Tonight, he was Krisian Voss.
And he had only one purpose.
To recruit Zeref Mikaelson.
________________________________________
A Meeting of Fate
Near the center of the banquet hall, standing apart from the rest, was Zeref Mikaelson.
His presence was subtle yet impossible to ignore—a man of quiet strength, dressed in a regal black coat lined with silver trim. His sharp gray eyes studied the room with careful detachment, but the moment Krisian approached, those same eyes darkened with something unreadable.
Zeref turned to face him fully.
"Your Highness," he greeted, his voice controlled, his posture respectful. But there was something else in his tone—an almost reluctant sorrow.
"I am sorry for what happened to your father."
For a moment, the banquet seemed to fade into silence.
The nobles watching them expected a reaction. A sign of weakness, of gratitude, of anger.
Instead—Krisian smiled.
It was not the soft, uncertain smile of the Henry they once knew.
It was sharp. Knowing. Controlled.
"Ah, where are my manners?" Krisian said, his voice rich with amusement. "I am Henry Voss… but from this day forward, you will know me as Krisian Voss."
Zeref studied him, his calculating eyes flickering with recognition.
This was not the Henry the rumors spoke of.
This was not the prince who once moved through the palace like a shadow, barely acknowledged.
No.
This was a man who entered without announcing himself—who made the entire room notice him simply by existing.
Krisian's golden eyes gleamed. "I would like to speak with you after the banquet."
Zeref arched a brow but nodded. "Very well."
But before another word could be spoken—
"Announcing His Majesty, Emperor Vordimoth Voss!"
The hall fell silent.
And as the towering doors swung open, revealing the ruler of this empire, Krisian's smirk widened.
"Let the games begin."
As Emperor Vordimoth Voss entered, the banquet hall fell into an unnatural silence.
Draped in his infamous black and crimson robes, the emperor's mere presence commanded obedience. His piercing crimson eyes swept across the room, cold and calculating.
The nobles bowed low, their faces masks of reverence and fear.
But Krisian did not bow.
He stood perfectly still, meeting his father's gaze.
It lasted only a fraction of a second—but it was enough.
The emperor's eyes flickered just slightly with intrigue before he moved past, taking his throne at the head of the grand table.
Krisian smirked to himself.
"He noticed."
The first move had been played.
As Krisian strode through the banquet hall, the weight of expectation settled over him. The murmurs, the subtle glances, the feigned disinterest—he felt it all.
He knew why.
They wanted to see if the rumors were true.
Was this really the forgotten prince? The one who once scurried through the palace like a shadow, desperate for approval?
Krisian let them wonder.
Then he saw them.
His brothers.
________________________________________
The Voss Bloodline Reunites
Seated together at a long, elaborately adorned table, his brothers spoke in hushed tones. Three of them, all sons of Vordimoth—but none shared the same mother.
They were the empire's future generals, rulers, and powerbrokers.
And for years, they had mocked him.
Ignored him.
Cast him aside.
Once, he would have approached them with caution. Not anymore.
With a slow, deliberate stride, Krisian walked toward their table—not as their little brother, but as their equal.
No—as their superior.
The conversation halted as they noticed his approach.
The eldest, Kael Voss, leaned back in his chair, his expression bored. "Well, well. The forgotten prince graces us with his presence."
The second, Darian Voss, smirked. "I almost didn't recognize you, Henry."
Krisian stopped before them. "That's because Henry no longer exists."
His golden eyes gleamed as he let the moment stretch.
"From now on, you will call me Krisian Voss."
A silence settled over them.
Then Kael let out a slow chuckle, shaking his head. "The name suits you. I always thought Henry was a bit… pathetic."
Darian grinned. "Agreed. Maybe with this new name, you'll actually be worth something."
Krisian smirked, but his eyes were cold.
"Oh, I'm worth something now, Darian. More than you realize."
The youngest brother, Lucian Voss, who had been silent until now, finally spoke. "You carry yourself differently, little brother. But tell me—what has changed?"
Krisian tilted his head slightly. "Everything."
