Chapter 94: Welcome Celebration (2)

"I hereby crown the golden rabbit, as this is the greatest honor Solkanaia had ever received for the first in history." Qazaethel announced, her voice was carrying through the great hall with the weight of centuries of tradition and the authority of a sovereign who had never once been questioned.

The hall had fallen silent the moment she began to speak, the nobles and guests turning as one to witness the sacred ceremony. The chandeliers blazed above them, their light reflecting off the crown that rested on a velvet cushion in Dawn’s hands—a delicate creation of gold and silver, woven with threads of light that seemed to shimmer and shift as though they were alive.

Ruthina then slowly lower her head so Dawn could gently put the crown on her head as a sign of respect and symbol that she is higher than Dawn and Qazaethel in the hierarchy. The moment the crown touched Ruthina’s brow, a collective breath was released, and the hall erupted into applause.

The Golden Rabbit had been crowned. The beloved rabbit of the saint had been honored. And for the first time in history, Solkanaia had welcomed a being from the heavens into its midst.

Ruthina smiled widely, she glanced at Arielle and looked so excited, but Arielle smile gently and nodded, gesturing for Ruthina to keep her composure. The rabbit spirit was practically vibrating with joy, her eyes bright, her cheeks flushed, and she looked as though she wanted to leap off the dais and run to Arielle.

But Arielle’s gentle nod, the small gesture of encouragement, kept her grounded. She remained where she was, her smile radiant but controlled, and she turned back to face the crowd with a grace that surprised even herself. Inside, her heart was pounding, her thoughts racing, and she wished more than anything that she could share this moment with the person she loved. But she knew that there would be time for that later. There would be time for everything later.

Eiravelle smiled brightly as she stood next to Arielle. "She looked so gorgeous, doesn’t she?" Eiravelle whispered, and Arielle agreed without a second thought. Her gaze never left Ruthina. The alpha’s eyes were fixed on the rabbit spirit, drinking in every detail—the way the crown caught the light, the way Ruthina’s smile widened when their eyes met, the way her hands are clasped together in front of her as though she was trying to contain her excitement.

"So gorgeous~" Arielle replied with breathy air in her voice, while her eyes look so dreamy. She was not thinking about the ceremony or the nobles or the political implications of this moment. She was thinking only of Ruthina, the way her laughter sounded like music, and the way her presence made the world feel brighter and warmer and more alive.

"Sister, you’re obvious." Eiravelle scoffed softly, and Arielle immediately kept her composure. She was a bit startled that Eiravelle was beside her, "oh? Eiravelle. How long have you been standing there? Hehe." Arielle asked, and Eiravelle noticed the way her voice quivered.

The omega’s sharp eyes had caught everything—the dreamy expression, the breathless tone, the way her sister had been staring at Ruthina as though she was the only person in the room. Arielle’s cheeks flushed, and she straightened her posture, trying to look as though she had not just been caught mooning over the Golden Rabbit.

"Stop hiding it, I caught you red handed." They both giggled, trying to keep their voice low as the ritual continues. Eiravelle nudged her sister with her elbow, her smile was warm and teasing, and Arielle shook her head, unable to suppress her own laughter.

It was a moment of sisterly affection, a brief respite from the formality of the ceremony, and it made Eiravelle feel closer to Arielle than she had in months. They had been through so much together—had survived cruelty and neglect, had found their way back to each other, and had built a relationship that was stronger than the blood that bound them. And now, watching Arielle fall in love, Eiravelle felt a joy that was almost overwhelming.

"Place the fortune box in front of the golden rabbit." Qazaethel commanded, and everyone’s breath hitched. The fortune box will only show two colors of smoke. If it’s white, then the saint does exist and just near. And if it’s black, the saint doesn’t exist or it’s not in this place.

The ritual was ancient, passed down through generations of sovereigns, and it had never failed. It had always shown the truth, had always revealed the saint’s location with unwavering certainty. White meant presence. Black meant absence. And there was no in between.

The box itself was small, carved from dark wood that had been polished to a mirror sheen, and it sat on a pedestal in the center of the dais. It was beautiful in its simplicity, and it was terrifying in its power.

Qazaethel bow and step back as she leave the space for Ruthina to navigate. The sovereign’s heart was pounding in her chest, though she did not show it. She had been so certain, so confident in Eiravelle’s role as the saint. Ruthina had declared it, had believed it with every fiber of her being, and Qazaethel had trusted that belief.

