Okjin didn't move.
Not right away.
The corridor was quiet now—empty, still—but the air felt charged. Like the echo of Sebastian's presence still lingered in the stone.
He exhaled slowly, eyes fixed on the space where Sebastian had stood just seconds before. His shoulders remained straight. His hands loose at his sides.
Exactly how Lirien would look: calm, untouched, unbothered.
But his mind was anything but.
What the hell was that?
He replayed the moment in his head—how close Sebastian had leaned in, the warmth of his breath at his neck, the way he felt with his mana wrapped around him.
And that voice.
"…You feel like something I shouldn't touch."
"And… I hate how much I want to."
Okjin swallowed.
Was that scripted? It hadn't felt like it.
Sebastian had walked away—but not in triumph. Not in defeat, either.
More like he was... rattled.
Which was wrong. Sebastian Vaeloria was supposed to be a flirt, a hedonist, a devil in silk. Not someone who hesitated. Not someone who looked at Lirien like—
Okjin shook his head.
No. That scene wasn't in the novel.
Or at least… not the version he'd read.
So then what did it mean?
Was Sebastian falling for Lirien? Was that supposed to happen? Did he somehow mess up the timeline? Had his reaction—the mana shield, the rejection—done something?
He had no answers. Just questions stacking higher and heavier.
And under it all, one quiet, persistent realization:
The story was changing.
He didn't know what came next. Not really. And if he wasn't careful—
He pressed his fingers briefly to his temple.
No time to spiral. Not here. Not now.
He straightened, adjusted his sleeves, and took a single steadying breath.
The engagement needed to be dealt with. The elders had to be reasoned with.
And after that—the Temple.
The gods owed him answers.
And Okjin wasn't going to keep playing this game blind.
.・゜-: ✧ :- -: ✧ :-゜・．
The moment his form was hidden from Lirien behind the corridor wall, Sebastian leaned back against the cold stone and closed his eyes.
He didn't exhale.
He couldn't.
His throat was tight. Like something inside him had locked up, just under the ribs.
He lifted his hand—slowly. The one that had rested on Lirien's waist.
His thumb brushed his fingers, as if trying to remember the exact shape of him.
The warmth was gone, but his skin still tingled where Lirien's mana had touched him.
Where that barrier—no, that embrace—had drawn him in like he was something worth protecting.
He'd expected ice. He got sanctuary.
And that terrified him more than any spell.
Sebastian opened his eyes. They were sharper now. Darker.
It wasn't supposed to be like this.
It had started with curiosity.
Just a name at first—Lirien Sylvaine. The Jade Mage.
Draped in veils, hidden away. Rumors said he never showed his face, never spoke unless spoken to. More myth than man.
But one day—
A glimpse.
.・゜-: ✧ :- -: ✧ :-゜・．
It had been during Winter Noctis, the longest night of the year.
He hadn't planned to stay for the ceremony. He never did.
Too many overdressed nobles, too little sincerity. The court reeked of old wine and older ambition. Sebastian played the part—smirked, charmed, drank, bartered—but it was always just performance.
Still, he always made sure to be here for this.
Every year. Without fail.
Even as a boy, buried beside his cold, whispering parents, he had stood in silence for the raising of the moon.
Back then, he didn't understand why it transfixed him—only that it did. The light, the mana, the stillness. And always, at the center of it, a small figure in white at the top of the spire.
He'd watched that figure grow as he grew.
And somewhere along the way, the realization struck him:
This entire ritual—the magic, the moon, the awe—revolved around one person.
Him.
He had never known his name. Only that every year, the same presence stood at the peak of the tower and wove the sky into motion. Quiet. Distant. Unshaken.
Now, years later, Sebastian stood again on the terrace, cloaked in charm, pretending to be amused.
But the moment the tower lit up, he forgot the nobles. Forgot the games.
Because the magic began to rise—and it was still just as breathtaking.
A pulse of celestial energy rippled outward—silver, soft, and endless. Mana spiraled upward like silk ribbon drawn by unseen hands. Every thread moved in perfect harmony, pouring into the sky like a blessing.
At the top, that same figure stood. No longer small.
He had grown into his place in the heavens.
Veiled. Radiant. Still.
Sebastian's hand tightened around his wine glass.
How the hell do you command that much mana and not burn alive?
How do you make the impossible look effortless?
Questions he had never asked aloud.
Questions he had carried since he was a child.
He should've gone back to the ballroom.
That was the routine. Appear. Smile. Flatter. Negotiate. Seduce. Escape.
But something pulled at him.
Something unsettled him.
The ritual should have ended there—at the spire, in the sky—but instead, he found himself drifting, feet taking him through the side halls and down to the castle gardens, where frost clung to marble and breath came out in clouds.
And then he saw him.
Not on the tower. Not in light.
But beneath it.
The garden was quiet, dusted in fresh snow and still trembling with the magic left in the air. And in its heart, on a stone bench beneath the arch of moonlight, sat a lone figure.
White hair. Loose robes. No veil.
He sat with his hands resting in his lap, head tilted upward toward the sky he had just lifted, silver light spilling over his skin like it belonged there.
Around him, butterflies of pure mana fluttered in slow, lazy arcs—drawn to the remnants of his spellwork, feeding off the fragments of celestial power still clinging to him.
He didn't seem to notice. Or perhaps, he simply didn't care.
Sebastian froze where he stood, half-concealed by the hedge, suddenly aware of the cold against his collar.
It was him.
The figure from the tower.
The one he'd watched all his life.
But like this… he looked nothing like what Sebastian expected.
He didn't look divine.
He looked tired.
Serene. Still. Too still. Like a painting no one had touched in years.
Unaware of how utterly beautiful he was.
Not poised beauty. Not the kind that came from mirrors and court whispers.
The kind that existed when no one was watching.
He sat with one hand outstretched, and a mana-butterfly landed gently on his palm, pulsing with soft, shifting light.
He smiled at it. Just a little.
Something inside Sebastian stuttered.
He didn't move. Didn't breathe.
The man rose after a few minutes, brushing imaginary dust from his robes, and vanished back into the shadows of the corridor—his hair catching the moonlight one last time before he was gone.
Sebastian remained in place long after.
Trying to piece together what he had just seen.
Trying to name it.
He never did.
Not even when the letters came—sealed in gold and stamped with the Sylvaine crest.
Not even when his parents summoned him with rare urgency, masks cracking just enough to reveal greed beneath.
A proposal, they'd said.
A contract.
A chance to tether the elusive Jade Mage to the Vaeloria name.
Sebastian had laughed. Loudly. Carelessly.
And then he asked to see the terms.
They assumed he agreed for power. For prestige.
They didn't know he'd already made up his mind the moment he realized who Lirien Sylvaine was.
That the fragile boy beneath the moonlight and the mythic mage were one and the same.
He would've burned Elyssia to the ground to have that name spoken beside his.
But fate had handed it to him on a platter.
Of course he said yes.
Of course he wanted more.
And now, today—
The heat of him. The scent. The way he stood so still while Sebastian all but fell apart.
Sebastian dragged a hand through his hair, furious with himself.
You're acting like a fool.
But gods help him—
He wanted him.
Wanted him in ways that scared him.
Not just to have.
To ruin.
To keep.