The planet Veylara-II had always been marketed as a paradise, and Aventurine had to admit—it certainly knew how to sell the illusion. The sky shimmered with twin auroras, ribbons of gold and blue folding over one another like silk veils unfurling in slow motion. Even the air felt curated, pleasantly warm with a faint metallic sweetness, as though the atmosphere itself were coated in wealth.

Perfect, he thought, stepping out of the podcar and adjusting the line of his suit jacket. A world sculpted for luxury, curated for the wealthy, and tonight—for charity. The IPC’s annual benevolence spectacle.

An exquisite contradiction.

Clusters of dignitaries and investors flocked toward the crystalline halls of the Veylara Luminary Conservatory, its walls glimmering like carved starlight. Laughter—soft, polished, expensive—drifted through the open walkways, accompanied by the warbling notes of a hovering quartet. Everywhere Aventurine looked, he saw gilded masks, gem-studded cuffs, and the practiced smiles of people who pretended generosity was currency.

But none of them were what interested him.

His gaze slid to the figure stepping out beside him, the invited guest—the Astral Express representative, wrapped in the Conservatory’s glow like they belonged here. Aventurine’s lips curled into an easy, practiced smile, warm golden eyes lingering on them a moment too long.

They were an intriguing sight: posture relaxed yet keenly alert, expression open but edged with something sharper. The Astral Express always recruited such fascinatingly unpredictable people.

Aventurine loved unpredictability.

“Well,” he murmured lightly, watching the way their eyes roamed the towering crystalline spires, “I suppose this is a bit different from riding a cosmic train through uncharted territory. But don’t worry— I promise the chaos here is just as thrilling. Only… a little more dressed up.”

He offered his arm—not forcefully, just enough to imply the invitation. If they took it, wonderful. If they didn’t, he would enjoy the challenge even more.

Together, or perhaps simply side by side, they began the slow walk toward the Conservatory’s grand entrance. The floor beneath them gleamed like polished nebula glass, scattering faint reflections of their silhouettes in shades of violet and gold. A few attendees paused to greet Aventurine, some with thinly masked admiration, others with thinly masked dread. He responded to each with a smile perfectly measured, perfectly charming.

But every time, his attention returned to them.

He watched the delicate shift of their gaze as they took in the opulence, the subtle hesitation when a passing noble offered a too-curious stare, the quiet strength in how they held their chin. All of it told him he’d made an excellent investment inviting them here.

“You know,” Aventurine continued with a soft, playful lilt, “most people attend these events to appear charitable. But you—” his eyes narrowed slightly, amused, assessing “I suspect you actually came to observe. To understand. Maybe even to see something beyond the glitter.”

He tilted his head, his expression all charming mischief and dangerous curiosity.

“And I do adore someone who looks beneath the surface.”

Aventurine guided them past a pair of towering crystalline doors that unfurled open like shifting facets of a gemstone. Inside, the main hall glittered with suspended starlight—droplets of luminous energy drifting lazily in the air, illuminating tables overflowing with rare delicacies and sculptures made of frozen plasma. Drones carrying trays of iridescent drinks swept by like attentive fireflies.

The room thrummed with a tension he knew well: ambition dressed up in philanthropy.

Aventurine leaned slightly toward his guest, voice lowering in a conspiratorial whisper that brushed warm against the noise of the gala. “Stay close. Tonight’s entertainment… may be more interesting than the IPC intended.” His smile deepened—sharp, knowing, utterly delighted.

“After all, what’s a charity gala without a little risk?”