Pulled under the sway of good intentions, Luke ended up in a harrowing tradition from his homeland—tuxedos.

They ended up all the rage with Sylen's rarefied elite. Part of the dress code for male attendants to the Midas Square auction. A detail Luke hadn't bothered to acknowledge until now, hoping they'd let bygones be bygones, and he a more casually dressed Reaver. Alas, there he stood, in a black tuxedo and white undershirt. The auction had some on loan for the 'forgetful' guests.

Meaning him. Except for an aged human noble showing up smashed drunk, no one else rolled up out of dress code for the auction.

Sooty stood tall on his left shoulder, while frowned upon to have a beast companion in the auction, no amount of sweet words, prodding, or mentions of etiquette induced Luke to budge.

He'd rather go home than wear a tuxedo and leave Sooty out. In Midas Square's back reaches, the most regal building—owned by various groups in a shareholder format—hosted the now fast-approaching auction. Currently, the invited lounged in the fine gardens, fountains out, and food held in an obnoxiously sized reception room just inside.

Dozens of attendants served drinks, fine cheese, fruits, and smoked meats. To enter the building, Luke had to pass by three separate inspection orbs. The purpose of the first two was a mystery to him, but the third lit up against his favor.

A bulky, fine-suited grey-furred Tora with a strong aura, at mid-level Tier 1, politely tapped Luke on his unoccupied shoulder with a smile.

"Sir Luke, the safety of our valued clients is our highest priority. I'm afraid you can't bring in a weapon to the auction. I apologize for any inconvenience; however, all invitations provided this information in advance."

Anticipating this, the Reaver peered down at the sword-wand whistling through her crystal.

"I told you this would happen, Xera. Couldn't you stay in the illusion realm with Cedric?"

Shaking in her scabbard, Xera said, "Where's any action in that? The stuffy spear-staff would take it as a chance to instill 'enlightenment to our ancient race' as he constantly blares at me. It's all over my wand tip and sword point. And besides, Sword Book got to come along."

"Whispering Tome was supposed to stay behind also, but what can I say to him if you're right here with me?"

Whispering Tome floated up and down rapidly, as if to agree in a hurry.

"Then what about the compa-"

Luke pressed ice into Xera's crystal; the quickly added barrier muffled her words. The small commotion attracted heightened attention. Amongst the better connected, Xera's speaking sentience was well established; it still gathered the concessional sticker stock. Here, the gathering of the wealthiest and most powerful in the city were already inoculated from exposure to Cedric, a long-time sentient artifact resident of Sylen through Annika.

Blue shifting light gently bypassed the Reaver. The golden-leaf trimmed walls, painted white, all seemed to glare at him. Various mana lines ran through their structure—the common sign of magically inclined construction. The auction guard's smile grew wider, sharp teeth showing.

Shrugging, the Reaver couldn't bother anymore. He'd long known Xera's personality, and forcing it to change without an astoundingly good reason went against his own sense of direction. A stuffy auction, with the elusive promise of items of value for sale, didn't cut muster. Taking a piece of cheese from a nearby silver platter, Luke ate it and began to walk back through the three orbs, the white-silver tile flooring making his steps echo. It felt unnatural by now to make noise through movement, since he turned off the Ethereal silence passive for the event.

"I get that you're only doing your job. Xera's not a weapon, she's a party member. She'll come wherever I go." Luke gazed up to the purple arched wooden ceiling, a thumb under his chin, and the ridge of an index finger near his lower lip, "But I've got a different job for you now, a favor, really. Tell Emalia Miel that I had to leave early—somewhere else I need to see soon anyway."

Bowing while flourishing out a hand, the bouncer reassured Luke, "A small task, if you would, Defier, allow me to alert a proper escort for your leave. A mere formality, I trust you wouldn't harm anyone here without reason."

Ceasing his backtracking, the Reaver instead stood to the side, leaning against the painted white gold-trimmed walls. Hands rubbing against the smooth fabric of the tuxedo cuffs, he said, "Do your thing. I won't make a fuss, I'm actually more relieved to be rid of the tux sooner."

Scanning the line of people entering the opulent building, Luke picked out three other Defiers—Annika, Eldacar, and Tanniv—alongside other lesser-acquainted faces. Annika shot finger guns at him, Eldacar gave a sleazy smile, with two women around his arms, and Tanniv acted like he didn't see Luke, his nose pointed toward the ceiling almost.

With this kind of gathering, friends and acquaintances often intermingle with less pleasant company. Luke's mouth soured as he saw the red-haired, pale-skinned young fire mage—Chander Pyrite. The noble responsible for the bounty on his head in Sylen's underworld black market, now here, a dozen yards away, jostling along with what appeared to be another slice of other young influentials.

