Omega Ascension System[BL]

Chapter 319: _Not A Performance

Lucian’s POV

*****

Night fell on Lunaria like a held breath.

Silver lanterns lit the palace grounds in long, symmetrical rows, their glow reflecting off black marble paths and mourning banners that fluttered softly in the wind. From the highest balcony down to the outer gates, the palace had been transformed.

This was the real funeral. Not the quiet, private goodbye from the morning.

This was politics dressed as grief. Tonight, all the big names in Lunarian politics would be attending.

Lucian stood at the top of the dais at the centre of the grand event hall. His shoulders were squared beneath layers of ceremonial black and silver. The Alpha King’s cloak rested heavily on his back, the sigil of Stormborn stitched in moonthread across his chest.

Every inch of the attire screamed authority.

And still—his palms were damp.

Below him, the crowd gathered in waves.

Packs from across Lunaria. Nobles. Clan leaders. And then—

His jaw tightened.

The Eastern Wolves Council.

They arrived together, as they always did.

Four elders draped in traditional obsidian robes, their insignias etched in old runes. Their gazes swept the event hall with sharp, assessing calm.

He exhaled slowly through his nose.

Now would be a good time for—

"You’re doing that thing again," Elian’s voice beside him made him jolt slightly. He swerved his head to his mate, shoulders relaxing when he saw his smile. "Frowning like you’re at war with the world, I mean."

Lucian smirked. "And that’s usually your thing."

Elian clicked his tongue. "Low blow."

"Only keeping pace with the smartest man I know."

"And now he’s trying to flatter me."

They both laughed softly, the air of solemnity leaving them for a moment.

Elian was dressed in a black attire this time, complemented by silver threads sewn down the edges of his sleeves, collars and pants. The silver streaks in his hair shone under the lights,

Saying he looked dashing would be an understatement.

Scanning his eyes around the stage, he spotted Aurora already moving toward her throne. His sister was dressed in a flowy silver gown, twinkling with star-like moonstones.

Her silver hair was threaded with black gemstones, and her hand was clutching the hem of her gown.

"So..." Lucian muttered. "You two talked this morning?"

Elian followed his gaze. "Oh, Aurora. Yeah, we did. Gods, it was a loaded conversation."

"She told you about her visions?"

"What? She didn’t tell you?" Elian squinted. When Lucian shook his head, he continued. "Well, she told me what she saw. It was a lot. Long story short, I ended up sharing my secrets with her and Seraphyne."

The Alpha Prince blinked, eyes trailing between Elian beside him and his sister already sitting on her throne. Seraphyne wasn’t present on stage because of the whole "keeping their relationship secret" thing.

She was somewhere in the crowded seats below.

Lucian’s brows furrowed slightly, but there wasn’t time to press Elian further.

Soft footsteps echoed behind him.

He turned just as Elowen emerged from the side entrance of the stage, her black mourning gown shimmering faintly beneath the lantern light. The Luna Queen moved with practised grace, but when she reached him, her hand brushed his sleeve.

"They’re ready," she whispered, lips barely moving. "The coffin is being brought up. Once the bells stop, it’s your cue."

Lucian inhaled slowly, nodding once.

This was it.

The murmurs in the hall began to quiet, waves of conversation ebbing as attention shifted toward the stage. Spiritual incense burned thicker now, the air laced with moonroot and ash—traditional for honouring fallen Alpha Kings.

Lucian stepped forward, boots echoing softly against the polished obsidian floor.

As he did, his gaze swept the hall one last time.

That was when he saw him.

Kyren.

The Rogue King leaned casually against a distant marble pillar, half cloaked in shadow, a glass of dark wine balanced loosely in his hand. Unlike everyone else, he wasn’t dressed in full ceremonial regalia—only black tailored attire trimmed with faint crimson runes.

His presence was restrained, deliberately muted.

Yet unmistakable.

Their eyes met across the hall.

Kyren lifted his glass just slightly, offering a knowing nod.

Not encouragement.

Acknowledgment.

Lucian’s chest tightened—but the knot eased.

If nothing else, Kyren trusted him to survive this.

A movement at his left drew his attention.

Sylas ascended the steps toward the thrones, posture stiff but determined. The young prince wore black robes similar to Lucian’s, though simpler, his blue eyes scanning the crowd with quiet wariness.

Lucian met his gaze and gave a small nod.

Sylas returned it before taking his seat beside Elowen.

Moments later, Elian moved as well.

Lucian watched him settle onto the throne to the right of his own—Luna King in everything but official title. The crowd noticed. Lucian felt it in the subtle shift of energy, the hushed whispers that rippled outward as stones dropped into still water.

Good.

Let them see.

Lucian turned and walked toward the podium.

The bells chimed once. Then twice. Then fell silent, the hall stilling completely.

Lucian didn’t need to call for attention.

His presence alone did it.

Celestial sovereign authority bled outward—not forceful, not oppressive—but undeniable. The air seemed to thicken, conversations dying mid-thought as instincts bowed before him.

He rested his hands on the podium.

Silver light glinted faintly along the Stormborn sigil on his chest.

"My people," he began, voice steady, carrying effortlessly through the hall. "Tonight, we gather not just to mourn the passing of an Alpha King—but to honour the legacy of a man who shaped Lunaria for centuries."

Faces lifted.

Lucian continued, speaking of strength, of unity, of the burden of leadership. He spoke of Arian as both king and father.

As he spoke, something inside him settled.

This wasn’t a performance... even though he kept back every rotten thing his father did.

"And though his reign has ended," Lucian concluded, gaze sweeping the hall once more, "the Stormborn line endures. Lunaria endures. And as long as I draw breath, this Empire will not falter."

Silence fell for a beat.

Then applause broke out—measured at first, then swelling until it filled the hall.

As the clapping continued, the great doors behind the stage opened.

Six spiritual elders entered in a solemn procession, clad in flowing white robes embroidered with silver moons. Between them floated a massive obsidian coffin, runes etched along its surface glowing faintly as it moved forward.

Alpha King Arian Stormborn.

Lucian stepped back from the podium and turned, ascending the final steps to his throne. As he sat, his fingers found Elian’s hand without looking, gripping it briefly.

"You did great," Elian murmured softly, squeezing back.

Lucian exhaled.

For a fleeting moment, everything felt... right.

Then—

Movement at the far end of the hall.

Lucian’s eyes narrowed.

A woman stepped through the doors just as the elders set the coffin down.

Blonde hair.

Awkward smile.

Eyes that burned with something familiar—and hateful.

Estella.

The world seemed to tilt.

Lucian’s fingers tightened around Elian’s hand as dread curled low in his gut.

What the fuck is she doing here?!