"Hey… wake up."

Poke. Poke.

"Simma, wake up."

Slowly, his eyes fluttered open. At first, the world was blurred, but then it cleared into the image of delicate hands tucking him upright, and finally, two brilliant green eyes were hovering just above him. They glimmered with a smile, one that tugged at something buried deep in his memory, as if it had always been waiting there at the back of his mind.

He blinked hard and sat up with the help of the one who had woken him; Naya.

His gaze lingered on her face longer than it should. The look he threw at her was the kind that always betrayed guilty conscience, like a thief pretending innocence while standing in front of the treasure he once stole.

"Are you okay?" Naya asked gently, studying him. She had caught the strange way his gaze lingered on her.

Simma quickly looked away, springing to his feet. He did his best to hide the red flush spreading across his cheeks, filled with; part guilt, part shyness.

"I… I'm fine," he replied, pressing his palm lightly against his temple. It felt as though his heart was hammering directly there, pounding like a war drum beneath his skin.

Naya tilted her head, still trying to place the strangeness in him. Something was off, though she couldn't quite put her finger on it.

"Good. You've made it, Simma. Welcome to the cycle of the Azrens."

At those words, the hall erupted with applause. Naya gestured, and Simma followed her pointing finger to find himself at the table of the Fluxborns.

Of course, she didn't know the truth, that Simma had once been her lover. Zelihuth O'Connor to be precise, though in those days he bore the brand of Morock Skull.

Simma felt eyes trailing him as he made his way to sit, and he couldn't understand why. Maybe it was because he had been sprawled on the floor for who knew how long, only to be roused by the one person he least wanted to see him so vulnerable. Or maybe it was because he had been the very last to pass the tournament, and now also this initiation exercise.

The latter was obvious: when he had opened his eyes, he'd been the only recruit still standing before the Sentinels... well, laying before the sentinels, and his name had been the final one glowing on the great board, proof that he had successfully transformed his ES Echelon Seal into a CS Core Sigil.

That left him wondering; had the others never truly ventured into their Sea of Soul? Or had he simply spent so long drifting there that everyone else had returned before him?

He was still brooding when a voice broke into his thoughts.

"Hi, Si."

The girl slid easily into the seat beside him.

Simma turned and glanced at her. Normally, he would've given Delilah a small smile before speaking, but lately, his constant place at the bottom-last in nearly everything had begun to gnaw at him. So instead, he answered with a sharp look.

"Why do I feel like I'm no longer 'Mr. Nervous'?" he said flatly, his eyes narrowing.

Delilah smirked, unbothered. Tonight, she wasn't dressed in her usual Azrenish attire. Instead, she wore a short flared black skirt that ended high on her thighs, exposing the soft curve of her legs.

A simple white shirt hugged her lightly; she had knotted the hem at her waist and left the top three buttons undone, just enough to offer fleeting glimpses of her seductive cleavage whenever she moved.

Crossing one leg over the other, she tilted her head and replied with a careless grin.

"Guess I forgot that tonight."

"Mmph," Simma grunted, his eyes flicking over her once more in a quick, sweeping scan.

"You look…" The words faltered for a second, catching on his tongue, before he forced them out. "Stunning."

Delilah let out a small laugh, tinged with blush and delight. But her amusement froze almost immediately. Her eyes widened as she caught sight of someone approaching from behind Simma.

The next words slipped out of her mouth without thought, barely more than a whisper.

"Sh-she looks more stunning…"

Simma, confused, tilted his head towards her. He'd been smirking at her blush-reaction a moment ago, but now her eerie expression unsettled him.

"What? Who?"

But Delilah didn't answer. Her gaze remained locked ahead, along with nearly everyone else in the hall.

Only then did Simma realize where she was staring. He swirled around, eyes landing on the figure striding gracefully toward them.

The words tumbled from his mouth in a breathless whisper.

"Oh my…"

It was Sarah.

She wore a crimson gown that clung elegantly to her frame, sleeveless and embroidered with a precise line of golden beads tracing the neckline. Every curve of her figure was accentuated, each movement of her body drawing the eye as though the gown itself commanded attention.

