All nobles and invited people attended the palace. The Arthion family was also there and was warmly greeted by some other noble houses. The palace was shining, lights and chandeliers was making the whole place like a grand sanctuary in heaven. The great hall had been transformed for the celebration, its already magnificent interior elevated to something truly breathtaking.
Thousands of candles flickered in crystal chandeliers that hung from the vaulted ceilings, their light reflecting off polished marble floors and gilded columns. Flowers cascaded from every surface—white lilies and golden roses and delicate orchids that filled the air with a sweet, intoxicating fragrance.
Musicians played softly in the corner, their melodies weaving through the chatter of nobles and the clink of glasses, and servants moved through the crowd with trays of wine and delicacies. It was a night of splendor, a night worthy of welcoming a being from the heavens themselves.
The Arthion family stood near the grand staircase, their presence drawing curious glances from the other noble houses. Lord Arthion was a tall, stern man with silver-streaked hair and eyes that missed nothing. Beside him stood his wife, Lady Elaria, resplendent in a gown of deep sapphire that brought out the blue in her eyes.
The family had been warmly greeted by some other noble houses, had exchanged pleasantries and practiced smiles, and they had done their best to ignore the whispers that followed them wherever they went. The whispers about Eiravelle.
About the omega who had been the family’s shame, who had been cast out and forgotten, who had somehow risen to become the sovereign’s favored concubine. The Arthions had not expected to see her tonight. They had not expected to see her at all.
Everyone was clearly happy to be celebrating the existence of the golden rabbit in Solkanaia since Golden Rabbit’s exist for every thousands of years along with the saint. The arrival of the Golden Rabbit was a sacred event, a moment that would be recorded in the histories and remembered for generations.
Nobles had traveled from every corner of the kingdom, had donned their finest silks and jewels, had practiced their bows and curtsies until they were perfect. They knew that this night would be remembered. They knew that the sovereign would be watching.
And they knew that the Golden Rabbit’s chosen saint would be revealed, a revelation that would shift the balance of power in ways that no one could fully predict. Every family with an eligible omega had hoped, in secret, that their daughter might be chosen.
Qazaethel put on her robes, while Eiravelle put on comfortable robes at the same time. The sovereign’s chambers were quiet, a sanctuary away from the noise and chaos of the celebration below. Qazaethel stood before a mirror, her robes of state were heavy on her shoulders—layers of black and gold, embroidered with dragons and phoenixes, the symbols of her power and her lineage.
She looked every inch the dragon empress, her presence was commanding even in stillness. But her attention was not on her own reflection. It was on Eiravelle, who stood nearby, struggling with the simple robes that Qazaethel had chosen for her. The omega’s fingers fumbled with the sash, her movements were clumsy with nerves, and Qazaethel watched her in the mirror with a tenderness that she would never have shown in public.
Qazaethel told her she’ll be more comfortable wearing robes than gowns, because she is pregnant, Qazaethel wanted her to be safe rather than presentable. The robes were soft, made of the finest silk, in a shade of pale gold that complemented Eiravelle’s skin.
They were loose and flowing, designed to accommodate her growing belly without restricting her movements. But they were also simpler than the elaborate gowns that the other noble omegas would be wearing, and Eiravelle knew it. She had seen the gowns being prepared for the celebration, had watched the servants fuss over lace and jewels and elaborate hairstyles.
And now, standing in her simple robes, she felt plain. She felt ordinary. She felt like she did not belong. The other omegas would be wearing silks and satins, would be dripping with jewels, would look like queens. And she would look like a servant. She would look like the nobody she had always been.
Once again, Eiravelle frown and Qazaethel immediately notice it that she approach and gently kissed Eiravelle’s forehead. The kiss was soft, lingering, and it made Eiravelle’s breath catch in her throat. "You look so gorgeous, my love." Qazaethel said, and Eiravelle can’t help but smile despite herself.
The words were simple, but they carried the weight of truth. Qazaethel was not lying. She was not exaggerating. She was simply stating a fact, and Eiravelle felt something warm bloom in her chest.
"Stop~ you’re clearly making me blush." Eiravelle replied and cover both of her cheeks. Her face was warm beneath her palms, and she could feel the flush spreading down her neck. She was not used to compliments.
She was not used to being told she was beautiful. And coming from Qazaethel, the words felt even more significant. She wanted to believe them. She wanted to see herself the way Qazaethel saw her, to believe that she was beautiful and worthy and loved.
Qazaethel let out a lighthearted chuckled and gently caress Eiravelle’s belly, her palm was warm against the curve of the omega’s pregnancy. "Stay with me, okay? I don’t want you leaving my side tonight." Qazaethel said, and Eiravelle nodded, not out obedience but with love. The words were not a command. They were a request, a plea, a declaration of how much Qazaethel needed her.
