39 Chapter Thirty-Nine: The Masquerade Ball (II)

A dreamy, cloying melody slithered along the walls of the ballroom. The crowd slowly moved along with the music, holding its phantom arms for support. The tune would change every now and then, and the crowd would twirl in unison and switch partners. It was a traditional dance of the Tyrians, the old man dancing with Ayra claimed.

"It was a tradition started by our late protector.'' He smiled softly, the skin mooning around the corner of his eyes in quiet reminiscence. "Many, many years ago, commoners weren't allowed inside ballrooms, let alone dance here. It was an act solely reserved for the elite members of the city, and the commoners who did manage to crawl past all social barriers were no more than mere bystanders."

"They say Gavin Florenz had turned eleven when he attended his first ball. The child witnessed the obvious disseverance between his people and disliked it. So he crashed the dance, tugged the commoners towards the centre of the ballroom and danced his heart out with them that night. Since then, this traditional dance has evolved into an expression of joy and unity."

Ayra couldn't help but smile at that piece of warm history. She slid her gaze towards the large portrait at the arc of the dias.

"He was a wonderful person."

The old man nodded, his pale eyes glowing. "Gavin was and is the pride of Tyria. He was only twelve when he won hearts like a true lord. He had so much to live and see. No one knew he would end up as a Sentinel," he smiled, albeit sadly.

"Fate is bittersweet after all, sir. It gives, but it also takes," Ayra blurted.

She gently moved across the room, guiding the old man with her. Her eyes fixated on the smooth surface of an accolade, tuning the music out and seemingly lost in thought. She didn't notice the long stretch of silence till the old man spoke again.

"Words of wisdom at such a young age." He remarked, an understanding look crossing his aged features.

Ayra masked her features and grinned. "I try, sir."

The music changed its flow again and the crowd shuffled to change partners. The old man gently dropped her hands and stepped back.

"Well, this old man is tired now, young lady. What can I say, the gout in my legs prevents my youthful heart from living. I shall be retreating for the night, but I had a wonderful time. Thanks for keeping this old man company,"

"Enjoy the remainder of the ball, sir," Ayra wished.

"Oh, you bet I will," he said, winking at her.

Ayra waved at him, chuckling softly when she saw him make a beeline to the liquor lounge. She flipped her hair over her shoulder and scoured the wavering crowd for her two best friends when she felt someone tug the sleeve of her long, silver dress.

Maria stood behind her, wearing a smile as bright as the glorious, golden chandeliers of the ballroom.

With that very smile plastered on her face, she exclaimed, "Ayra! You look beautiful!"

Ayra smiled so hard her cheeks hurt. "You look beautiful too, Maria."

Maria did indeed look beautiful tonight. She adorned a crimson dress and a matching mask that glittered under the golden light. Her brown hair was pulled up into a bun, allowing a few loose tendrils that framed her round face.

She blushed at the compliment. Ayra gently clasped Maria's hands and began dancing.

"I'm glad you made it to the ball," Ayra said and twirled her. Maria laughed heartily.

"Yes, and it's all thanks to you."

"Whatever for?" Ayra questioned, laughing lightly when Maria tried to twirl her.

"I took your advice and spoke to my aunt yesterday. My aunt promised to support my dreams. We cried and laughed a lot last night. It feels like I got my family back, Ayra."

Ayra smiled, happy that it all worked out in the end. "I'm so happy for you."

Maria's smile didn't waver. She said, "I have something I want to give you, Ayra."

Ayra nodded before they carefully stepped away to the side. Maria fished out a small pouch and opened it before pulling a ribbon out. She handed it over to Ayra, gesturing for her to take it.

"It's not much but I made it for you, as a token of gratitude."

Ayra gently took the ribbon from her and eyed it. It was doused in the palest of blues, a small, curved A embroidered at one end of the soft ribbon. She realized it was the colour of her eyes. Cerulean blue, like the foam of the deep blue waves. The edges of the cotton white clouds.

