateau Aetheria Blanc, please,” Syren replies.

  “Make that two,” Maurice adds, flashing the waiter a grin.

  “Of course,” the waiter says. “I will bring your wine shortly.” With that, he turns and leaves the two alone at their table.

  “So, you said earlier that you were teaching at Académie d’E?eforte?” Syren asks, her tone light, though the curiosity in her eyes is evident.

  “Yes,” Maurice replies with a casual shrug, swirling the wine in his glass. “It is just a hobby, you know? Something to fill the time when I am not traveling around Verdant Haven performing.”

  Syren’s brows lift in surprise. “Performing? You are back to being a showman? I thought you hated it.”

  Maurice’s smile falters slightly as he glances down at his glass, the crimson liquid reflecting the golden light of the chandelier.

  “Well…” he begins, his voice quieter, almost reflective. “Just like you, I suppose. I am doing something I swore I would never do. And to be honest… I do not know why.”

  He lets out a soft chuckle, though there is no humor in it. “Maybe—just maybe—it is because I wanted to prove something. To him. To myself. To… continue his legacy after he died. I do not know.”

  Syren’s heart aches at the vulnerability in his voice, and she immediately knows who he is talking about. “Maurice…” she says softly, her voice almost a whisper.

  Maurice hesitates for a moment as if debating whether to continue. Then he sighs, running a hand through his crimson hair. “Even though he never said it outright, I always felt he wanted me to carry on the Réel legacy. My father… Papá… he was everything to me.”

  Syren leans forward slightly, her gaze locked on him. She has always known Maurice was close to his father, but hearing him talk about it now feels different—raw and unfiltered.

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  “Papá was the kind of man who always supported me, no matter what I chose to do. Whether it was pursuing magic or something completely mundane, he was always there, cheering me on. But then…” Maurice’s voice catches, and he takes a deep breath, steadying himself. “He died during my final year at Verdant Arcanum. It crushed me, Syren. He had been my constant—my anchor. It was just the two of us. No other family, no relatives to lean on. Just us. And then, suddenly… it was not.”

  Syren’s eyes widen as realization dawns on her. ‘Is this why he dropped out of Verdant Arcanum?’ she thinks, her chest tightening.

  Maurice continues, his gaze distant. “Maybe that is why… maybe I quit being a Stargate Raider. Maybe going back to being a showman was not just about the danger or the excitement. It was… a way to honor him. To carry on what he started—for himself and the family. For the Réel name.”

  The weight of his words hangs between them, and for a moment, neither speaks.

  Syren finally gathers herself and says, “Maurice… your father would be so proud of you. Not because you are continuing his legacy, but because you have made your own. You have done so much—helped so many people. That is your legacy. And it is just as extraordinary as his.”

  Maurice looks up at her, his emerald green eyes meeting her blue ones, and for the first time that evening, his smile feels genuine. “Thanks, Syrie,” he says softly, the old nickname slipping from his lips without thought. “You always know how to make me feel like I am not just running in circles.”

  Syren blushes faintly but holds his gaze. “You are not running in circles, Maurice. You are carving your path. And no one else could do it quite like you.”

  Maurice leans back in his chair, his green eyes softening as a warm, teasing smile spreads across his lips. “You know, Syrie, you have always had this knack for saying exactly what I needed to hear… even when I did not want to,” he says.

  Syren chuckles softly, but the faint blush already dusting her cheeks deepens. She quickly glances down at her wine glass, trying to compose herself.

  “Well, someone has to keep you in check,” she quips, brushing a strand of loose hair behind her ear. “You are not exactly known for your modesty.”

  Maurice grins, leaning forward slightly, his chin resting in the palm of his hand as if studying her. “Fair enough,” he says, his gaze holding hers a moment longer than she expects. “But you know, you have always had this way of cutting through all my nonsense and making me feel… seen.”

  Syren’s breath catches, her blush spreading further as her composure wavers momentarily. She quickly masks it with a playful scoff. “Well, someone has to see through the Great Maurice Réel’s theatrics. I cannot let that ego get too inflated.”

  Maurice chuckles, the sound rich and warm, yet there is an undeniable glint of mischief in his eyes. As he swirls the deep red wine in his glass, his expression softens.

  “But seriously, Syrie, enough about me.” He leans forward slightly. “What about you? Well… aside from being the Commissioner-General, of course.”

