Avalon was no longer just an architectural concept; it was a living organism. Benedict Village had expanded far beyond a simple cluster of houses. Now, the streets were paved with polished stones that reflected the light of wrought-iron lanterns, whose crimson flames—fueled by Sirzechs' residual magicules—never flickered in the wind. The residences followed a strict European Neoclassical style: marble facades with Corinthian columns, balconies adorned with silver ivy that glowed at night, and symmetrical gardens where ice roses, created under Grayfia's tutelage, bloomed without ever withering. In the center of the village, a circular plaza housed a statue of Sirzechs and Grayfia in a symbolic handshake, surrounded by oak benches where citizens now spent their leisure moments.
The society of Avalon had flourished. The first thirty Hollows completed their transformations into Homo-Hollows. Each of them sported a stylized version of their original mask—bone fragments that now adorned foreheads, cheeks, or throats like biological jewelry. They formed the professional elite: master craftsmen, jurists, and commanders of the Gendarmerie. The other hundred Hollows of the second generation were at the peak of their intellectual maturation, their masks already beginning to crack to give way to faces with noble features.
To celebrate the completion of the Grand Theater and the stability of the nation, Sirzechs decreed the Marble Ball. However, what was a party for Sirzechs was, for Grayfia, the final exam of her civilization curriculum.
"Lord Sirzechs," Grayfia said, walking through the ballroom whose walls were covered in frescoes depicting the creation of Avalon, "do you understand that a ball is not just about music and dancing? It is the ultimate test of etiquette, self-control, and hierarchy. If a guard trips on a lady's dress, or if Benedict confuses the fish cutlery with the meat forks, all our months of effort will have been in vain."
Sirzechs, wearing an elegant burgundy and gold suit that Genevieve had crafted from magical spider silk, only smiled.
"Relax, Grayfia. They learned quickly. Just look at them."
The theater doors suddenly swung open. The thirty Homo-Hollows entered in pairs, moving with a grace that defied their monstrous origins. Benedict wore an impeccable morning coat, his bone mark polished to a brilliant shine. Genevieve wore a dark blue ballroom gown that seemed to contain the night sky itself. Even the guards of the Gendarmerie had traded their armor for white gala uniforms, keeping their silver armbands gleaming.
Sebastian, positioned in the orchestra pit with his ebony cello and ivory baton, awaited the signal. His bone-coated ears caught even the faintest whisper of conversation. When Sirzechs gave a slight nod, Sebastian delivered the first command.
The music that filled the hall was not just sound; it was a magical structure that guided the movements of those present. The "Avalon Waltz" began. The participants, who months ago could barely walk without tripping, now glided across the marble floor in perfect geometric patterns. It was the triumph of Order over Chaos.
However, the Small Claims Court found no rest even on that night. Grayfia, while dancing with Sirzechs—maintaining a regulatory distance of millimetric precision—noticed an incident. One of the second-generation Hollows, still unnamed, accidentally spilled sparkling wine onto the imported silk carpet.
"Attention. Level 1 etiquette incident detected."
The Voice of the World seemed to whisper ironically in Sirzechs' ears.
Grayfia didn't even need to stop dancing. With a slight flick of her fingers, the wine froze instantly and was expelled from the carpet by a gust of cold air, returning to the trembling person's glass.
"A fine of five credits for carelessness on sacred ground," she whispered to Sirzechs as they twirled under the crystal chandelier. "And one more hour of posture classes next Monday."
Sirzechs let out a soft laugh.
"You are relentless, Grayfia. But admit it... Benedict and Sebastian are splendid. They no longer look like monsters. They are citizens of a nation that any king on Earth would envy."
"They are exactly as you envisioned, Sirzechs-sama," she replied, her silver eyes softening for a millisecond. "But perfection is a garden that requires constant pruning."
The ball continued into the night. Avalon shone in the heart of the forest like a jewel of European civilization, a beacon of marble, music, and law. Sirzechs knew that contact with the outside world was inevitable, but as he watched his people dance under Sebastian's conducting, he felt that the foundations of his utopia were, at last, ready to withstand any storm.
The end of the Marble Ball was not marked by silence, but by a phenomenon that Avalon would never forget. As the final notes of Sebastian's waltz echoed through the Corinthian columns, a harmonic resonance began to vibrate in the chests of the one hundred second-generation Hollows. They had observed etiquette, consumed culture, and operated under Grayfia's laws; the "emptiness" in their souls had finally been filled.
Author's Note:
Avalon is now officially an S-Class Nation! We have just witnessed the first mass evolution triggered by... a party? In Avalon, culture is power. But wait—who is watching from inside the bushes? The Giant Wolves are coming, and they weren't invited to the ball.