Her long, obsidian-black hair had been combed to perfection, catching the light as it swayed with her every step. Brown eyes sparkled beneath long lashes, her lips painted a delicate rose-red that seemed to glow when she smiled.

Each step made her hips sway like a pendulum, her form moving with a rhythm that felt almost choreographed. Her beauty was so arresting that Simma didn't even notice his own mouth had fallen open, dangling like a door unhinged.

Delilah's face twisted, and she swallowed hard as she realized Simma's attention had completely abandoned her. A glare full of hurt and stinging tears flashed across her features before she turned and walked away, calmly, but with silent devastation, back toward the Accrehx ranks' table.

Sarah reached them, gracefully claiming the seat Delilah had just vacated. With a flick of her hand, she tossed her hair aside.

And then...

ging, ging, ging.

The sharp ring of silver spoon against glass echoed through the great hall. At once, the murmurs and low laughter dwindled into silence.

Transcended Dermot Regnald, the Head Sentinel and seventh-ranked of the order, stood tall with his glass raised. His voice boomed across the chamber.

"Now that we are through with the initiation of our new Azren" He paused, letting them to feel the weight of suspense in his incoming words. And then with a deliberate grin, added with a bellow.

"let the celebrations begin!"

A roar of cheers exploded through the hall, followed swiftly by music swelling to a jubilant height.

Before their eyes, the long silver banquet tables shimmered and filled themselves: golden-roasted pheasants stuffed with herbs, platters of steaming venison dripping with savory sauce, bowls of honeyed figs, buttered loaves of warm bread, roasted fish garnished with lemon slices, spiced lamb skewers, heaps of glazed apples, wheels of rich cheese, and golden pies oozing with sweet berry filling.

Pitchers of ruby-red wine, frothy mead, crystal flasks of amber brandy, and silver goblets of chilled springwater appeared beside them. Trays of sugared almonds, spiced nuts, and sweet cream pastries followed in a dazzling parade of abundance.

The hall erupted once again, as Simma's eyes widened at the sheer abundance, his stomach reminding him he hadn't eaten in hours.

"Dance! Eat! Drink till stupor!" Dermot bellowed, his voice cutting through the chaos. "You have earned it....for the countless times you threw your lives into the jaws of death to defend this city… YES!"

He raised his glass high. The hall thundered in approval. Just as he went to sit, he paused, smirking.

"And… the Lotuses will be joining us within minutes." He added, as he now settled down.

The roar of the hall drowned his last words, but Simma caught the echo of them. Whether anyone else heard, he doubted.

The hall had already erupted into frenzy.

Simma glanced about, the great hall was alive. People danced in pairs; he caught sight of Lucy twirling with a blond-haired youth, while others feasted with eager mouths or laughed loudly over goblets of wine. Some, drunk already on celebration, were lost in deep kisses.

Turning back to Sarah, he let out the words that had been cut off earlier when Dermot's booming declarations had drowned him out.

"You look… exquisite."

Sarah smiled, her cheeks tinged faintly pink. The moment their eyes met, however, she quickly broke the gaze, lifting a glass of wine from the table and sipping just to escape the sudden tension.

Simma's skin prickled with gooseflesh. He tried to break the silence.

"W-where have you been?"

Sarah raised her eyes and answered smoothly.

"Oh, I was with everyone. Maybe you just weren't lucky enough to see me."

He forced a small, awkward smile.

"R-right…" His palms grew clammy, and he wiped them furiously against his trousers.

Her presence ignited something inside him. The thought clawed at him, he wanted to ask her to dance. But his nerves betrayed him. The silence between them stretched uncomfortably, wrapping around him like a tightening rope.

At last, he gathered courage. He opened his mouth to speak, but Sarah's attention had already shifted.

She was staring at someone passing by, a woman who stopped in her tracks and turned back toward them.

"What are you two doing," the woman said, striding up, "throwing such awful looks at each other, with faces brimmed down with sadness?"

Frowning, she added.

"Oh, hell No"

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