  Syren blinks, caught slightly off guard by the shift in conversation.

  “Well…” She hesitates for a moment, adjusting her grip on her glass. “Aside from being the Commissioner-General, there is nothing really.”

  Maurice raises an eyebrow, swirling his drink lazily. “Nothing?” A playful smirk tugs at his lips. “So, the Commissioner-General is boring?”

  She huffs, flustered, her face heating slightly. “I-It is not like that! It is just that…” She glances down at her wine, fingers tapping lightly against the glass. “I do not know what else to do.”

  Maurice strokes his chin, feigning deep contemplation. “How about you come to my shows every so often?”

  Syren's head snaps up, her blue eyes widening slightly. “Your shows?”

  Maurice grins, resting his cheek against his palm. “Yes. You work too much—you need to get out more. Besides,” he adds with a smirk, “what better way to unwind than watching me perform? I am quite the spectacle, you know.”

  Syren bites her lip, pretending to consider the idea, but in reality… she is already leaning toward yes.

  Maurice is right.

  She has spent so much time dedicated to the Verdant Haven Arcane Constabulary that she has never considered what comes next. The job has become her life. Her identity.

  But now… now, an opportunity presents itself.

  Not just any opportunity—one that involves seeing Maurice more often.

  She takes a small sip of her wine, setting the glass down gently. “I suppose… watching one or two of your performances would not hurt.”

  Maurice’s eyes twinkle, his smirk widening into something more triumphant. “One or two? Syrie, please, we both know you are going to end up watching every single one of them.”

  She rolls her eyes, but the small smile playing on her lips gives her away.

  Maurice reaches forward, gently tilting his glass toward hers.

  A soft clink echoes between them.

  “To new habits, then?” Maurice muses, his voice lower, more intimate.

  Syren meets his gaze, holding it for a moment longer than necessary. “To new habits.”

  Their glasses meet once more before they both take a sip, the moment lingering between them—unspoken, but undeniable.

  ════ ?★? ════

  The streets of Aurelior are alive with the hum of evening activity—carriages rolling over cobblestone, street vendors calling out their final sales, and distant laughter from taverns and inns. Maurice and Syren walk side by side, their post-dinner conversation flowing naturally.

  “The meal was delightful,” Maurice muses, stretching slightly.

  Syren nods, tucking a loose strand of silver hair behind her ear. “Yes, it was.” She smirks. “Despite it costing 1,000 Camilliums, it was worth it.”

  “I could not agree more,” Maurice says, glancing at her amusedly. “Though, next time, maybe you should treat me.”

  Syren chuckles. “That depends. Are you paying next time?”

  Maurice snorts. “You wish.”

  Their playful banter continues as they stroll through the city, the warm glow of street lamps casting elongated shadows behind them.

  Then, Syren tilts her head slightly. “Ah, by the way, are there any students at Académie d’E?eforte who have caught your attention?”

  Maurice turns to her with a smirk. “Oh? Why the sudden interest?”

  Syren shrugs. “You have a knack for sniffing out promising hatchlings—just like your father did with André.”

  Maurice lets out a low chuckle. “Yes, I suppose you are right about that.”

  He strokes his chin, thinking for a moment before speaking. “Well, there are two students who have stood out to me. One of them is Arthur Lyon, the son of Uther Lyon.”

  Syren’s eyes widen slightly at the name. “Wait.” She frowns. “Monsieur Uther enrolled his son in Académie d’E?eforte? Why? The Lyon territory has its own academy with far higher standards.”

  Maurice shrugs. “That is what I wondered at first too. But after digging around, I found out Arthur specifically requested to attend E?eforte.”

  Syren raises an eyebrow. “And Uther just… let him?”

  Maurice smirks. “Yes. At first, I thought it was strange. Uther is not exactly the type to entertain personal whims. But Arthur kept begging, and eventually, he gave in.”

  “So much for that ‘Lyon Pride.’” Syren exhales in mild amusement. “And the second student?”

  Maurice’s smirk grows as he glances up at the darkening sky. “Dominic E?eforte.”

  Syren blinks, her steps slowing for a brief moment. “André has a son?”

  Maurice chuckles at her reaction. “Right? That was my exact thought when I first found out. Considering how irresponsible he is when it comes to women, I was sure he would never have an heir.”