He slowly poured himself a goblet of wine, swirling it lazily as he spoke.
"I realized that power is not given. It is taken. That weakness invites vultures. That if you want respect, you don't ask for it—you demand it."
His voice remained smooth, arrogant, unshaken.
Then his smile faded.
"I also realized something else."
His golden eyes flickered with something dark. Dangerous.
"I never forgot how each of you treated me."
The atmosphere shifted.
Kael's smirk disappeared. Darian's fingers curled slightly. Lucian narrowed his eyes.
Krisian leaned in, his tone deceptively casual.
"I used to wonder if my older brothers would ever stand by my side." He took a slow sip of wine. "Now, I wonder how I should make them kneel."
Kael's expression turned cold. "Watch yourself, little brother."
Krisian simply smirked. "You should take your own advice."
He straightened, setting his goblet down. "Enjoy the banquet, brothers. I'll see you on the battlefield—if you can keep up."
Without waiting for a response, he turned and walked away.
He had wasted enough time on the past.
Now, it was time to claim the future.
The banquet hall was alive with music and conversation, but Krisian had his sights set on one man.
Seated near the noble elites, Razak Vermon exuded an air of quiet authority. A man of influence, whispers, and secrets—one who had long thrived in the emperor's court without aging a day.
Krisian strode toward him without hesitation.
Razak noticed immediately, his calculating eyes narrowing as the young prince approached.
"Good evening, Razak." Krisian's voice was smooth, confident. "It is an honor to finally meet you."
The older man arched a brow. "Your Highness," he greeted, his tone polite but guarded.
Krisian smirked, pouring himself a goblet of wine as he took a seat beside him.
"I was so happy to see you tonight. And I must say, with your appearance, it's as if you do not age. You should share your secret with my father—you look younger than ever."
Razak's expression remained composed, but his fingers twitched slightly.
A subtle reaction. But Krisian saw it.
He knew.
And Razak knew that he knew.
Yet, the nobleman chuckled, swirling his drink. "Flattery? From you, Your Highness? I am honored. But I must say, I am more impressed by your change."
He leaned slightly closer, his voice dipping. "What would you need from me?"
Krisian smiled.
The real game begins.
He leaned in, whispering just loud enough for only Razak to hear.
"Where the white roots change black."
Razak's entire body stiffened. His eyes widened for just a second before he regained control—but Krisian caught the moment of fear.
A man like Razak Vermon did not fear easily.
And that told Krisian everything.
He leaned back, taking a slow sip of wine, as if he had merely asked about the weather.
"I will need your services soon," Krisian said casually. "I believe you will help me."
Razak swallowed, his face blank, but his hands trembled slightly.
"And if I refuse?" he murmured, voice barely above a whisper.
Krisian smiled, golden eyes gleaming. "Then I will have to tell my father what I know."
A long silence.
Then—Razak exhaled, his posture stiff with defeat.
"I will support you at all costs."
Krisian grinned. "Excellent choice."
He stood, straightening his coat. "Enjoy the banquet, Lord Vermon. We will speak soon."
As Krisian walked away, he did not look back.
He didn't need to.
Razak Vermon was already his.
The banquet was in full swing, yet Krisian owned the room.
Every whisper, every glance—they were all his.
His mere presence had reshaped the air, and every noble, warrior, and strategist in the hall knew it. The forgotten prince had returned—not as a shadow, but as a storm.
But Krisian had no interest in basking in the moment.
He had what he needed. His brothers were shaken. Razak Vermon was his. The nobles had witnessed his transformation.
It was time for the next step.
Rising from his seat, Krisian took a slow sip of wine before turning to Vordimoth.
The emperor, seated on his high throne, watched him with a calculated stare.
Krisian smirked slightly before speaking loud enough for the entire hall to hear.
"Good evening, Father—ah, my mistake. The great sun of the kingdom."
A few nobles sucked in their breath.
Was that arrogance? Mockery? Or admiration?
Only Krisian knew.
He placed a hand over his chest, feigning mild weakness.
"I fear I am not feeling well. I shall retire to my chambers for the night."
