The crystal spires of the Eastern Empire shimmered under the midday sun, their peaks piercing the clouds. Having returned from the Ice Continent, Rudra and Velgrynd stood once again at the heart of their vast dominion—the imperial capital. The Throne Hall, once quiet, now buzzed with urgency as generals, strategists, and advisors filled the marbled chamber.
Rudra stood at the base of the golden dais, arms crossed. Beside him, Velgrynd's aura still burned faintly, her presence keeping the entire room alert. Before them, their most trusted officers knelt—Damrada, ever calm and calculating, General Kondou, stoic with a sharp gaze, and several others whose armor gleamed with rank.
"We will prepare for a diplomatic journey," Rudra announced. "To Nyvaris."
Kondou frowned slightly. "Forgive me, Your Majesty, but the barrier surrounding Nyvaris… we've lost multiple recon teams attempting to pass it. Not a single one returned."
Damrada stepped forward. "The enchantment is multidimensional. It doesn't merely block entry—it rejects foreign magicule signatures, disrupting spiritual threads and erasing presence entirely."
Rudra narrowed his eyes. "And yet, Velzard passed through unharmed."
"Velzard is kin to one of their own now," Damrada replied. "The barrier recognizes her."
Velgrynd crossed her arms, flames rippling in her golden eyes. "Then we need a recognized thread—an invitation."
Kondou's voice sharpened with insight. "It is known that King Gazel Dwargo has formed close diplomatic ties with Varvatos. Trade between Dwargon and Nyvaris flows regularly, and their mages have shared arcane research."
Rudra thought for a moment, brows furrowing. "So, you're suggesting we approach Gazel?"
Damrada nodded. "A neutral intermediary, respected by both sides. He could open the door without triggering defenses."
Rudra's gaze hardened with decision. "Very well. Send an envoy to Dwargon. Let King Gazel know that I shall visit him personally in three days' time."
Kondou placed a hand over his heart and bowed deeply. "As you command, Your Majesty."
Velgrynd's voice was quiet, thoughtful. "Let's hope we are not already too late."
Meanwhile, in the heart of Nyvaris, life thrived with radiant purpose.
Children's laughter echoed through cobbled streets. Merchants hollered their wares from decorated stalls overflowing with rare fruits, enchanted crystals, and trinkets from across the continent. Scholars walked beside knights, adventurers dined with nobles. Peace did not sit here as a forced lull—but as a natural state.
At the military training grounds, a surprising figure now stood tall—Veldora, the once-chaotic storm dragon, now clad in a sleek black gi, hair tied back like a martial arts master.
"Alright, maggots!" he barked with exaggerated authority, though a playful smirk curled on his face. "Today we learn—Veldora Style Meteor Palm! Feel the burn!"
A dozen young soldiers struggled to mimic his stance, their legs trembling as they tried to match his chi flow.
"Sensei Veldora!" one of them shouted. "Is this supposed to feel like our bones are cracking?"
"Exactly!" Veldora beamed. "That means you're doing it right!"
Across the field, Hakuro observed from a distance, arms folded, his group of sword-wielding students standing perfectly disciplined.
"Fools," he muttered, shaking his head. "That's not how you teach form."
Still, a ghost of a smile tugged at his lips.
Atop the tallest spire of Nyvaris stood the Arcane Tower, where the ruling powers deliberated behind veils of magic and security. Within its inner sanctum, a grand chamber lined with glowing runes and crystalline windows, Velzard stood with Varvatos—the mysterious sovereign of Nyvaris.
He sat beside a large circular table, adorned with floating maps and arcane projections, a tome open before him. His appearance was relaxed, yet the air trembled subtly around him with sheer compressed power.
Velzard approached, her white dress flowing like mist. She studied him for a moment, then spoke.
"You know," she said softly, "there's something I've been meaning to tell you."
Varvatos glanced up, raising a brow. "Hmm?"
She walked toward the window, gazing out at the city she now called home.
"There is a war, Varvatos. One that's never spoken of outside the circles of the divine and the damned. It happens every five hundred years, without fail."
Varvatos closed the tome, interest piqued. "Go on."
"It's called the Tenma War. A holy extermination. Millions of angels—descend upon the mortal world. Their orders are absolute:
annihilate any country that develops too fast. Those who rise unnaturally, who break balance too quickly… they are judged."
She turned to face him, eyes serious.
"It's not conquest. It's containment."
Varvatos was quiet for a long moment, then stood slowly, walking to her side.