But now, watching Ruthina approach the fortune box, she felt a flicker of doubt. What if the box did not show white? What if it showed black? What would that mean for Eiravelle? For Ruthina? For the kingdom?

Ruthina approached the fortune box and as she took the white sand unto her hands, the omegas gasp. The sand was finer than silk, cool against her skin, and it seemed to glow with a faint inner light. It was sacred sand, gathered from the shores of the celestial realm, and it was said to hold the memories of every saint who had ever lived.

Ruthina held it for a moment, her eyes closed, her lips were moving in a silent prayer. Then slowly, Ruthina poured the sand unto the box. There was a moment of silence before the smoke that came out is not what they had all expected. The smoke curled upward, swirling and twisting like a living thing. It was not white. It was not black. It was gray—a soft, uncertain gray that hovered in the air like a question without an answer.

Qazaethel and Dawn’s eyes widened, "it’s gray?" Qazaethel was taken aback. Gray color is rare. In all the centuries that the ritual had been performed, in all the records that had been kept and studied, gray had appeared only a handful of times. It was an anomaly. It was a mystery. It was a sign that something was wrong.

"What does gray mean?" Eiravelle whispered a question to Arielle, her voice was trembling slightly. She did not understand what was happening, did not understand why the crowd had gone silent, and did not understand why Qazaethel looked so shaken.

"It means that the saint’s whereabouts is not guaranteed. The box doesn’t know where they are." Arielle answered, and Eiravelle remain silent. The words settled into her chest like stones, heavy and cold.

The box did not know where the saint was. The box could not find them. Which meant that either the saint did not exist, or the saint was hidden in a way that even the sacred sand could not penetrate. Eiravelle felt a wave of doubt wash over her. Maybe she was not the saint. Maybe Ruthina had been wrong. Maybe all of this—the celebration, the crowning, the hope—had been built on a mistake.

The people murmured and kept talking about it. Dawn then looked at Qazaethel, "do something...!" She whispered, and Qazaethel immediately nodded and look at the people. The whispers were growing louder, the questions were more insistent, and Qazaethel knew that she needed to act before the celebration descended into chaos.

"Silence!" She commanded, and every voice became silent. The sovereign’s voice was a blade, cutting through the murmur of the crowd and leaving only stillness in its wake. "We will repeat the ritual later, I’m sure the box will finally show us who will the saint be." Qazaethel said, and everyone agreed.

The words were spoken with such certainty, such authority, that no one dared to question them. The ritual would be repeated. The answer would be found. And in the meantime, the celebration would continue as planned.

"For tonight, let’s celebrate the arrival of the golden rabbit." She commanded, then approached Ruthina, beside Ruthina was Dawn too. They don’t want to ruin the event tonight, but Ruthina was clearly frowning.

The rabbit spirit’s earlier excitement had faded, replaced by confusion and disappointment. She had been so certain that the ritual would prove Eiravelle was her saint. She had been so sure that the white smoke would rise and everyone would finally believe her. But instead, the smoke had been gray, and the crowd had murmured, and now she felt as though she had failed.

"Why it turn gray? It should be white because saintess Eiravelle is here." Ruthina said, and Dawn comforted her. The Phoenix Empress placed a gentle hand on Ruthina’s shoulder, her expression warm and reassuring.

"It’s okay, your holiness. We can repeat the ritual later again, for tonight, this event is yours so please enjoy, okay?" Dawn said, and Ruthina nodded excitedly. The words were kind, patient, and they seemed to lift some of the weight from Ruthina’s shoulders.

She was still confused, still disappointed, but she trusted Dawn. She trusted that the Phoenix Empress knew what she was doing, and that everything would work out in the end.

"Call me, Ruthina or just rabbit. I don’t like your holiness title. It makes me feel lonely." Ruthina said, her voice small and vulnerable. The title ’your holiness’ was a wall, a barrier that separated her from the people she cared about. She did not want to be placed on a pedestal. She did not want to be worshipped. She wanted to be loved. She wanted to be Ruthina.

"Okay okay, whatever you want, Rabbit. Let’s go and bring Eiravelle with us." Dawn said, and Qazaethel smiled. The Phoenix Empress led Ruthina away from the dais, toward where Eiravelle and Arielle were standing, and Qazaethel watched them go with a warmth in her chest that she could not quite explain.