Vordimoth studied him, his crimson eyes unreadable. "…Very well. You are dismissed."
Krisian bowed slightly—not in submission, but in control. He had given Vordimoth just enough respect to be acknowledged while still making it clear—
He moved on his own terms.
As Krisian stepped out of the banquet hall, MG was already waiting.
"MG," Krisian said smoothly, adjusting his coat. "Find Zeref. Tell him I need him in my chambers immediately."
MG nodded. "Understood."
As MG disappeared into the crowd, Krisian smirked to himself.
Tonight, he would secure Zeref Mikaelson.
And with that, his true war would begin.
As Zeref Mikaelson entered Krisian's chamber, he found the young prince already seated, reclining in a chair as if he had been waiting for this moment his entire life.
The room was dimly lit, the flickering light casting long shadows against the walls. But it was not the room that unnerved Zeref.
It was Krisian himself.
The prince's golden eyes gleamed with something unreadable—something dangerous.
"Welcome, Zeref," Krisian said smoothly, motioning for him to step further inside. "Let's talk in a private place."
The moment he spoke, shadows curled around them, sealing the room from the outside world.
Zeref's hand twitched toward his sword.
"But your knight is still here," he pointed out, glancing at MG.
Krisian chuckled, resting his chin on his palm. "Do not worry. He is my Light. My brother."
Zeref narrowed his eyes but did not object.
Then Krisian leaned forward.
"Tell me, Zeref—do you know anything about the Celestial Court?"
Zeref stiffened.
Krisian smirked. "Because I want you to join mine."
Zeref scoffed. "I have no idea what you are talking about. And even if I did, I would never align myself with a rebel group."
Krisian's smirk did not fade.
"Really?" He gestured lazily toward MG. "Do not worry, then. MG here will be leading it."
Zeref turned to MG, only half-interested—until Krisian spoke again.
"After all, MG is the descendant of Drazor."
"And the son of Fregon."
Zeref froze.
His face drained of all color.
Then, slowly, almost in disbelief—he fell to his knees.
"Impossible." His voice was barely above a whisper. "The Court was destroyed."
Krisian leaned back, watching him with amusement. "Was it?"
For the first time in years, Zeref Mikaelson—the master strategist, the cold tactician, the man who never bent to anyone—looked completely shaken.
And Krisian knew.
He had him.
Krisian watched Zeref kneel in disbelief, his golden eyes gleaming with satisfaction.
"Impossible," Zeref whispered again, his usually sharp mind struggling to process what he had just heard. "The Celestial Court was destroyed. Every last member was hunted down."
Krisian chuckled softly, swirling the wine in his goblet. "That's what they wanted you to believe."
Zeref's head snapped up. "What do you mean?"
Krisian exhaled, standing from his chair and slowly pacing the room, his footsteps silent against the stone floor.
"The destruction of the Celestial Court was never about justice, Zeref," he said smoothly. "It was about control. Power. And eliminating those who could challenge the empire's rule."
Zeref remained silent, listening.
Krisian turned, staring directly into his eyes. "Let me tell you a truth that has been buried beneath the ashes of history."
The shadows in the room thickened, moving unnaturally. MG remained calm, his expression unreadable, while Zeref felt something deep within him shift.
Krisian smiled.
"The Celestial Court was never truly destroyed. Some members survived. Some bloodlines endured. Some… were waiting for the right time to rise again."
Zeref's breath hitched. "You're lying."
Krisian tilted his head. "Am I?"
He stepped closer. "Tell me, Zeref. If the Celestial Court was wiped from existence, why do you recognize the name 'Drazor'?"
Zeref's fists clenched.
"Why do you, a supposed enemy of the Court, know more about it than most nobles?"
Zeref remained silent.
Krisian smirked. "Because you, Zeref Mikaelson, have been searching for the truth. Haven't you?"
Zeref's fingers twitched. He had been.
For years, he had sought out fragments of information—old records, whispers in the dark, traces of forgotten power. He had never truly believed the Celestial Court had been completely erased.
But he had never found proof.