  Syren lets out a soft laugh. “I can agree with that.” Then she furrows her brows. “What is special about him?”

  “For starters, he wants to be a Stargate Raider despite being Manaless.”

  Syren stops in her tracks. “He is Manaless?” Her voice carries a note of disbelief. “André is an [SS] Rank Magician, and his son has no Mana?”

  “Surprisingly, yes.” Maurice starts walking again, prompting Syren to follow.

  “But why would he want to be a Stargate Raider if he is Manaless? That is—”

  “Crazy?” Maurice finishes for her, flashing a knowing grin. “I know, right? But here is the thing—he is actually a fighter. He wields dual guns, has mastered the fundamentals of Basic Gun Arts, and has instincts sharper than most. The kid even survived my attacks during training.”

  Syren narrows her eyes slightly. “Wait. If he is that good, then André must have trained him. Right?”

  Maurice shakes his head. “That is the catch—André never trained him.”

  Syren’s brows furrow in confusion. “So, you are saying he is self-taught?”

  Maurice exhales, tilting his head as if debating how much to reveal. “Well… not exactly.” He pauses, his gaze flickering up to the sky again.

  “Then what?” Syren presses.

  Maurice sighs. “The real reason I am interested in Dominic is not just because he is defying the odds of being Manaless.” He hesitates for a moment, then smirks. “But… actually, it is a secret.”

  Syren shoots him an unimpressed look. “Seriously?”

  Maurice chuckles, scratching the back of his head. “You will find out eventually.”

  She studies him for a moment, clearly considering whether to pry further, but eventually sighs and lets it go.

  “Fine. Keep your secrets. But now I am even more curious.”

  Maurice simply smiles. “That is the point.”

  They continue strolling through the lively streets of Aurelior, the warm glow of lanterns casting a golden hue over the cobblestone paths. The city bustles with life—laughter spills from taverns, the distant melody of a street performer’s violin fills the air, and the scent of fresh pastries drifts through the streets.

  Just as Maurice is about to speak, a salesperson suddenly steps in front of them, their polished demeanor practically radiating enthusiasm.

  “Bonsoir, Monsieur and Mademoiselle!” the salesperson greets them with a charming smile. “Would you be interested in a photo booth experience for couples? A perfect way to capture your memories together!”

  Maurice opens his mouth, ready to decline. “Oh—we’re not—”

  “Yes, we’re interested!” Syren interjects smoothly, her voice dripping with amusement.

  Maurice freezes mid-sentence, his eyes widening in disbelief. “Syren, the photo booth is only for cou—”

  Syren simply shoots him a smirk, her silver eyes glinting mischievously under the soft streetlights.

  Maurice feels a cold bead of sweat roll down his temple. He narrows his eyes at Syren, who stands there, perfectly composed, a playful smirk curving her lips.

  The salesperson, oblivious to Maurice’s internal panic, claps their hands together. “Fantastic! Right this way, please.”

  Before Maurice can protest, Syren loops her arm around his and gently but firmly leads him toward the booth.

  “Syren, you know what ‘couples’ means, right?” Maurice mutters under his breath.

  She turns to him with an innocent expression that does not fool him one bit. “Of course. But it’s just a picture, Maurice. What’s the harm?”

  Maurice sighs in exasperation. “You just enjoy making me suffer, don’t you?”

  Syren laughs, a soft and melodic sound. “Oh, absolutely. But you have to admit, it’s entertaining.”

  The photo booth is small but elegantly designed, lined with plush red velvet curtains. A vintage camera sits on a stand, ready to capture whatever chaos is about to ensue.

  The salesperson gestures toward a small selection of props on the side. “You can choose accessories to personalize your photo! Hats, glasses, even a romantic rose, if you’d like.”

  Maurice deadpans. “We’re not doing the rose.”

  Syren, already reaching for a pair of matching berets, smirks. “Fine, but we’re wearing these.”

  Maurice groans but does not argue as she hands him one. With a reluctant sigh, he follows her into the booth.

  They sit down on the cushioned bench, Syren looking entirely at ease while Maurice still seems mildly horrified.

  “All right, ready?” the salesperson chirps from outside.

  Syren nudges Maurice playfully. “Come on, Maurice, smile for the camera. Or at least try not to look like you’re being held hostage.”

  Maurice rolls his eyes but, despite himself, cannot suppress the small, amused smirk tugging at his lips.

