The departure of the Absolute Zero from the center of the floor did not end the spectacle. Isadora was still very much present, dragging a mortified Isaac toward a long table filled with appetizers. She was currently picking up small pastries and trying to feed them to him while he looked around desperately for an exit. The crushing frost was gone, but the social weight of her presence remained, forcing the rest of the nobility to keep a respectful distance while they pretended to enjoy the music.

Vane stood near a marble column, watching them.

'She really just wants him to eat,' Vane thought. He looked at the way Isadora smoothed Isaac's hair. It was a simple, repetitive gesture of care. It reminded him of the way Helena used to sit by his bed when he was sick, even when they had nothing but muddy water to drink. He had assumed that high-born families were all cold statues, but Isadora was proving him wrong.

He turned his head and caught sight of Isole.

The Oracle was tucked away in a quiet corner of the hall, but she was not alone. Three Elven nobles in emerald and silver robes stood in front of her. At the center was a woman who looked like a more polished, frozen version of Isole. Her eyes were a sharp, uniform green, lacking the mismatched starlight that defined her daughter.

Vane looked at his vision.

[Target Analysis]

Name: Elara Sylvaris

Rank: 8 (Grandmaster)

Danger: Catastrophic

Authority: Saint's Requiem (SSS)

The air around the woman felt heavy and sterile. It was not the natural warmth of Isadora or the fierce pressure of Kaito. It was the weight of a silent judgment.

"You look ridiculous in that color, Isole," Elara said. Her voice was flat and dismissive. "We sent you here to improve your standing, yet you have stayed at Rank 5 for months. And now you are wearing lavender like a common merchant's daughter. You are a Sylvaris. Have you forgotten your blood?"

Isole kept her head down. Her fingers were twisting the fabric of her dress so hard the silk was beginning to fray. "The threads led me to this squad, Mother. Vane is a capable leader."

"Vane is a temporary curiosity," Elara replied. She reached out and brushed a stray lock of hair away from Isole's face, but the gesture lacked any tenderness. It was more like she was cleaning a smudge off a window. "He is a commoner who got lucky. You have tied your reputation to a sinking ship. You should have stayed in the Silver Wood where we could hide your defect from the public eye. Instead, you are out here making a scene."

Vane felt a slow, cold anger building in his chest. He looked at the Saintess, then looked back at Isadora, who was laughing as Isaac nearly choked on a tart.

'So it is not just about being a noble,' Vane thought. 'Isadora is the strongest being on the continent and she loves her son. This woman is a Grandmaster and she treats her child like a broken tool.'

He walked forward. He did not rush, but he did not hesitate. He stepped into the circle of Elven nobles and placed a hand on Isole's shoulder. He could feel her trembling.

"She looks better in lavender than she ever did in green," Vane said.

Elara Sylvaris turned her gaze to him. The pressure in the air spiked instantly. It felt like a physical weight pressing against Vane's lungs, demanding he look away. "You must be the boy they call the Usurper. You have a lot of nerve interrupting a family discussion."

"Isole is part of my squad," Vane replied. He stood his ground, his Rank 3 mana-core pushing back against the Grandmaster's aura. "That makes her my family for the duration of this semester. If you have a problem with her rank or her dress, you can talk to me."

"You are a Rank 3 Elite," Elara said, her voice dripping with ice. "I could erase your existence before the guards in this room could blink. Do not mistake the Academy's rankings for actual power, boy."

The pressure became suffocating. Vane's knees felt like they were about to buckle. He saw the name [Saint's Requiem] in his vision, and while he did not know what it did, he could feel the lethal intent behind it.

"That is enough, Saintess."

Headmistress Evangeline appeared from the crowd, her dark robes trailing behind her. She did not raise her voice, but her presence acted like a shield, neutralizing the pressure around Vane. She looked at Elara with a calm, neutral expression.

"Vane is the Rank 1 of Zenith," Evangeline said. "He is currently under my direct protection. If you wish to threaten my students, I suggest you wait until they have graduated. Until then, any insult to him is an insult to the Academy."

Elara Sylvaris stiffened. She looked at the Headmistress, then at Vane, and finally at her daughter. "Fine. It seems the Academy has lowered its standards to protect gutter rats. Come, elders. We have better things to do than stand in the corner."

She turned and glided away without a second look at Isole. The other Elves followed her like shadows.

Isole let out a shaky breath and leaned against the pillar. "Thank you, Vane. You did not have to do that. She is very dangerous."

"She is just a woman who does not know what she has," Vane said.

He looked at her. Her eyes were watery, and her confidence was shattered. She looked small in the massive ballroom. Vane realized that very few people had ever stood up for her. She had been surrounded by people who saw her as a defect her entire life.

The orchestra began to play a slow, sweeping melody. It was the signal for the first dance. Vane looked around. The Dukes and Counts were already leading their partners to the floor. Valerica was being approached by an Imperial officer, and Ashe was busy arguing with Kaito.

Vane took a step back and looked at Isole. He did not care who was watching. He did not care about the Saintess or the Princess on the dais.

He lowered himself onto one knee. The movement was slow and deliberate, drawing the eyes of the nearby nobles. He offered his hand to her, palm up, just as Valerica had taught him.

"Isole Sylvaris," Vane said. "Would you give me the honor of the first dance?"

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