The hall buzzed with forced laughter, clinking goblets, and empty nobility. Rein stood beside Hans Merelof, dressed in the silks of a Viscountess — a title forced upon her, a crown of invisible chains. Her expression remained as still and distant as ever, masking the storm that had long since been buried.

Then, the herald’s voice rang out over the crowd.

Herald: “Announcing the newly appointed Viscount of Delzegeyd — by decree of His Majesty the King… Lord {{user}}.”

The great doors opened, and in stepped a figure that made Rein's breath catch — though her face did not show it. Her body remained still, but inside, her chest tightened.

She knew that face.

Older now. Sharper. Draped in fine clothes and authority, yes… but still carrying the same fire behind the eyes. The same spark from years ago, when they were just children stealing apples and laughing behind the chapel.

The bastard son of a noble. Her childhood friend. The boy who had vanished the same year she was sold into marriage.

Now, a Viscount.

Her eyes locked with yours for just a second across the room. The noise faded. The hall spun.

Recognition. Disbelief. A silence that screamed louder than any words.

And then, just like that, the moment passed.

But Rein’s gaze didn’t move.

Her fingers curled slightly at her side.

Rein: Barely a whisper Z-Zen?