I could slice off his head. No one here could stop me in time. Just one use of Triple Step, and… the dark thought stabbed into the Reaver's mind.

When he dispersed the notion, the Reaver noticed a tall, lean woman with fiery auburn hair and flame-shaped tattoos on her shoulders, staring daggers at him. Her golden eyes matched her dull red dress well, marred by sheer intensity. When he shifted his attention back to Chander, he put it all together, the resemblance between the two uncanny.

Definitely a relative. A sister, maybe? Or an aunt? The reverse aging one sometimes underwent when going up multiple levels or tiers made plenty of people appear in their twenties or thirties, masking their actual age. Said relative must've sensed the bits of blood lust he leaked out, and made her presence known. A flooding Tier three aura displayed itself around her body. Fine, impulsive public execution idea—dashed.

Stolen from its rightful author, this tale is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

Perhaps it was a good idea to take all weapons away from attendants, no matter their background. While many on the surface acted on good terms, if Luke—a man who'd only been in Sylen for less than a month—created this sort of mortal enemy, then no doubt the same applied to many in the building. The wealthy had innumerable connections, not all of them in good spirits.

A respectable entourage of auction guards discreetly approached Luke in a squad of four. Each held a stable Tier 2 aura—caution colored their faces. The Reaver could hear their rapidly beating hearts, hurried breaths, and smell the sweat building on their palms. He wondered what the big deal was; he made no physically visible sign of aggression.

Well, other than bringing a sentient weapon here. The Reaver couldn't get her to plop into the Inventory. What chances did he have of leaving her in an illusion realm with an all too eager teacher? Xera radiated separation anxiety the moment he hinted at anything of the sort. It could be worse. For all the unusual problems his artifacts inflicted upon them, the advantages they gifted were far greater. You couldn't gainfully take the advantages, then stew over the negatives.

Nodding at them, Luke greeted the four, "A start to a long night for the bunch of you. Ease up, I'm a regular guy who happens to have a stubborn Sword Wand. So, are you taking me to the gardens outside? Or all the way out of Midas Square?"

Sound waves started to bend around the Reaver—curving like they had a controlled form. Whispers tugged at his ears, and soon the offending person gracefully walked in between Luke and the four auction bodyguards. A woman with long black hair, rich green eyes, and a tasteful silver-blue dress. A giant, white and grey furred Tora in a similar colored tuxedo remained a pace behind her—bone charms on his fingers and neck.

The City Lord, Ophelia Cyrn, smiled at the four nervous men. "Gentlemen, a request, if you would?"

Each exchanging a look with each other, the shortest, a stout brown haired human man, spoke for them, "How can we be of service, City Lord?"

Glancing back at Luke, Ophelia said, "Allow the Ice Defier reprieve. The sentient item race can be difficult to persuade against their nature. Lenardis took ample convincing, he so wished to see what this venue has to offer this night—alas. I vouch for him, will you indulge an exception on my behalf?"

The same stout man started to answer, "I mean no disrespect, City Lord, but past incidences require that we apply-"

A voice came from beside Luke, someone the Reaver previously assumed was a bystander, "If the Lord of Sylen risks herself for him, then this young man can be allowed in." An aged elf with white hair and a luxurious suit leaned past Luke, a genial smile on his face, with nearly closed eyes.

Saluting the elf, the four guards left, returning to their assigned locations in the reception area. Gentle golden light shining down on any personnel to 'take care' of unruly guests.

Facing Luke and the unknown elder elf, the City Lord put a fan over her mouth, "Elgodar, always the one with keen sense. Is it you who is in charge of the auction this round?"

Bowing in a practiced manner, Elgodar said, "That it is, City Lord, unworthy as I am of the honor." He distanced himself a pace from Luke, "Be mindful of your weapon, Ninth Defier. Guests already must struggle to breathe near you as is."

Without further ado, the elf left, wandering deep into the throngs of high-tier hunters, nobles, the wealthy, and anyone else with enough clout and time to attend the invitational auction.

Raising an eyebrow, Luke thought, Struggle to breathe near me? From what?

Making a symbol with her hand, Ophelia weaved upon the air. A thin aura film encased the Reaver with her and the Tora attendant. Leaning back slightly, Ophelia said, "You garnished my surprise when I walked into this establishment, and a lone Defier struggles to contain the elemental aura around him." She narrowed her eyes at the Reaver, "Its potency, why, uncanny in how similar it is to when an Elemental of the four races is newly born. The same man has a weapon on his person and bloodlust targeted at an ignorant Pyrite scion. You must've given Calista—his guardian for the night—quite the scare. Reminiscent of when I managed a similar feat with my sound decades ago."

"I reign it in well enough. None of the ice or mists leak out, even a baby could touch me—unharmed." He got off the wall, standing straight after rolling his shoulders once, "What more could people want? I shield them from what's in front of their eyes?"

