[: 3rd POV :]

The grand hall shimmered with a fusion of magic and modern elegance.

Crystal chandeliers floated midair, suspended by invisible enchantments, while holographic light arrays danced across the domed ceiling, projecting shifting scenes of every continent under the Empire's rule.

The long banquet tables groaned under the weight of endless delicacies—from roasted wyvern seasoned with abyssal spices to exotic cocktails that shimmered as if stars were trapped within the glass.

Butlers in crisp uniforms and enchanted gauntlets glided through the crowd, serving drinks that refilled themselves and pastries that never cooled.

Over a hundred guests mingled, their attire a reflection of their heritage—sleek modern suits alongside ceremonial robes, armoured cloaks beside silken gowns embedded with mana stones.

The hum of conversation was constant, laced with bursts of laughter, whispers of politics, and the occasional clink of crystalware.

Then, the hall's ambient music faded.

The herald, clad in imperial crimson and gold, stepped forward to the grand staircase.

His voice, magically amplified, cut through the air like a blade.

"Honoured guests, may I have your attention? The Imperial families of each continent will now make their entrance."

The crowd stirred—noble heads turned, merchants straightened their spines, and even those who pretended not to care subtly adjusted their posture.

"The Imperial Family of the Demon Continent—His Majesty, Demon King Xerath Malachor, and Her Majesty, Demon Queen Lilith Malachor, accompanied by their heir, Prince Kiel Malachor!"

The double doors swung open with a hiss of enchanted steel.

A wave of oppressive yet intoxicating aura washed over the hall.

The Demon King strode in—tall, broad-shouldered, draped in a black-and-crimson coat threaded with cursed gold.

His eyes burned like molten embers, each step heavy with sovereignty.

Beside him, Queen Lilith glided like a living shadow, her gown shimmering with abyssal silk that seemed to drink in the light.

Her beauty was lethal, her smile both gracious and terrifying.

Kiel followed, younger but with the same predatory grace—his neatly cut hair a deep midnight hue, his expression cool yet alert as he surveyed the hall.

Murmurs rippled through the guests.

"That pressure… It's suffocating."

"I've never seen them in person… The rumours didn't exaggerate."

"Even their son carries that same presence."

Velroth Ashburn, sipping from a crystalline glass, leaned toward his guest, the slave merchant known as the Black Pirate.

"Don't get any ideas. People like them? You wouldn't last a second."

The Black Pirate only grinned faintly.

"High status means high prices. That's the law of the game, Lord Velroth. Imagine the profit if I sold something rare enough to catch their eye."

Velroth scoffed.

"Imagine your head rolling on the floor. That's what'll happen if you breathe wrong in front of them."

The herald's voice rang out again.

"Also accompanying the Demon King and Queen, the Seven Demon Lords of the Realm!"

The temperature in the hall seemed to rise as the figures entered one by one, each exuding an aura that embodied their sin.

Manork Vrahl, Sin of Wrath, his very presence radiating a burning heat that set nearby candles flickering.

A towering demon with jagged crimson horns and eyes like molten magma.

His wife, a statuesque woman with sharp silver hair, walked beside him, while his young daughter clung shyly to her hand.

Vexira Draem, Sin of Envy, emerald scales traced across her jawline, her gaze sharp as glass.

Her mere presence made others feel lesser, as if she could see every weakness.

Baelor Krathos, Sin of Pride, clad in immaculate silver-and-purple armour.

His every movement was measured perfection, and his cold smile dared anyone to compare themselves to him.

Zerathiel Kaun, Sin of Sloth, draped in heavy velvet robes.

His steps were slow, yet an undercurrent of lethal magic coiled within him, as if every ounce of movement was reserved for killing.

Morvath Syn, Sin of Greed, rings and chains glittering across his body.

Even the air around him seemed to draw in valuables—coins in nearby purses trembled faintly.

Seraxa Vorn, Sin of Lust, a beauty wrapped in silken shadows, her voice a whisper that made spines shiver.

Each glance she cast was deliberate, every smile a temptation.

Gluthar Drekh, Sin of Gluttony, his massive frame draped in beast furs.

The scent of blood and roasted meat followed him, as though he had feasted on his way to the hall.

Each Demon Lord entered with their families in tow—wives, husbands, children—each radiating a lesser but still formidable aura.

Nobles whispered nervously, some avoiding eye contact altogether.

"Seven Demon Lords in one place… this could topple a nation in hours."

"If they all fought here, the city wouldn't survive the first clash.''

"Why would they bring their families? Isn't that… dangerous?"

From a corner, the Black Pirate's eyes glimmered with dangerous ambition.

"If I can network with just one of them…"

Velroth cut him off with a glare. "Touch them and I'll kill you myself before they do."

When Kiel stepped into the grand hall, the golden light of the chandeliers spilt across his pale features—but it couldn't hide the deep frown etched on his face.

His steps were measured, slow, and each one seemed to carry the weight of the last few weeks.

It had been too long since that day.

Too long since Daniel had saved him—dragging him through the chaos and forcibly teleporting them both back to the Demon Continent.

The moment still burned vividly in Kiel's mind.

Daniel's hand gripping his shoulder, the searing energy of the teleport tearing through space, and then… nothing.

Since then, Kiel had mobilised every resource he had—messengers, informants, shadow operatives—but there had been no trace.

