Luna stepped into the grand hallway, and the sound of conversation thinned.
Voices dipped, bodies straightened, and eyes turned before anyone could stop themselves. She slowed for a moment, unsure if she had done something wrong, then continued walking.
Luna was delicately built, her presence gentle but unmistakable. Her silver hair was drawn simply back, framing her youthful face with soft symmetry: a small, refined nose, lips naturally curved into a quiet smile, and eyes the colour of clear, unnatural silver.
She was almost sixteen by the Empire's calendar. Though she thought of herself as little more than the daughter of House Whiterock, that could not possibly explain the reaction she received from the gathering crowd.
Luna walked the long white hall toward the throne-room gates, polished stone reflecting the light with an almost unreal purity. The path split the gathered elites in two, but within her home, they were simply people.
She smiled.
Some returned it quickly, almost desperately. Others bowed too deeply. A few turned away.
She had been taught that a smile could disarm people, make them feel seen. She did not need to be imposing or cruel.
That was the role of her shadow.
A wizened old man in polished black armor, olive skin weathered by years of service, hair and beard white as ash.
Avraham Darkflame.
Once an Inquisitor. Now her mentor, protector, and the most constant companion she had known since birth.
He was simply always there, whether her senses registered him or not. And sometimes, though Luna would never admit it, the feeling was slightly unsettling.
Her dress set her apart from the other nobles. Pure silver-white, high-necked and long-sleeved, richly embroidered but modest to the point of severity. No indulgence. It had been her choice, gently encouraged by her mother and Avraham alike.
As she passed through the throne-room gates, the room beyond revealed itself.
Packed. Heavy with power.
If those outside shaped the Empire, the families within decided whether they were permitted to do so.
The Fifteen Great Houses.
The reactions she received here were more familiar.
She moved among them, greeting others with quiet respect, her smile unwavering. Some nobles responded warmly. Others acknowledged her presence with expressions that did not quite reach their eyes.
The children were worse.
Many who were her age had once spoken to her freely. They had laughed with her, shared meals, whispered secrets.
One by one, they had drifted away. Some abruptly. Others with carefully rehearsed politeness.
The Whiterock family occupied the most space in the hall. Her family. Too many faces. Too many shared features, disciplined into compliance.
She stood out the most among them. Her Lunarian heritage overshadowed its Whiterock blood by a considerable margin.
She had many half-siblings. Most did not carry the Whiterock name, as she did.
That distinction had been granted at her birth through Lady Luciana Lunaris Whiterock, the legitimate wife of the House patriarch.
Only two of her elder brothers shared that honor, and they had earned it through years of service and hardship.
She felt their eyes on her as she approached.
Avraham had tried explaining why they hated her. She was meant to understand it and use it. They had been raised under constant pressure, starved of affection, forced to prove their worth endlessly. She had not.
Ever since she had been old enough to understand, she had tried to make herself smaller around them. Kinder. Useful.
She liked to see herself as more like a shield for her siblings. Her actions seemed to infuriate her older siblings.
Avraham had taught her what it meant to be a sister, what it meant to be family.
She used to wonder why her father had never taught her that, or why none of the other kids were taught that. Looking at her family and that of other children she knew, Avraham's teachings were definitely the outliers. But, mother approved of them as well, so she had never questioned them.
She greeted her younger siblings first, crouching, touching hands, offering quiet words. Their fear melted quickly, giving way to relief. They glanced nervously toward the empty throne and their attendants, then back to her as if checking whether it was safe.
She decided for them. Someone had to break down the barriers so earnestly held in place by her dear father.
She lifted her youngest sister, barely three, into her arms. The child clutched at her dress and hid her face, but her small fingers relaxed after a moment.
When she reached her eldest brother, Casius, he acknowledged her with the bare minimum, a nod that held no warmth. Luna did not mind; she was used to this.
Her gaze drifted instead to her mother, seated beside the throne.
Lady Luciana watched her with a gentle smile that needed no performance. It was the same look she had worn since Luna's earliest memories.
Luna felt warmth bloom in her chest at the sight of her mother.
She crossed the remaining distance without a second thought.
"Welcome, daughter," her mother said softly. "And who have you brought with you?"
"Greetings, Mother. This... is Aria. She is my youngest sister." Luna adjusted the child slightly. "Can you say hello, Aria?"
Luna had once felt that her newfound attachment to her half-siblings would greatly upset her mother, because they were the clear signs of her father's infidelity. But much to Luna's joy, her mother encouraged her even in this regard, and she would even at times show a fraction of emotion when meeting Luna's half-sibling, which was the most she could really expect from her mother, because apparently, she did not have a welcoming reputation.
But what would people know? She was the person closest to her, and for her, she was a shining beacon of warmth and kindness.
"Duna," Aria murmured, then buried her face in Luna's chest.
Luna sighed lightly, stroking the child's back. "Apparently, I am now Duna."
Her mother's smile softened. "Endearing... But you should return her to her caretaker. Your father will arrive soon."
"If it is improper," Luna said gently, "perhaps it will encourage Father to finally notice me."
Her mother's expression tightened, just for a heartbeat.
"He might even scold me," Luna continued. "I would prefer that to his silence."
"Shush," her mother murmured, putting a finger on her lips. "Why? Am I no longer enough for you, child?"
"No! You are, of course, you are," Luna said quickly. Then quieter, "But he's my father... isn't he? If he despises me… why keep me where everyone can see?"
Her mother did not answer immediately.
"I would give the title to my brothers," Luna went on, her voice barely above a whisper. "At least then they would not hate me for it."
"Has anyone said anything to you?" her mother asked.
"No. I would almost prefer it if they had."
A sigh. "You care too deeply for such things, Luna. Sometimes I wonder if it would have been easier if you were more like your father."
Luna stiffened. "Have I angered you?"
"Not really, my dear. I don't think you ever could... " Her mother gestured gently. "That was not a challenge, Luna." Lady Whiterock smiled warmly at her once more.
"Now go. Return your sister to her attendants and take your rightful place by my side before your father arrives."
Luna resisted the urge to kiss her mother's cheek, thought better of it, and silently obeyed her command.
She had just handed Aria back to her caretaker when the room shifted.
Attendants straightened. Conversations ceased. Luna found it slightly comical how everyone's faces turned towards the far entrance of the throne room.
Luna did not need to turn and look; only her father could have attracted such attention from a room this privileged. The honourable host of this gathering had finally arrived.