"You’re worrying too much, haha." Eiravelle said, but there was no mockery in her voice. Only affection. Only gratitude. Qazaethel was always worrying about her, always protective, always hovering. It should have felt suffocating. It should have felt like too much. But it did not. It felt like being cherished. It felt like being loved.
"I am, because I don’t want anyone bullying you. If they ever touch you, call me." She said, and showed Eiravelle a scale. The scale was small, no larger than Eiravelle’s palm, but it gleamed with an inner light that was impossible to ignore. It was gold—pure, radiant gold—and it shimmered with a warmth that spoke of dragonfire and ancient magic.
Eiravelle’s eyes widened in excitement, "scale?!" Her voice was high, almost breathless, and she reached out to touch the scale before pulling her hand back, as though she was afraid it might burn her. It did not look hot. It looked warm. It looked welcoming. It looked like a piece of Qazaethel herself, given freely and without hesitation.
"It’s my scale... Since I can’t mark you and I can’t detect your distress or your scent, you can reach me by this scale." Qazaethel handed Eiravelle the golden dragon scale and Eiravelle accepted it excitedly. The scale was warm in her hand, pulsing with a gentle rhythm that she realized was Qazaethel’s heartbeat.
It was alive. It was a part of the sovereign, given to her as a gift and a promise. She could feel it beating against her palm, steady and strong, and she knew that she would treasure it for the rest of her life.
"It’s beautiful! The most beautiful gift I have ever seen. Thank you, Qazaethel." Eiravelle thanked her, and Qazaethel softened at her words. The omega’s eyes were bright, filled with wonder and gratitude, and she held the scale to her chest as though it was the most precious thing in the world.
"You don’t have to thank me." Then she pressed a gentle kiss on Eiravelle’s forehead. The kiss was slow, reverent, and it lingered against Eiravelle’s skin. Then Qazaethel took Eiravelle’s hand and they both step out of the room. The corridor beyond was quiet, lit by soft lanterns, and the distant sound of music and laughter drifted up from the great hall below.
They walked together, Qazaethel’s hand was steady and warm around Eiravelle’s, and the omega felt a sense of peace settle over her. She was not alone. She was not unloved. She was not ordinary. She was Eiravelle, and she was carrying the sovereign’s child, and she was holding a dragon’s scale in her hand.
Dawn, Liv, Arielle, and Ruthina was already in the living room of the palace. It turns out they’re waiting for the two of them. Dawn stood near the fireplace, resplendent in her robes of state, her phoenix crown glittering on her brow. Liv was beside her, her sword at her hip, her expression one of barely concealed impatience.
Arielle and Ruthina stood slightly apart, their hands were intertwined and their faces flushed with a happiness that they had not yet announced to the others. The room was warm, lit by candles and the glow of the fire, and the scent of jasmine hung in the air.
"Qaz, stop the grand entrance. Let’s finish this pretense, we have to hurry and act like the perfect couple in front of everyone!" Dawn said, and Qazaethel looked at her with an expression that mixes being a deadpan and unamused.
The Phoenix Empress was not wrong—they did need to present a united front, did need to act like the perfect couple in front of the nobles—but her delivery left something to be desired.
"Keep your voice down, you look like a fool." Qazaethel said, and Dawn was shocked to hear that. The sovereign’s words were clipped, dismissive, and they landed like a slap.
"Eiravelle, you heard that?! Qazaethel called me a fool!" Dawn said, and Eiravelle chuckled and looked at Qazaethel, "don’t say that, that’s bad." She softly said, and Qazaethel shot a glare on Dawn. The glare was fierce, the kind of look that had made generals tremble and ambassadors pale, but Dawn merely crossed her arms and huffed, secure in the knowledge that she had Eiravelle’s support.
Then Qazaethel softened when her gaze returned to Eiravelle and helped her descend the stairs with her. "Careful." Qazaethel held Eiravelle’s arm and hand, supporting her while the pregnant omega held her heavy pregnant belly. The stairs were wide and grand, carpeted in deep crimson, and Eiravelle descended them slowly, one step at a time, her hand gripping Qazaethel’s arm.
The sovereign did not rush her. Did not pull her forward. She simply matched her pace to Eiravelle’s, her presence a steady anchor, her eyes never leave the omega’s face. Liv watched them from the bottom of the stairs, her sharp eyes missing nothing, and she felt a small, grudging smile tug at her lips. She had never seen Qazaethel like this—so gentle, so patient, so utterly devoted. It was almost enough to make her believe in love. Almost.
