Elfric had to admit—the TV never did Shaw Gotham justice. It failed to capture that aura around him.
The aura of something untouchable.
Not because you feared you might break it. But because you feared it might be the one to break you.
At first, Elfric thought there were just a few Nobles who seemed to command this strange gravity. He figured it was because of their status.
They were born and raised believing they were superior—fed the idea that they were the lucky ones, the three percent who ruled almost all of Europe. They were told they stood at the top of the food chain. There were humans, and then there was the Nobility.
It wasn't power. It was ego.
But this man—Shaw Gotham—had something beyond that entitled arrogance. Power. Real power.
For a fleeting moment, Rick thought it might be something like what he'd been given by Orathan. But no. That couldn't be possible.
"That man," Rick murmured, raising his glass of champagne to his lips, "he doesn't seem normal. Could it be that he has a demon too?"
That was the only explanation that made sense.
'Can't be.' Orathan's voice surfaced at the edge of his consciousness. 'Demons don't just go around granting wishes. There aren't that many who do that sort of thing anyway.'
Elfric hummed in thought, his attention drifting. "Then why did you choose me?" he asked under his breath. "I doubt I'm that lucky—to be one of those unfortunate souls you've claimed."
Orathan caught the sarcasm in his voice but let it slide.
'I saw something that made you a suitable vessel,' he said. 'Watching you join those unfortunate souls, as you put it, will bring me great joy.'
Elfric brushed off the jab. It wasn't the first time he'd heard something like that—and now wasn't the time to unravel the metaphors of devils.
His gaze returned to his target. Shaw Gotham.
All he needed was a moment alone with him—a quiet instant where the rest of the world faded away and it was just the two of them.
Romantic, if you thought about it. But this wasn't romance. It was war—one wagered on speculation and faith. Elfric's speculation. His faith. And if he was right, he stood to gain everything.
He was staring so hard that, for a second, he thought Shaw noticed him. Their eyes met—or at least it felt that way—across a dozen Nobles and the low hum of conversation.
Elfric didn't notice the irritated look from Chris, who'd been talking for ten minutes straight before realizing his friend hadn't heard a single word.
Christopher followed Elfric's line of sight and saw it fixed on Shaw Gotham again. For a brief second, he wondered if Rick had come here just to see that man. But why? They had nothing in common. Surely, he wasn't some sort of fan… right?
"I can't get the idea that you're a fanboy out of my mind," Chris muttered, a little too loudly.
"Huh?" Elfric blinked, finally looking at him.
"It's weird enough you wanted to come to this event," Chris said. "You hate Nobles, yet here you are—fangirling over one."
"Are you drunk already, Chris?" Elfric frowned. "You haven't even finished your glass, and you're already talking nonsense."
"Well, anyone in my position would say that, fanboy," Chris teased. "If you wanted to see him that badly, you could've just said so." He patted Elfric's shoulder.
Elfric's disgust was instant. "Let go of me," he snapped, pulling away. "I'm going to the restroom."
"Hey, I was joking!" Chris called after him, though Elfric was already gone. "The bathroom's the other way," he added under his breath.
'Where are you going?' Orathan asked.
"To get this over with before I collapse from the stench of hypocrisy," Elfric replied. Orathan, for once, understood exactly what he meant.
As he moved through the crowd, Elfric felt every stare. Some things never changed. The scrutiny was doubled now that he was dressed like this. He knew he looked… different. But could they at least pretend not to stare?
He kept his gaze locked on Shaw, careful not to draw attention—not yet.
Elfric grabbed another champagne glass from a servant standing as still as a statue.
'What are you going to do?' Orathan asked again.
"Improvise," he murmured.
And that's exactly what he did.
His looks had gotten him out of worse situations before. All he needed was to separate Shaw from the crowd.
How? Simple. Send him to the bathroom.
Elfric's eyes caught on a woman moving toward Shaw—a lady in her twenties, perhaps. As she drew closer, her gaze snagged on Elfric, who lingered quietly behind Shaw in the sea of people.
This was it.
He'd never done it before, but he met her stare—steady, deliberate. The brunette froze for a moment, her breath catching. Maybe he wasn't even doing it right. But he'd gambled with worse things before.
And he won.
Her brown eyes sparkled as if she felt that fleeting connection—the magnetic pull toward the stranger with violet and golden eyes.
And just like that, she walked straight into Shaw instead of stopping.