For the first time, Astia was ready to step into the dazzling world of the sky’s nobility. This upcoming event had tangled his thoughts in a complex web. He imagined everything in his mind—the whispers behind his back, the sharp glances, and the inevitable judgments. The undeniable truth was that when the nobles learned that the newest prince of the sky was half-demonic, those whispers would turn into outright criticisms. Ryan's decision to accept him would be called into question.

However, Astia was unfazed. His calmness came not from naivety but from experience. He had lived as a prince in Hell before—a fiery trial that had hardened him against the schemes and plots of the nobility. If there was one thing he had learned over those years, it was how to stay one step ahead of their tricks and rise above their humiliations. This new court, with all its celestial beauty, was no different.

As he sat in his study, lost in thought, the sound of footsteps shattered his reverie. Arin, always full of energy, burst into the room, arms laden with a stack of books. He thudded them onto the table and grinned knowingly.

“What are you thinking about?” he asked, a hint of curiosity sparking in his eyes.

Astia straightened up, trying to mask his thoughts. “Nothing,” he replied calmly.

Arin tilted his head, clearly unconvinced. “Let me guess—you’re thinking about a gift.”

“A gift?” Astia replied, sounding slightly surprised.

“Exactly! Don’t tell me you forgot…” His voice trailed off as his smile widened.

“I didn’t forget,” Astia shot back quickly, perhaps a bit more defensively than he intended.

Arin leaned closer, raising an eyebrow. “Really? Your reaction says otherwise.” He dramatically flopped down into a chair beside Astia. “Look, I get it. It’s your first time facing the nobility. That alone is scary. But don’t worry. As long as Uncle Ryan has picked you, no one will dare disrespect you… at least not openly.”

Astia managed a faint smile, but his mind was elsewhere. “It’s not just that. This is Iliran’s celebration. I’m just an extra hassle here. If I don’t play my part well, I’ll just give the nobles more ammunition to criticize me. I need to give them something meaningful, something that proves I deserve a place here.”

Arin fiddled with his chin, glancing at the books on the table. After a moment, he picked up one of the leather-bound volumes and began flipping through it with purpose. Suddenly, he stopped and his eyes lit up.

“How about this?” he exclaimed, turning the book around to show him a picture.

Astia leaned in closer. The page depicted something resembling a snow globe, but inside, swirling patterns of radiant energy moved gracefully. It was not only beautiful but utterly mesmerizing.

“What… what is this?” Astia asked, his voice filled with awe.

“It’s a Nuflak,” Arin grinned, clearly pleased with Astia’s reaction.

“What does it do?”

“It’s like a magical globe,” he explained. “The name comes from ‘nufa,’ meaning music or sound, and ‘flak,’ which refers to the sky or universe. This little wonder can preserve memories and present them like a living story—past, present, or even snippets of a person’s essence.”

Astia's eyes widened with excitement. “That’s incredible!” He clasped his hands together, his mind brimming with new ideas.

“It is, but making one isn’t easy. You need a globe and a huge amount of energy from your core. Without that energy, you can’t even create an image inside it. That’s why these globes are so rare—only a few people use them as gifts.”

“A globe…” Astia muttered to himself, then suddenly lifted his head with determination. “I want a globe, Arin!”

Arin looked shocked, momentarily taken aback by his seriousness. “Are you serious?”

“Absolutely!”

Arin chuckled lightly and shook his head. “Okay, okay. I’ll tell one of the servants to bring you one. But you’re really taking this seriously, huh?”

“Thank you, Arin,” Astia said sincerely, filled with gratitude.

Arin leaned back in his chair, grinning again. “If you’re that thankful, maybe you could do something for me…”

Astia looked at him skeptically. “What do you want?”

Arin hesitated, scratching his head. “Well, actually…”

At that moment, Arcsil froze when he spotted Astia. His sudden appearance broke the calm demeanor that Arcsil usually maintained. His bright red eyes widened, but he quickly regained his composure. In a low, serious tone, he murmured, "What… are you doing here?"

Ignoring Arcsil’s hesitation, Astia confidently stepped forward. “I came to see you,” he said simply.

“I mean… I didn’t even...”

Before Arcsil could finish his sentence, Astia brushed past him and entered his room. He was buzzing with excitement. Whatever Arcsil had intended to say slipped from his mind as Astia began exploring the space.

The room immediately captured Astia's attention. The walls were painted a soft gray, a color that perfectly matched Arcsil's calm but withdrawn personality. Every detail in the room—the dark curtains, the monochrome furniture—whispered of his preference for solitude.

Finally, Arcsil spoke with a hint of anger, “Why did you just barge in here without permission? Didn’t anyone teach you to ask first?”

“Oh, come on, Arcsil,” Astia said playfully. “We’re family.”

His words hung in the air. The silence that followed felt heavier than expected. When Arcsil turned to look at him, Astia noticed the expression on his face—wide eyes and a frozen expression, as if he had heard something foreign. For Arcsil, though, Astia was not family; he was an intruder, an unwelcome presence thrust into his life.

“Honestly, brother,” Astia continued, not letting that moment deter him, “I’ve missed you. Can’t you come out of your room?”

“But…” Arcsil started to speak, but his voice trailed off.

“It doesn’t matter, Arcsil. I understand now—it wasn’t really you back then. I forgive you. So, can we be friends?”

“Friends?” Arcsil repeated, his tone baffled.

“Yeah… I know it’s embarrassing,” Astia admitted, his cheeks flushed. “But I want to talk to you without you calling me annoying.”

“Okay.”

Astia blinked in disbelief. “Wait, you agreed way too quickly!”

Arcsil shot him a blank look. His quick agreement had caught Astia completely off guard, leaving him confused, as if he had practiced this response ahead of time.

“You don’t want to?” Arcsil asked, his voice indifferent.

“No, no!” Astia exclaimed with excitement. His astonishment quickly transformed into joy, and before he could stop himself, a wide, genuine smile spread across his face. He couldn’t remember the last time he felt this close to Arcsil. For the first time, he felt like they were making progress—together.

---

That night, Astia lay on his bed, staring at the glowing globe that sat on the table beside him. The crystal-clear sphere, a gift he had carefully chosen for Iliran, seemed almost alive in the soft light of his room. Everything was ready to create it, except for one vital element: power.

Astia clenched his fists. His young, frail body lacked the energy he needed. But he knew exactly where to go for help.

“Surraaaaa!” he shouted, his voice echoing off the walls.

His triumphant smile quickly faded when a sharp knock on his back startled him. He turned around and saw a disheveled woman glaring at him in irritation. Surra’s hair was a mess, and her expression showed deep frustration, as though she had been dragged out of bed against her will.