She had been worried about the ritual, had been shaken by the gray smoke, but seeing Ruthina smile again, seeing her find comfort in the presence of her friends, made everything feel less dire. They would figure it out. They would repeat the ritual. And in the end, the truth would be revealed.

"Everyone, continue the celebration." She commanded and everyone cheered for Qazaethel. The music resumed, the servants began moving through the crowd with fresh trays of wine and food, and the nobles returned to their conversations with renewed energy.

The gray smoke was a mystery, a question that would be answered in time, but for now, there was a celebration to enjoy. There was a Golden Rabbit to honor. And there was a kingdom to unite.

Then Qazaethel paused and approach Liv and Arielle, while Dawn and Ruthina approach Eiravelle. The six of them converged near the edge of the dais, away from the main crowd, and for a moment, they were simply six people—friends, allies, lovers—united by circumstance and bound by something stronger than politics.

Qazaethel looked at Liv, her general, her friend, and her most trusted advisor, and she felt a surge of gratitude for the woman who had stood by her through everything.

"Did you know the ritual could turn gray?" Qazaethel asked, her voice was low, meant only for the people in their small circle. Liv shook her head, her expression was thoughtful.

"I’ve read about it in the old texts," Liv said slowly. "It’s rare, but it happens. It means the saint is in a state of flux, in between. Not present, not absent. Just... Uncertain." She paused, her sharp eyes were meeting Qazaethel’s. "It could also mean the saint is hidden. Protected by something or someone powerful."

Qazaethel nodded slowly, processing the information. The saint was hidden. Protected. That could mean many things, and none of them were certain. But it was not a failure. It was simply a delay, a mystery that would be solved in time.

"We’ll figure it out," Liv said, her voice firm. "We always do."

Arielle, who had been listening quietly, stepped forward. Her earlier dreamy expression had been replaced by something sharper, more focused. The alpha who had been mooning over Ruthina was gone, replaced by the protector who had watched over Eiravelle for years. "What does this mean for Eiravelle?" Arielle asked, her voice tight. "If the box can’t confirm she’s the saint, what happens?"

Qazaethel met Arielle’s gaze, understanding the fear that lurked behind the question. "Nothing happens," she said firmly. "Eiravelle is under my protection. Whether the box confirms her as the saint or not, she is mine. She is carrying my child. And no one—not the church, not the nobles, not the box—will touch her."

The words were a vow, a promise, and they seemed to ease some of the tension in Arielle’s shoulders. The alpha nodded, her expression softened, and she glanced toward where Eiravelle stood with Dawn and Ruthina.

Eiravelle was smiling, her hand was resting on her belly, and Ruthina was talking animatedly, her earlier disappointment was apparently forgotten. Dawn stood between them, her presence a calming anchor, and the three of them looked almost like a family.

"Then we wait," Liv said. "We repeat the ritual. And in the meantime, we watch. Someone may have interfered with the box. Someone may be trying to hide the saint."

Qazaethel’s eyes narrowed. The thought had occurred to her as well. The gray smoke could mean uncertainty, or it could mean sabotage. Someone in the palace, someone who did not want Eiravelle to be revealed as the saint, might have tampered with the box. It was a possibility that she could not ignore.

"We’ll investigate," Qazaethel said. "Quietly. No one outside this circle needs to know."

Liv and Arielle nodded in agreement, and the three of them turned to join the celebration. The music was lively now, the nobles dancing and laughing, and the atmosphere in the great hall was one of joy and celebration.

The gray smoke had been a moment of uncertainty, but it had not ruined the night. The Golden Rabbit had been crowned. The kingdom was at peace. And the people they loved were safe.

Qazaethel walked toward Eiravelle, her heart was full, and when the omega looked up and smiled at her, the sovereign felt as though the world had righted itself. Whatever the ritual meant, whatever the box had tried to say, it did not matter. Eiravelle was here. Eiravelle was hers. And Qazaethel would protect her—from the church, from the nobles, from the box itself—for as long as she lived.

"Stay with me," Qazaethel murmured as she reached Eiravelle’s side, her hand finding the omega’s and holding it tight.

Eiravelle smiled, her eyes bright with love, and she nodded. "Always."