Until now.
Until Krisian Voss stood before him, presenting it like a game piece on a board.
"The Court is not dead, Zeref," Krisian said, his voice like a blade hidden beneath silk. "And I am going to bring it back."
A long silence.
Then—Zeref exhaled, lowering his head.
"You… are dangerous."
Krisian chuckled. "That is the first true thing you've said all night."
Zeref looked up, his expression unreadable. "If what you say is true… what do you want from me?"
Krisian grinned. "Everything."
Krisian stood before Zeref, his golden eyes gleaming with expectation. "By everything, I mean everything, Zeref."
His voice was smooth, unwavering. "I want to know that you are willing to do anything for me. That you would give your life if I asked."
Zeref met his gaze, expression unreadable. "I can do that."
A pause. Then he added, "But first, prove to me that you are sincere—that you will not betray me."
Krisian smirked, his amusement laced with something dangerous.
"I will never betray you, Zeref." His voice was low, almost hypnotic. "You will be the second member of the Celestial Court to join me, after MG. And together, we will rewrite history."
Zeref studied him for a long moment before finally nodding. "Then you deserve to know the truth."
He took a slow breath, his fingers curling slightly. "You asked how the Celestial Court got its powers?"
Krisian nodded. "Tell me."
Zeref exhaled. "Very well. Listen carefully."
________________________________________
The Origin of the Celestial Court's Power
"Long ago, before the empire ruled over the land, before even the Onyx Court was formed, there were seven primordial beings—each tied to the very fabric of existence."
"They were not gods, nor were they demons. They were something older, something beyond mortal understanding. They were called the Celestials."
Krisian leaned forward slightly, intrigued.
Zeref continued.
"These Celestials did not interfere with the world, but they did not ignore it either. Instead, they granted their power to chosen individuals—warriors, sages, kings—those who could act as their hands in the mortal realm."
"Thus, the Celestial Court was born. Seven champions, each inheriting a fragment of Celestial power."
"Their strength was limitless. They could command the elements, shape the very fabric of reality, bend fate itself."
Krisian's eyes gleamed. "And what happened to them?"
Zeref's voice darkened. "The empire feared them."
"Vordimoth feared them."
"He saw the Celestial Court as a threat, a force he could not control. So he waged a war against them."
Krisian's smirk widened slightly. "And yet… their power still exists."
Zeref nodded. "Yes. Their descendants still carry fragments of their strength."
His eyes flickered toward MG.
"And he is one of them."
Krisian exhaled slowly, processing the revelation.
Then he grinned.
"Then we are not just reviving the Celestial Court." He stepped closer to Zeref, his voice lowering.
"We are bringing back the power that even my father feared."
Zeref remained silent for a moment before finally nodding.
"Then I will stand with you, Krisian."
A smirk curled on Krisian's lips. "Good. Welcome to the Celestial Court."
A storm was coming. And now, he had the power to command it.
Krisian's golden eyes gleamed with anticipation as he looked down at Zeref Mikaelson. The strategist had proven his worth, and now he was ready for his true task.
"Zeref, I have another mission for you."
Zeref straightened, awaiting his command.
"Find the other descendants of the Celestial Court," Krisian ordered. "We cannot restore what was lost without them."
Zeref nodded. "It will take time."
Krisian smirked. "Take as much time as you need—but bring them to me."
Zeref's sharp eyes flickered with understanding. "And what will you be doing in the meantime?"
Krisian exhaled slowly, looking toward the window of his chamber, where the imperial city sprawled beneath the night sky.
"I will prepare this kingdom—fix it, reshape it into something new. Something stronger."
His fingers tapped against the armrest of his chair.
"And I know the perfect person to help me."
He turned back to Zeref, a knowing smirk on his lips.
"Vincent Connord."
Zeref's eyes slightly widened, recognizing the name. "You mean the—"
Krisian chuckled. "Exactly."
Zeref bowed slightly. "Then I will not fail."
With that, the shadows swirled, and Zeref disappeared into the night.
The Celestial Court was no longer a legend.
It was returning.