As they’re on the living room, Ruthina and Dawn hovered over Eiravelle and Ruthina hugged Eiravelle. "Saintess, after the celebration, we’ll do the ritual, okay?! Everyone will finally believe you’re my saintess!" Ruthina was excited, an Eiravelle smiled and shook her head. The rabbit was practically vibrating with excitement, her eyes were bright, her smile wide, and she hugged Eiravelle with a warmth that made the omega laugh.
"Hehe, I’m also excited." Although Eiravelle doesn’t entirely believed that she is the saint, she just played along with Ruthina because she doesn’t need to hurt the golden rabbit’s feelings. The truth was, Eiravelle did not feel like a saint. She did not feel holy or chosen or special.
She felt like an ordinary omega who had been thrust into extraordinary circumstances, who was doing her best to survive and protect the people she loved. But Ruthina believed in her. Ruthina had chosen her. And Eiravelle would not take that away from her. She would play along. She would smile and nod and pretend that she believed it too. Because Ruthina deserved that. Ruthina deserved to have her faith rewarded.
"Yehey! Let’s go!" Ruthina said excitedly and all of them agreed. The five of them—Qazaethel, Eiravelle, Dawn, Liv, Arielle, and Ruthina—made their way toward the great hall, their footsteps echoing in the quiet of the corridor. The music grew louder as they approached, the laughter and chatter of the nobles rising to meet them, and Eiravelle felt her heart begin to race.
She was nervous. She was afraid. But she was not alone. She had Qazaethel’s hand in hers. She had the dragon’s scale pressed against her chest. And she had the love of friends who would stand beside her, no matter what.
***
The doors to the great hall swung open, and the celebration engulfed them in a wave of sound and light and color. The night had begun. Nobles turned to watch them enter, their eyes widening as they took in the sight of the sovereign and her consort. Qazaethel was magnificent, her robes of state flowing behind her, her presence commanding the room with a single glance.
And Eiravelle—Eiravelle was beautiful. The simple robes that she had been so insecure about now seemed elegant, understated, a quiet statement of confidence that set her apart from the ostentatious displays of the other nobles. She walked with her head held high, her hand resting on the curve of her belly, and she did not look like a nobody. She looked like a queen.
The Arthion family watched her from across the room, their faces were unreadable. Lord Arthion’s jaw tightened. Lady Elaria’s eyes glistened with something that might have been regret. And their younger children stared at their estranged sister with wide, confused eyes, not understanding why she was standing beside the sovereign, not understanding why everyone was bowing to her.
Eiravelle did not look at them. She did not need to. She had spent years trying to earn their love, years trying to prove that she was worthy. And now, she had found people who loved her without condition. She had found a family that chose her. And that was enough.
Qazaethel led Eiravelle to the dais at the front of the hall, where two thrones awaited them. She helped Eiravelle sit, her hands were gentle, her movements were careful, and then she took her own seat beside her. The room fell silent, the music fading, the chatter dying, and every eye turned to the sovereign. Qazaethel looked out at the assembled nobles, her expression cold and commanding, and she spoke.
"Tonight, we celebrate the arrival of the Golden Rabbit, the beloved pet of the saint. Tonight, we welcome her into our kingdom and into our hearts. But tonight, we also celebrate something else. We celebrate the strength of an omega who has endured more than any person should ever have to endure. We celebrate the courage of a woman who has faced cruelty and hardship and emerged with her kindness intact. We celebrate Eiravelle." The room was silent.
No one dared to speak. No one dared to move. Qazaethel’s voice was a blade, cutting through the pretenses and the politics and the whispered rumors. "And I want to take the time to announced that Eiravelle is under my protection. She carries my child. And anyone who threatens her, anyone who harms her, anyone who so much as looks at her with malice—will answer to me."
The words hung in the air, a promise and a warning, and Eiravelle felt tears prick at the corners of her eyes. She had never been defended like this. She had never been celebrated like this. She had never been loved like this. She looked at Qazaethel, at the sovereign who had changed her life, at the dragon who had given her a home, and she felt a gratitude so deep it ached.
The celebration continued, but something had shifted. The nobles who had whispered about Eiravelle now avoided her gaze. The families who had hoped for a saint now looked at the omega with a new respect.
Eiravelle did not watch them leave. She simply leaned into Qazaethel’s side, the dragon’s scale warm against her chest, and she smiled. For the first time in her life, she felt like she belonged. For the first time in her life, she felt like she mattered.
And as the fireworks continued to burst in the sky outside, painting the world in shades of gold and silver, she knew that this night would be remembered. Not just by the kingdom. But by her. For the rest of her life.