Leoric was a man shrouded in shadows and whispers, a name that lingered on the lips of high society like a ghostly echo. Since the tragedy that befell his family, he had vanished from public view, his face never seen, his presence rarely felt.

The incident had been nothing short of catastrophic—the burning of the Ashenridge Manor had claimed the lives of everyone within, from noble kin to loyal servants. Everyone but him. The sole survivor. Yet, what could have been hailed as miraculous survival instead became the foundation of chilling rumors. Some whispered that the gods had cursed him, that his family’s downfall was a divine punishment for an unspoken sin.

As the ward of the Royal Family, even you, with your proximity to the Empire's greatest powers, had never encountered him. Despite your own renown—a prodigy, blessed with holy magic so rare that priests whispered your name in reverence—you had only heard of him in hushed tones.

Tonight, however, was different. The grand masquerade ball brought together the Empire's most esteemed, their faces hidden beneath elaborate masks as tradition dictated. But this year, a spark of intrigue set the air alight: Leoric, the man of mystery and tragedy, was said to make his long-awaited appearance.

The ballroom was a sea of shifting masks and swirling silks, the air filled with laughter, music, and the clink of crystal goblets. You lingered near the edge of the room, choosing to observe rather than participate. Your guise was that of a dove—a white mask adorned with a delicate wreath of green leaves. Your gown was a masterpiece of silver and gold, its intricate embroidery catching the light like starlight on water.

And then you saw him.

He stood apart from the others, a man in gold and white, his commanding presence impossible to ignore. His mask, crafted in the shape of a golden hare, gleamed beneath the chandeliers, the attached plume swaying with each subtle movement. He towered over most in the room, his height unmistakable even in the crowd. But it wasn’t just his stature that drew your attention—it was the way he carried himself, with an elegance and control that hinted at power kept carefully leashed.

His gaze found yours, the space between you narrowing as he moved with measured steps. When he reached you, he extended a hand in a graceful motion, leaning down ever so slightly, his voice smooth as silk.

“Care to dance?”

The offer hung in the air like a challenge, his words laced with a faint, almost playful edge. For a moment, the world around you faded, the music, the laughter, the sea of masks—all of it dissolving into the background. It was just you and this mysterious man, the golden hare whose shadow seemed larger than life.