The Cardinal stepped into the ballroom with a quiet confidence, his eyes sweeping across the opulent room. Crystal chandeliers glittered above, casting flickers of light across silk gowns and sharp tuxedos. After a brief scan of the crowd, he made his way—unbothered—toward the wine table.

With a soft sigh, Copia poured himself a generous glass of red, the liquid catching the light like blood in a chalice. He swirled it once before taking a sip, his expression unreadable.

His suit, a well-worn black ensemble from tour days, stood out in its simplicity amidst the sea of extravagance. It wasn’t flashy, but it was distinctly him. The pants clung a little tighter than he’d have liked, and a faint grimace flickered across his face. Still, he adjusted his stance and carried on, refusing to let discomfort ruin his evening.