"And who gives these orders?"
"Rudra," she answered simply. "The Emperor of the East. My brother Veldanava chosen student."
He narrowed his eyes. "So… if Nyvaris is deemed a threat to the balance, he'll send the angels."
Velzard smiled faintly. "No. He hasn't. Not yet."
Their gazes locked.
"He's watching. Waiting. You've drawn his attention. He knows you're not just another king playing god in his sandbox. And if you continue to rise… he may act."
Varvatos turned to the window, looking at his people—at the joy, the discipline, the harmony.
"I'm not building this for war," he said. "I'm building it to end the cycle. If he sends angels, I won't let my people be slaughtered for daring to hope."
Velzard stepped closer, placing a hand on his chest.
"Then be ready. Because if you continue like this… he will come."
Varvatos looked down at her, his voice low, resolute.
"Let him."
The underground city of Dwargon rumbled as forges blazed and merchants bustled through its vast network of stone streets. The architecture, carved directly from mountain stone, echoed with both strength and craftsmanship. Glowing crystals lit every corridor, and the air hummed with quiet efficiency—the Dwarves thrived in structure and honor.
But this day... the rhythm changed.
As the heavy gates of the capital opened, a small but imposing imperial envoy arrived, their sigil blazing the golden phoenix of the Eastern Empire. Clad in sleek silver armor lined with crimson, the six envoys stood with perfect posture and synchronized movements.
The leader stepped forward, tall and narrow-eyed, bearing a black scroll sealed with Rudra's golden insignia. He was High Messenger Lorvik, a trusted hand of Emperor Rudra.
The dwarven guards stiffened.
"State your purpose," one of them grunted.
Lorvik's tone was steady, refined. "By decree of His Imperial Majesty, Emperor Rudra Nam Ul Nasca, bearer of the Eternal Flame and sovereign of the Eastern Empire, I request audience with His Majesty King Gazel Dwargo, ruler of the Stoneborn Kingdom."
King Gazel Dwargo, clad in his ceremonial blacksteel armor, stood silent on the central dais of the throne room. Around him were his closest advisors—Minister Dorvan, General Balgrun, and Mage Commander Zard—all frozen in a mix of shock and awe.
"...Rudra?" Dorvan whispered.
"The Rudra?" Zard muttered, half to himself. "The living legend. The undefeated. The immortal emperor."
Gazel's gaze sharpened as he stepped down from the throne. His deep voice carried across the room.
"Bring them forward."
The great doors opened and the envoys entered in silence. Lorvik knelt again before Gazel and held out the scroll with both hands.
Gazel took it slowly, eyes scanning the elegantly penned decree. He read every word twice.
Then he looked up, tone unreadable. "Three days."
Lorvik nodded. "Yes, Your Majesty. His Imperial Radiance travels with Velgrynd herself. He will arrive via sky route and requires no escort. He asks only for courtesy, not ceremony."
Gazel's brows lifted. "Courtesy? Hmph."
He walked toward Lorvik and studied him with the eye of a king who had seen war.
"This is unexpected," he said calmly. "Even during the greatest political shifts of the Cardinal World, Rudra never visited foreign kings himself."
"His Majesty believes this meeting is crucial," Lorvik replied. "More than conquest, more than policy. He comes in peace."
Gazel nodded slowly. "Very well. You may tell your Emperor... Dwargon accepts. We shall receive him with honor."
Lorvik bowed deeply, fist to heart. "Dwargon's hospitality shall be remembered."
He gestured to his escort, and together they exited with precise steps, escorted back to their quarters by dwarven guards.
The moment the doors closed behind the envoy, Gazel turned to his advisors.
"Prepare everything," he ordered. "I want the city clean, our soldiers in full formation, and our gates secured. No one enters or leaves the capital without my word."
"Yes, Your Majesty," General Balgrun responded, already calling out orders to his sub-commanders.
Minister Dorvan approached. "Sire, do you have any idea what the Emperor might seek?"
Gazel stared at the parchment in his hand, fingers tightening slightly.
"I do," he said, voice low. "It's not war, or he would have sent an army. No… this is something deeper."
Zard frowned. "Could it be about Nyvaris?
Gazel responded "yes"
Gazel turned back to them, face hard with understanding.
"Only two people in this world could make Rudra move without force: Guy Crimson... and now Varvatos. One, he's already met. The other, he now seeks."
Silence fell upon the room like a hammer.
"Make no mistake," Gazel said. "This visit will change the Cardinal World."