  “Fine. Let’s just get this over with.”

  The camera flashes.

  As the camera flashes, capturing the moment, Syren finds herself staring at the screen displaying their photo.

  Maurice, ever the reluctant participant, has worn a smirk that is somewhere between amused and exasperated, his arms casually crossed as if silently questioning how he ended up in this situation. Meanwhile, she has leaned slightly toward him, her head tilting ever so slightly in a way that makes them look… natural together.

  Too natural.

  Syren bites the inside of her cheek to suppress the small, wistful smile threatening to form.

  She has always been patient—after all, timing is everything. There are things she cannot say just yet, feelings she cannot act on. Not because she is afraid of rejection, but because she knows Maurice.

  He is not the type to accept things so easily.

  Love, romance, or even the idea of someone waiting for him—he would hesitate, maybe even reject the idea outright just because he is not ready for it. And Syren… she is willing to wait.

  She turns to glance at him, watching the way he ruffles his own hair in mild frustration, muttering something about “being dragged into nonsense” under his breath.

  She knows him better than most. He is strong, reliable, and brilliant. But he also has walls.

  Walls she is not in a rush to tear down—no, she will simply stay close, waiting for the day he lets her in.

  “All right, next pose!” the salesperson chimes in.

  Maurice lets out a groan. “How many of these do we have to take?”

  Syren chuckles, tilting her head. “Let’s do something fun, then.”

  She reaches for a pair of oversized, ridiculous sunglasses from the prop pile and plops them onto Maurice’s face before slipping on her own matching pair.

  He sighs dramatically, but there is no real protest.

  The camera flashes again, capturing another moment—this time, with Maurice barely holding back a laugh and Syren grinning as if she has already won.

  Maybe, just maybe, she has.

  Not in the way she wants, not yet. But for now, just being here, in moments like this, is enough.

  For now, she will enjoy these fleeting moments with him, content to wait for the right time to tell him what she already knows.

  That she has long since fallen for him.

  As the last flash goes off, signaling the end of their impromptu photoshoot, Syren takes the freshly printed strip of photos from the salesperson.

  She gazes at them for a moment, her fingers tracing over the glossy surface. Each photo is a snapshot of something she will treasure—a reminder of the rare moments when Maurice lets himself relax, even if it is just for a few seconds.

  In the first one, he has still been stiff, arms crossed, brow furrowed, clearly regretting getting roped into this.

  The second one, with the ridiculous sunglasses, is her favorite. He tries to scowl, but the effect is ruined by the way his lips twitch, fighting back a laugh.

  And the last one…

  Syren’s breath hitches slightly.

  It is not planned. It is not forced.

  They have both turned slightly toward each other, and in that split second, Maurice’s expression softens just enough to look… right. As if the two of them belong there, together, frozen in time.

  Her heart squeezes painfully, but she pushes the feeling down, smiling softly as she folds the photos and tucks them into her bag.

  Maurice has been watching her. He notices the way she lingers on the pictures, how the corner of her lips curves just a little more than usual.

  But—just as quickly as the thought crosses his mind, he lets it go.

  He is not the type to question things like this. If Syren is smiling, then that is all there is to it.

  Besides, what is there to question?

  Maurice stuffs his hands into his pockets as they step away from the booth. The night air is cool against his skin, the streets of Aurelior still bustling with people despite the late hour.

  “So, where to now?” Syren asks, turning to him.

  Maurice shrugs. “I will walk you back to your penthouse.”

  Syren blinks in surprise. “Oh? That is rare of you.”

  Maurice rolls his eyes. “It is not that rare. I just do not want to deal with the mess if you somehow get into trouble on the way.”

  Syren chuckles, tilting her head. “So, you are saying you would be worried?”

  Maurice scoffs. “No, I am saying I would be annoyed. There is a difference.”

  Syren only hums in response, her smile never fading as they fall into step beside each other.

  The city lights cast a warm glow over them as they walk, the occasional laughter of people enjoying the nightlife filling the air.

  She steals a glance at him—his sharp profile, the way his hands stay stuffed in his pockets like he has no real destination, yet his strides are always purposeful.

  Maurice is not the type to do things without a reason.

  Maybe he will never say it outright. Maybe he will continue brushing off his kindness as obligation.

  But Syren will take what she can get.

  For now, walking beside him like this is enough.

  For now, she will wait.