"Goodness…" Cane tried—and failed—to suppress the grin spreading across his face. "Did your mom make that?"
Sophie smiled, spinning slowly for him. "She did. Do you like it?"
"It's okay, I suppose," Cane said, rubbing his nose to cover how completely she stole his breath.
The dress was a pale, icy blue that shimmered subtly in the light. Slim-fitting, it flared at the hips and tapered just above her ankles. Simple, traditional shoes—cloth with woven straw soles, lightly resin-sealed—completed the look.
Sophie caught him staring and took a moment to enjoy it. Then, with a light touch, she adjusted the ice-blue cloak that draped down from hidden clasps on his Salt armor.
"I think we're properly turned out for this," she said, smoothing a fold.
Cane laughed. "No one's going to notice me if I'm standing next to you."
Fergis inserted himself between them with an exaggerated groan. "Enough! Stop admiring each other and focus."
"Sure," Cane said, still grinning as he took Sophie's hand. "We're seated a few spots down from Uncle Telamon and the King—right next to Princess Melina."
The hallway of Seven Tower bustled with nervous energy. Candidates stood with their teams, each paired with a formal attendant tasked with pre-ceremony grooming. Most of them took the job far too seriously.
Fergis was already grimacing as his attendant—a tall, gangly fellow—pointed out every wrinkle in his clothes with visible distress.
Clara: Just fry him. One good blast and he'll stop nagging.
Dhalia: Do it. Then the rest of them will be too scared to touch us.
Fergis: Won't I get in trouble for that?
Clara: Obviously.
Dhalia: Do it anyway. For us.
Cane sighed and raised his voice. "Stop embarrassing my team."
His sharp blue gaze swept the attendants like a warning flame. It worked. They backed off immediately—more effective than singed eyebrows.
At last, a rift shimmered into existence, and the group from Seven Tower stepped through—no more bickering, smoothing, or grooming. It was time.
Upon arrival in the capital, Cane and Sophie separated from the group and boarded a private coach bound for Palace Square. The moment they sat down, their psi-runes pulsed.
Fergis: Where are you two going?
Cane: Heading to the seating area.
Clara: Yeah? That's where we're going too.
Sophie: You guys don't know?
Dhalia: Oh no… not a parade.
Cane: Yep. Practice your wave. And don't slouch.
While Cane and Sophie enjoyed a quiet ride in comfort, Fergis, Clara, and Dhalia were led onto a large wheeled platform shaped like a float—complete with three high-backed chairs that resembled miniature thrones.
Clara's eyes widened as she caught sight of a sleek black panther pacing beside the float.
"Is that a panther?" she whispered, already stepping toward it.
A handler raised a calm hand. "Please, miss. I'm maintaining a psi-link to keep them calm. Touching them could disrupt it."
He was a chubby young man in white silk, several sizes too small, with a towering feathered headdress. His voice, incongruously deep, carried a patient authority.
"Them?" Clara asked, stopping just short.
Then she saw the others—one white, one spotted, each lounging nearby.
"Ohhh. Just a quick pet? Can I feed them?"
"No," the man replied politely, lowering himself into a strange, flower-shaped seat that swallowed him whole.
Clara's eyes lit up. "That's so amazing."
"I know," came a proud voice from within the petals.
Meanwhile, Fergis ignored the chaos, settling into his seat and scanning the scene.
Musicians warmed up nearby. Trotting horses lined the avenue. Dancers and acrobats stretched and prepared to perform. The Crown was going all out—flourish, pageantry, spectacle.
But it wasn't for them.
This was distraction.
The new Front was opening just hours away—less than three days' march. Fear hadn't taken hold yet, but the tension had seeped in. The war was at the kingdom's doorstep.
And everyone knew it.
Six men, ranging in age from twenty-two to thirty, sat uncomfortably next to a middle-aged couple. Their clothing and dialect marked them as country folk, though they wore their finest—clean, pressed, and clearly chosen with care. The parents sat tall and proud. The sons… not so much.
The youngest shifted constantly, fidgeting like a flea-bitten hound. The rest weren't much better—sullen faces, stormy expressions, and the dazed disbelief of men trying to process the impossible.
Their baby sister was about to be knighted.
"You lot," the middle-aged woman said, jabbing a finger at her sons, "I better hear cheering when she passes. Do you understand me? Unless you want to sleep in the barn, I expect a roar like we're seated next to lions."
"Really, Mum? Lions?" the eldest muttered, his gaze fixed on the winding parade path. For thirty minutes, they'd been hearing music, laughter, and cheers, but the route had been designed for spectacle, not speed.
"Why are we even in the front?" one of the middle brothers grumbled, trying to shrink into his seat and disappear.
"THERE!" the father suddenly shouted, leaping to his feet, arms waving like a man caught in a thunderstorm.
His wife joined him, hands flapping furiously.
On the parade float, Clara—blessed by fortune—sat on the side closest to her family. Her freckled face lit up the moment she spotted them.
There they were: all six brothers, tormentors of her childhood. Pranks, teases, harmless scuffles... She remembered everything. And now?
Now it was her moment.
