The Promise Of A Dance

The ballroom was a shining mix of gold and crimson, chandeliers dripping with crystal, casting light that gleamed against the polished marble floors. A grand orchestra played in the background, its music weaving through the murmurs of nobility and high-ranking officers, each draped in silks and velvets, moving with rehearsed grace.

The air smelled of honeyed wine and candle wax, mingled with the faint metallic tang of armor from the Militian guards stationed at the doors.

Neon moved through it like a shadow.

The people parted instinctively when he stepped forward, their conversations dulling to whispers, their gazes cutting toward him before darting away just as fast. He could feel the unease and hostility radiating from them, their rigid shoulders, their nervous glances. 

Even without meeting their eyes, he knew what they saw—a Nyxian in the middle of their grand celebration, an unwanted presence, a walking threat. A ghost in a hall of gold.

He didn’t take it personally.

Neon had long grown used to the weight of suspicion, the silent recoil of those who wanted nothing to do with him. It wasn’t even fear that bothered him—it was the way they acted like he would pull a blade on them at any second, as if violence was stitched into his skin. 

He had killed a person before. Nyxians and Militians have grown up to hate each other, and for good reason. They weren’t wrong to be wary. But tonight, he had no interest in justifying their expectations.

With a quiet breath, he turned away from the crowd and slipped through the open balcony doors, stepping into the cool night air.

The breeze met him immediately, crisp and cutting against the warmth of the ballroom. He exhaled, leaning onto the stone railing, letting his fingers trace the ridges of carved marble. 

 From here, he could see the palace gardens, the winding hedges that stretched into the dark, the lanterns flickering along the pathways. The distant lights of the city lingered past the palace walls, a reminder that beyond this isolated world of polished perfection, life still moved.

And for the first time tonight, he felt at peace.

He closed his eyes, tilting his head back slightly, letting the wind tug at his collar, the distant music still playing behind him. The tension in his shoulders eased, though he still felt a bit uncomfortable in Militian clothing.

Then the soft rustle of fabric behind him made him glance over.

Aria stepped onto the balcony, her silhouette catching in the low lantern light. 

Her gown was a deep shade of blue, silver embroidery glinting in the dark, the long train trailing behind her as she moved closer. She wasn’t wearing a crown, but she didn’t need one to look like royalty.

“You’re missing the fun,” she looked over at him, leaning on the railing.

He laughed quietly. “Didn’t feel very fun from where I was standing.”

"Listen, if its about what we saw at those ruins..."

He merely shook his head no, and Aria dropped the topic. He knew that both of them had little ideas on what to do from here. He didn´t want to take this moment of peace away from all of them. 

She tilted her head, watching him, her expression unreadable. He could still hear the ballroom behind them, faint laughter and clinking glasses, the life of a world neither of them truly belonged to.

“They’re just scared of you,” she said after a moment, her voice quieter now, honest.

Neon smiled, gaze flicking out toward the city again. “No kidding.”

“Does it bother you?”

He considered that. Did it? Maybe once, a long time ago. But not anymore. 

“Nah,” he said, shaking his head. “I get it.”

Aria studied him, the way his fingers tapped idly against the stone railing, his easy posture, like none of it weighed on him. But she knew him well enough by now to see past it.

She let the silence sit between them for a moment before speaking again.

“You know…” Her voice had a lilt to it now, something teasing, something light. “Back at camp, you said you’d dance with me someday.”

Neon blinked, turning to look at her fully.

She wasn’t even looking at him—she was watching the gardens, her lips curving into the faintest of smiles, like she wasn’t saying something that made his heart stop for half a second.

Had he said that?

…Yeah. He had.

He exhaled through his nose, shaking his head slightly at how casually she brought it up, like it hadn’t been months ago, like it wasn’t something he barely remembered saying. But she remembered.

And that mattered.

Neon turned toward her completely.

Then, before she could react, he bent one knee, lowering himself slightly before her.

Aria’s breath caught.

Neon extended a hand up to her, palm open, his voice softer now, something unreadable in his eyes. “Then, dear princess of Militia, may I ask you for a dance?”

For a moment, she just looked at him.

And then she laughed—soft and breathless, her fingers slipping into his like it was the easiest thing in the world. “You really remember everything, don’t you?”

“I keep my promises,” he said, standing again, his fingers tightening just slightly around hers.

Aria didn’t reply, but she didn’t need to.

He led her back inside.

The ballroom didn’t go silent, but the shift was instant. Conversations dulled, movement slowed, and people turned, their gazes locking onto the two of them as they stepped onto the polished marble.

Neon ignored them. He was getting used to it.

But Aria—Aria was the one they were staring at now. Not with fear, but with disbelief. A Militian dancing with a Nyxian. A moment that should not exist.

Neon glanced down at her. “They’re staring.”

She met his gaze, her expression calm, unconcerned. “Let them.”

She stepped closer, one hand on his shoulder, the other still in his grip. “They’ve been judging me since the day I was born,” she murmured. “I don’t care anymore.”

He watched her for a moment, the honesty in her words. Then, with the faintest of smiles, he pulled her just a little closer.

The music swelled, and they moved.

Neon wasn’t an expert at this—he had danced before, but not in rooms like this, not in the middle of a crowd. But Aria made it easy. She followed his lead effortlessly, her movements light, practiced, graceful.

He adjusted instinctively, his steps mirroring hers, and for a moment, the noise of the room faded.

For a moment, it was just them.

She was warm against him, her fingers pressing lightly against his shoulder, her gaze never breaking from his. He had seen her in so many ways—angry, exhausted, triumphant—but never like this. Never this close, never this soft, or graceful. 

He wondered if she could feel his heartbeat against her palm.

“You’re better at this than I thought,” she said, voice low.

He huffed a quiet breath of amusement. “So are you.”

“I’ve had practice.”

“Could’ve fooled me.”

She smiled. He was too busy looking at her, memorizing the way the lantern light caught in her eyes, the way she held herself like she belonged nowhere and everywhere all at once.

And then the song slowed.

Neon loosened his hold just slightly, tilting his head. “This moment worth it to you?”

Aria’s fingers tightened against his.

She smiled again—small, genuine. 

“More than anything.”