Ayra wordlessly gathered some of her hair back and tied the ribbon around it.

"Thank you so much, Maria. This is the best gift ever." Ayra said earnestly, meaning every single word.

Maria simply nodded, blushing deeply at her response.

A group of girls called out for Maria. She looked behind her and then back at Ayra, brown eyes uncertain.

Ayra simply lifted her chin, gesturing for her to go. "We'll meet again."

Maria's eyes brightened and she nodded fiercely. Firmly. "We'll meet again."

With that, she left.

Ayra's eyes glided over the ballroom again, finally and successfully settling on her two best friends. Neslyn danced along with a bunch of children who placed handmade confetti paper crowns on her head. She smiled at that. Then her eyes settled on the witch---poor, poor Valda---who dug her claws in Cressa's shoulders and bared her teeth at the grinning Viper.

Ayra fought the urge to laugh out loud.

People ate and drank heartily, danced merrily and laughed unconditionally. The Masquerade Ball was at its blinding peak and Ayra simply hoped it remained the same till the night dissipated.

But fate—oh, so cruel fate—always, always seemed to have other plans in store for them.

Because in the middle of the laughing, dancing crowd, Ayra spotted two people. Two people who stood out from the rest. Two people who adorned pale cloaks. Two people who stood as still as the dead winds of the lost realms, one who stood tall and the other who slumped. Two people who held hands, hands that were dirty. Hands that were sickly pale.

Hands that were bloodied.

Ayra's spine locked in response. She instinctively took a step forward, fingers slowly inching towards her bracelet that cradled her Arcadius within a small pocket of magic and blinked. Just once. Once.

And they disappeared. Just like that.

She froze again, her mind sputtering. For a heavy heartbeat, Ayra simply stood there, wondering what in the Celestials' name was even that. She moved again, this time, the unperturbed, delighted crowd stopped her from reaching any further.

Ayra cursed inwardly.

An obsidian-gloved hand suddenly appeared in front of her, and a deep voice said,

"Do you wish to dance?"

Ayra wordlessly took his hand and he smoothly guided her towards the heart of the ballroom.

The music began. This time, it was slow and haunting, as if it cradled deep, tortured tales in its arms.

The man slowly slid one arm behind her back and gently held the tips of her fingers. It was a mere whisper of a touch, the bare brush of his thumb above the skin below her nails. Phantom, almost.

He pulled her closer, just a little, and skillfully guided her across the ballroom, attuned and in harmony with the music that pulsed in the air. The wind seemed to move with her, matching her steps.

If her mind wasn't ringing with warning bells, Ayra would've appreciated this man's skills. His manners. The subtle charm. In any other situation, she would've asked for his name. She would've given hers in return.

But the situation was anything but normal.

The ringing inside her head grew louder. And louder. Her eyes roamed above his shoulders, trying to scan her surroundings and spot those two figures again. Since the man she was dancing with towered over her, Ayra couldn't see clearly, so she slowly rose on her toes, effortlessly losing her balance in response.

But the man was quick. He circled a strong arm around her and pulled her closer. Ayra's face was almost buried inside the side of his neck.

The man who held her spoke softly next to her ear.

"What are you looking for?"

It was harmless, and an expected question almost, but Ayra didn't want to give voice to her distress. So, instead, she said,

"No one."

He leaned closer, the sharp bridge of his black mask brushing against the shell of her ear.

"Liar," he said, voice deep and smooth.

That made Ayra slowly pull back and look up at him. Really, really look at him.

The world came crashing down at her and Ayra couldn't breathe at all. Her wind blanketed around her but she felt weak, and vulnerable, even in it's protection.

The man was dressed head to toe in black. His mask covered the entirety of his face, but it provided a window to his eyes. Eyes that she had loved once. Eyes she knew how to read once. Eyes that had spoken of love, sorrow and laughter.

Eyes that were now cold and aloof.

Eyes that matched the silver of her dress. And the silver of her hopes.

She whispered a name, a name that haunted her.

"Ruhnn."