She stood abruptly, drawing a cheer from the surrounding crowd as she flexed—right there on the float—locking eyes with her stunned brothers.
"Here I am!" she shouted, practically glowing. "Check me out! Who's the freckled-faced strawberry now? I can't hear you! Let's go! You know I love you guys!"
One by one, the brothers gave in. First slow claps, then hoots. Her radiant grin broke them down like it always had.
"HEY! THAT'S MY LITTLE SISTER!" the eldest finally roared, standing and pumping both fists in the air.
That was it. The dam burst. All six siblings were on their feet, stomping, shouting, and cheering like the stage had been built just for her.
On the opposite side of the road, another crowd had gathered—no children in tow, but a sea of cousins, uncles, and aunts. The entire village had turned out to see the mayor's only daughter.
"Do you see her, Elle?" a man asked, rising slightly from his seat, scanning the approaching float.
A petite woman with chestnut hair shook her head, shielding her eyes. Elle was pretty by any standard—well-spoken, warm-hearted, composed. "I don't see her… Just those three sitting on the—"
Her breath caught. Eyes widened.
There she was.
Dhalia sat in white, her hair adorned with delicate flowers, the soft fabric of her dress shimmering in the sun. She didn't look like the shy village girl anymore. She looked like a princess.
"That's Dhalia," Elle whispered, her voice full of awe. "There she is."
The man beside her stood tall, adjusting his glasses. His eyes filled with emotion. "Wha… That's my little girl?"
He clapped before he could think, instinct giving way to pride—and something bittersweet. She'd grown up in an eye blink.
"DHALIA!" he shouted, waving both arms above his head. His voice broke slightly, but he didn't care. The rest of the family joined in—cheering, calling her name, their joy echoing up and down the avenue.
Closer to the stage, Violetta sat among a small circle of childhood friends. She could have joined First Knight Rowe in the VIP seating, but she preferred this—lower key, full of life, laughter, and unfiltered love. It was her brother's day, and she wanted to take it in without pretense.
She'd been too young to attend Finroy's knighting.
But this—she would remember.
Fergis had always stood out. Talented. Driven. The kind of boy who pushed harder, climbed higher, and never stopped to rest if it meant reaching the next goal. Now, he sat center-stage—commanding, poised, and finally seen.
"Goodness, is that Fergis?" Sheria gasped, pointing to the float. "When did your brother get so handsome?"
Violetta laughed, remembering how Sheria used to avoid Fergis like the plague. "He looks the same as always."
Sheria shook her head, brown curls bouncing. "No… he's taller. Manly. Is he seeing anyone?"
Violetta rolled her eyes. "Hard to say. There've been a few messages left at the house. Someone named Teek."
The float slowed as it approached the main stage. Entertainers peeled off to either side—still dancing, singing, and somersaulting—making space for the central spectacle.
The sound was deafening.
Nobles and commoners alike applauded with equal fervor. Cheers rippled like a wave across the avenue.
"Hey, there's Cane and Sophie," Dhalia said, still beaming. She'd already seen her family earlier in the route, and the joy hadn't left her face since.
Clara scanned the nobles seated ahead, eyes pausing on the familiar pair. Cane and Sophie sat comfortably among the highborn, not looking out of place in the slightest.
"They really do look nice," Clara murmured.
"So do the two of you," Fergis added, his voice casual but sincere. The rarity of the compliment made both girls glow a little brighter.
"You look handsome too, Fergis," Clara said, grinning. "Do you know what order we're being knighted into?"
Fergis shook his head. "Most likely the Order of the Shield or the Sword."
Clara shrugged, unbothered. "What was Cane again?"
"Protector of the Realm," Fergis said. "But if I had to guess, the three of us will be in the Order of the Sword."
"I don't even use a sword," Dhalia sighed. "Is there an Order of the Staff?"
Fergis chuckled. "Um… no."
The ceremony, though formal, was somewhat abbreviated—likely due to the looming Front and the tight schedule of dignitaries.
The three candidates were led from the float and brought before the King himself. They knelt.
King Hellion rose, sword in hand, his presence commanding. A subtle glimmer wrapped his voice, magically amplifying it.
"I am proud to knight these three heroes," he said. "A few weeks ago, they took part in a daring mission—so vital, its details were known only to the highest levels of command.
"They infiltrated enemy territory, defeated Legion Commander Terror, gathered critical intelligence, and crippled the Zuni Empire's capacity to respond.
"For your actions, loyalty, and unwavering courage—I name you Dhalia, Fergis, and Clara...
Knights of the Rising Sun."
He touched each of their shoulders in turn, sword gleaming as it caught the afternoon light. Then he stepped back and gave them a nod.
"Arise, Knights of the Rising Sun."
The applause that followed was thunderous—roaring from every direction. Flowers were thrown. Banners waved. For a moment, it felt like the whole kingdom was behind them.
Clara tapped her psi-rune. "I've never even heard of that one."
Fergis stood a little taller, clearly pleased. "It's one of the oldest. The capital was once called the City of the Rising Sun. Pretty sure King Hellion's grandfather founded the order."