My Soul card is a Reaper-Chapter 1045: Dreams of the Past: The Engagement Ceremony (Part-1)

Artaigne stepped forward next.

Her expression was calm, but her fingers were clenched, and the twin daggers at her waist seemed to tremble slightly, as if they were waiting for their own transformation. She placed her hand on the altar, and the runes flared again, the air rippling around her like heat over fire.

For a moment, Rael expected a new spirit to appear.

A second awakening.

A second blessing.

But instead, the light surged directly into her daggers.

The twin blades lifted slightly from their sheaths, floating for a brief moment, and their edges shimmered with a pale glow that grew brighter and brighter until the entire temple seemed to reflect their radiance.

Then the glow condensed.

The daggers fell back into her hands.

And the moment she gripped them, the metal looked different.

Sharper.

Cleaner.

The aura around them was unmistakable.

Platinum-grade.

Artaigne's eyes widened faintly as she felt the difference, and she drew one blade slightly, watching how the edge gleamed like a piece of moonlight forged into steel.

She hadn't awakened a second spirit.

But her weapons had evolved directly.

That alone was enough to make several ancient runes on the walls glow brighter, as if the temple itself acknowledged the rarity of such a change.

Raphael did not step forward.

He stood at the side, his posture calm, his eyes fixed on the altar, and there was no bitterness on his face, only a quiet acceptance, because he already knew the truth.

Rank Seven Arcana Masters did not receive secondary awakenings.

The moment you climbed too high, the path closed behind you.

The priestess glanced toward him briefly, then returned her gaze to Eon.

Eon stepped forward last.

Her Hourglass remained in her hand, her celestial mace resting behind her back like an artifact that belonged more to a deity than a girl. She placed her hand against the altar, and the runes flared with a brilliance that made the entire temple tremble.

For a moment, Rael thought the altar might crack.

For a moment, he thought the priestess might finally speak.

But nothing descended.

No new weapon.

No evolution.

No spirit awakening.

The altar's light surged, then calmed, as if it had searched for something to give her and found nothing left to offer.

Eon remained still, her hand resting on the stone, her eyes narrowed slightly as she waited for something that did not come.

Then she withdrew her hand slowly.

The silence in the temple became sharp.

Even Artaigne looked uneasy.

Eon's lips tightened faintly, and disappointment flickered in her eyes, subtle but undeniable, because she had expected something, even if she didn't admit it aloud.

The priestess finally spoke, her voice calm.

"The Hourglass has no grade in mortal terms," she said, and her gaze carried ancient certainty. "It is beyond the system you measure yourselves by. The mace you carry is already at its peak. There is nothing more this temple can grant you."

Eon stared at the altar for a long moment, then lowered her head slightly.

"I understand," she said quietly.

Her voice was steady.

But Rael, standing behind her, could feel her frustration, the faint sting of being left empty-handed when everyone else had received something tangible.

She wasn't angry.

She was simply reminded that the world did not always reward effort with visible gifts.

Eon stepped back, returning to Rael's side. 𝒻𝓇𝑒𝘦𝘸𝑒𝒷𝓃ℴ𝑣𝘦𝑙.𝒸ℴ𝘮

Raphael's gaze lingered on her for a moment, unreadable, then he turned away, his expression calm again.

The priestess lifted her hand once more, and the runes faded, the altar dimming as the ceremony came to an end.

"The awakening is complete," she declared.

Rael's artificial armor hummed faintly beneath his skin.

Artaigne's platinum daggers gleamed quietly at her waist.

Eon held her Hourglass tighter than before, as if reminding herself that her power did not need a new blessing to be real.

And as they left the ancestral temple, Rael could not shake the feeling that the priestess' gaze had lingered on him and Eon, not because she was curious.

But because she was afraid of what they might become.

*

A few days later, House Garcia no longer felt like a duchy estate.

It felt like a kingdom hosting another kingdom.