No clue.

Not even a rumour.

Each passing day without news hollowed out a little more of his confidence.

What if Daniel was hurt?

What if—

"Kiel."

The soft, melodic voice pulled him from his thoughts. His mother, Demon Queen Lilith, stood beside him, her crimson gown flowing like liquid fire.

Even amidst the sea of nobles, her presence drew the eye—regal, unshakable.

Yet in this moment, her gaze was anything but unshakable.

Her eyes softened, a mixture of worry and maternal instinct as she studied him.

"What's wrong, son? Are you still thinking about Daniel?" she asked, her voice low enough that only he could hear.

Kiel's throat tightened.

He looked away, his eyes falling on the endless trays of wine and delicacies that he had no appetite for.

"…Yes," he admitted, the word barely more than a whisper.

Lilith's lips pressed into a faint line.

For a moment, she said nothing—just reached out and touched his arm with the lightest brush of her fingers.

"Sigh… Don't worry, son," she said, exhaling slowly.

"I'll speak with the Empress later. If there's even the smallest chance, I'll ask her to help us find him."

Kiel's head lifted slightly at that.

There was a flicker of hope in his eyes, faint but present. "…Alright. And… thanks, Mom," he murmured.

Her answering smile was faint, but warm, and she squeezed his arm gently before turning her gaze back toward the crowd—ever the queen in public, yet always a mother first.

Across the hall, Manork, the Demon Lord of Wrath, stood silently with a goblet in hand, but his sharp, battle-worn eyes had been watching Kiel for a while.

He didn't need to hear the conversation to know its content.

The faint crease in his brow spoke volumes—he, too, hadn't forgotten Daniel.

And though he would never voice it in front of the gathered nobility, there was a simmering anger in him at the thought of someone harming the man who had once stood beside them.

Here's a detailed continuation of your scene with expanded emotion, dialogue, and the arrival of the Elven Imperial family:

"Attention, Our next arrivals! The Imperial family of the Elven Continent has graced us with their presence!"

The crowd stirred, turning toward the grand doors that slowly opened with a melodic creak of magic-infused wood.

From the archway, Caelira Etheria, crowned in gold entwined with vines of living emerald leaves, stepped into the hall.

Her regal gown shimmered with threads of moonlight, flowing like liquid silver at each step.

Beside her walked Aeriwen Etheria, her daughter, a vision of elegance in a gown of soft forest green embroidered with golden leaves.

Their similarities were striking—both with long, silken hair the colour of emerald, flawless porcelain skin, and piercing gold eyes.

Only upon closer inspection could one see the differences.

Caelira's eyes held the weight of centuries and the faint lines of sorrow; Aeriwen's gaze, though equally elegant, carried a youthful vibrance.

And, of course, there was the whispered comparison among some of the less discreet guests regarding their physical proportions, which earned a few discreet chuckles before sharp glares silenced them.

Following close behind them came the Twelve Archmages—pillars of Elven magical might, each radiating an aura so refined it seemed the air bent around them.

They and their families walked with quiet pride, each Archmage wearing robes symbolic of their magical speciality and rulers of the 12 tower wizards.

Thalandor Veyra – Master of Arcane Constructs

Selirion Vaelthir – Master of Chronomancy

Eryndral Faeloras – Master of Elemental Convergence

Myrrathen Oloris – Master of Spirit Binding

Lirael Sunweaver – Mistress of Solar Invocation

Veylira Moonshadow – Mistress of Lunar Illusions

Zerathis Thornveil – Master of Nature's Wrath

Feyndrel Aeras – Master of Wind Dominion

Caevryn Duskwater – Master of Abyssal Currents

Thesryn Dawnpetal – Mistress of Floral Blessings

Orrinel Starforge – Master of Celestial Metallurgy

Vyrris Whisperglade – Mistress of Fey Enchantments

Each Archmage was accompanied by their spouse and children, all finely dressed, their appearances exuding an almost ethereal perfection.

But as Caelira and Aeriwen reached the centre of the grand hall, the Queen's steps slowed.

Her golden eyes lost their focus, the noise of the celebration fading into the background.

Her hand trembled faintly, almost hidden by the folds of her gown.

Her lips parted, and in a voice softer than a sigh, she whispered,

"Daniel… where are you…?"

Aeriwen, walking beside her, glanced over in concern. "Mother?"

Caelira did not look at her.

Her gaze was distant, fixed on nothing, lost in a memory.

She had scoured the human continent for weeks, chasing the faintest of rumours—any sign, any whisper—that might lead her to him.

But each search had ended the same way: empty roads, locked doors, or locals who claimed to know nothing.

Even now, in this grand hall filled with magic and luxury, the ache of his absence gnawed at her.

Her fingers clenched briefly at her side before she steadied herself, a deep breath softening the tremor in her hand.

I will find you… even if I must turn every realm upside down, she swore silently.

Aeriwen's eyes softened.

She knew of her mother's bond with Daniel and how his disappearance had weighed on her heart.

But now was not the time to let others see their vulnerability—not with the eyes of empires upon them.

"Come, Mother," Aeriwen said gently, looping her arm through hers.

"Let us not keep the hosts waiting. We will speak more of him later."

Caelira nodded faintly, forcing herself to smile for the guests who greeted them as they moved further inside.