"A fine target indeed, one you must reach now that you're an Elemental Human, Defier. Your enhanced life rating makes the ordinary either submit to, or be wary of you. No lethal power escapes you." She faintly touched the side of Luke's arm, "To help the faint of heart in public, mask that power, seal it to your depths." The aura technique dissipated, and Luke could hear the words of those around him again. Turning away, the City Lord left, her Tora attendant in tow.

With no one else to talk to, the Reaver asked Sooty, "I'm not scary to be around, am I?"

Sooty answered with a caw.

"A little bit after the featherless crystal? Damn." As Luke chewed on the new problem, he was secretly thankful for it. It kept hordes of others at bay, compared to the other three Defiers in attendance, all inundated with socialites; his corner stayed barren. He overheard Annika shout that she wanted to speak with her student. Fortunately for him, the people in the semi-circle around her seemed to keep the Runewarden at bay. Dotted around the room, usually near the food, Luke picked out high tier hunters everywhere. While he didn't see Veyri, her captain, Moniba, occupied a corner with other hunters.

Keen with higher end aura by now, subtle differences alerted the Reaver to whether it belonged to a combat type or a civilian. Hunters in particular tended to be rougher at its perceived zenith, more on edge—a byproduct of putting your life on the line near-daily.

Crowds in the reception area parted. A pair of monics strode down its middle. Luke recognized one of them, Emalia Miel. Her white hair, silver cheek runes, ghostly skin—all accentuated by a tight black dress with a deep cut out—used to guide attention to her chest. Luke sectioned her as a woman who had no qualms about using sex appeal as a weapon.

What had he been thinking when accepting her invitation to attend this auction with her?

The other monic wore a similarly black tuxedo, but chose a blue undershirt. Fine shoes clacked against the floor, their sound measured, the same each time, with no variance. Faint crimson runes clashed with the golden light; muscles rippled against the man's clothes. Many monics were lithe; this specimen threw himself to the opposite end of that spectrum. Engaging in short conversations as they presented themselves, Emalia slowly but surely made her way toward him.

Just as he thought he could escape unnoticed, she fluttered her eyes at him—a teasing glint hidden deep within. With the three Defiers preoccupied, and his 'fate' already settled for the night, the Reaver waited patiently, feeding fruit pieces to Sooty as he sipped on served wine. A faint aroma wafted from the liquid, easy on the senses.

All this meet-and-greet shenanigans wore him out. He spoke to the shivering human woman attendant next to him. Feeling sorry for the woman, he consciously concealed the elemental fluctuations, sealing the majority of them away in the Spectral Heart. Immediately, the woman's extraneous shivering plummeted to nothing.

"Where do I go to settle in for the auction?"

Settling the silver platter on one hand, the attendant pointed to a double black door in the back center of the room, "The grand auction will be held in that room, Sir Defier. A few more minutes are reserved for the patrons to mix. I advise you to join them."

"That'll be alright, I did enough of that already." He set a drink on the platter and headed toward the double door. A shiver shot up his spine, and the Reaver halted himself. It wasn't caused by lethal danger, no, something much worse.

A woman in the social arena, eyes set on an agenda.

"There's my absent partner for the night, going on ahead without me, Luke?" A soft, sultry voice attacked him from the side, paired with heels clacking on the floor.

The Reaver allowed himself an extended blink and exhaled all his air. Rotating to face Emalia, he said, "Getting a head start on the auction, snag a good seat or two. Leagues better than frightening half the crowd for whatever reason."

Closing the distance, Emalia linked an arm with Luke, "Perish the thought. The Miels have a booth reserved for any auction of import. I would be most pleased if you joined me and my uncle, Calen." Emalia gestured to the bulky monic, with crimson cheek runes and deep silver hair that dragged down to his lower back.

"Mind your blood, lowborn Defier. Emalia may see you in a favorable light. You will have to earn the same with me."

"Nice to meet you too, I guess. Are you the chaperone to keep your niece safe from the 'lowborn' Defier? Or is there something else on the to-do list?"

Calon dusted off his tuxedo cuffs, "Emalia is plenty capable in her own right. She has no need for me to baby her. My role is to procure items for the family's ends. As stipulated in the agreement, all noble families are required to send two members to the monthly auction. A task that falls to me this round, and—at her insistence—Emalia."

"The delights of male bonding," Emalia clapped her hands together, "since you're now well-acquainted, let us move to the booth reserved for the Miel's and our guests."

Emalia kept close to Luke, gently guiding him along into the auction floor, past the black double doors. When they opened, she palmed an orb to the left—teleporting the trio into the Miel Family private auction VIP booth. One of the four on the upper level above the auction floor.

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