The entire manor had been transformed into a ceremonial fortress, banners hanging from marble pillars, red-and-gold cloth draped along the grand hall like flowing bloodline pride, and the Garcia crest displayed everywhere in subtle, deliberate ways that reminded every guest where they were standing. Servants moved like shadows, knights stood like statues, and the air was thick with incense, perfume, and political tension masked behind polite smiles.

And then King Arthur arrived.

Not as a mere guest, but as the guardian of his niece.

The moment his carriage passed through the estate gates, the atmosphere sharpened, because royalty did not enter a noble house quietly. Trumpets sounded, armored knights of Camelot marched in perfect formation, and the royal standard fluttered above them like a warning that the King had stepped into House Garcia.

It was customary, after all.

Engagement ceremonies were held in the groom's house, where the groom's bloodline could display its power and wealth, and where the future bride could be introduced to the nobility that would eventually surround her. Weddings, however, were sacred, and sacred things belonged to the bride's hometown temple, where her ancestors would witness the union and approve the binding.

So today, Garcia hosted the engagement.

But Camelot owned the future.

The grand hall of Garcia Manor was overflowing with nobles, their gowns glittering, their jewelry reflecting candlelight like scattered stars, their laughter controlled and elegant, their eyes sharp and hungry beneath polite expressions.

Rael stood near the center of it all, dressed in ceremonial noble attire, his hair neatly arranged, his artificial armor hidden beneath the fabric like a silent guardian. Artaigne stood beside him, radiant in a gown that matched Camelot's colors, her posture graceful, her chin lifted in practiced royal pride.

They looked like a perfect pair.

At least, to those who did not know them.

Aurelius stood nearby, his presence colder than the marble pillars, while King Arthur stood opposite him, taller and broader, his golden hair and royal cloak making him look like a legend that had stepped out of history. Arthur's smile was calm, but his gaze carried a sharpness that could cut through lies, and every noble in the hall treated him like the sun itself had entered the room.

Beside them, Remia moved quietly, collecting gifts with a professional smile, accepting jeweled boxes, enchanted artifacts, scrolls of blessing, and rare elixirs from every visiting house. The gifts were not only for Artaigne and Rael, but for House Garcia as well, because nobles never gave gifts without expecting something in return.

And Rael knew that.

He could feel the weight of every bowed head, every flattering word, every forced laughter that sounded just a little too eager.

"Congratulations, Lord Azrael."

"What a fine match. Truly blessed."

Rael smiled, nodded, and responded with practiced politeness, his voice calm, his hands steady, but his eyes kept scanning the hall like he was searching for something that did not belong.

Artaigne, at his side, performed her role perfectly, accepting greetings with the grace of someone born for royalty, her smile gentle and warm, her words measured.

Yet every so often, Rael caught her glancing at him as if checking whether he was still there, whether he still stood beside her the way he had for the past three years.

Aurelius spoke occasionally, his tone smooth and authoritative, while Arthur responded with equal control, their conversation a subtle battle of dominance hidden beneath pleasantries.

"Your duchy remains as disciplined as ever," Arthur remarked, his gaze sweeping the hall.

Aurelius replied evenly with pride, "Well, that goes without saying."

The engagement ceremony itself proceeded with sacred formality, vows spoken under ancestral symbols, the exchange of rings blessed by temple priests, and the signing of contracts that bound two bloodlines together like chains made of gold. When Rael placed the ring on Artaigne's finger, the hall erupted into applause, but the applause was not for romance.

It was for an alliance.

It was for power.

It was for the future.

Afterward, the banquet began.

Tables were filled with food that looked too expensive to be real, roasted meats glazed in rare spices, silver trays of fruit imported from southern kingdoms, wine aged long enough to have its own history, and desserts so delicate they seemed like sculptures rather than meals. Music played softly in the background, but it only made the laughter sound more artificial.

Rael sat at the main table beside Artaigne, with Aurelius and Arthur seated like twin rulers watching over the entire hall. Remia remained nearby, occasionally stepping forward to whisper something to Aurelius, then retreating again like a shadow.