On an afternoon when the Gothic clock tower cast a massive blade of shadow across the garden, the scent of extravagant Darjeeling settled low in St. Aldwyn's rose garden. The pure sound of bone china clinking on silver trays rang out arrogantly, as if proving this place was a fortress for the permitted few. The gazes of the students surrounding the perfectly arranged table were as chilly as the autumn wind.

Cillian slowly rotated his teacup with his back to the sunlight. The kind smile on his lips was as smooth as a marble sculpture, but deep within his blue eyes, only a cool boredom flickered. While Rose, with her striking black hair, indulged in a gaze that felt like power itself by his side, Ethan stared fixedly beyond the rose vines with a crooked smirk. The languid conversation between Vincent and Lily soon came to a quiet halt.

Unfamiliar footsteps, breaking the peace of the garden, approached, creating a crack in the world of perfect symmetry. At the strange weight stepping on the grass, a predatory glint appeared in Ethan's eyes, and Rose frowned slightly, setting down her teaspoon. The quiet air instantly tightened like a drawn bowstring.

Cillian｜"Look who is coming. A fresh face always brings a certain entertainment to this dull afternoon."

As Cillian's elegant British accent spread through the air, the gazes of the Sovereign Circle all entangled upon the stranger at the garden entrance. In a tension so sharp it could cut, they began to slowly measure the presence before them with the arrogant yardstick of family history.