The great hall of the Empire was quiet that morning, far more than usual. The tension in the air was subtle but unmistakable—whispers had already begun to spread through the inner court. Something was coming.
Something… unprecedented.
The hall was a masterwork of divine architecture—columns of pure auricite rising toward a ceiling painted with heavenly murals, gold and silver threads lining the banners of the Eternal Empire. Imperial generals stood on either side of the central carpet, postured as though standing before a god, not merely their emperor.
Rudra sat on his ornate obsidian throne, one hand resting on the armrest, fingers idly tapping. Velgrynd stood just behind him, arms folded, gaze sharp. Her long crimson hair flowed like fire, her aura subdued—but watching.
"Any moment now," Rudra murmured under his breath, more to himself than anyone else.
General Galva stepped forward slightly, clearing his throat. "Your Majesty… Are we certain this isn't some kind of test? A trick?"
Rudra didn't even glance his way. "If Varvatos wanted to trick us, we wouldn't even be here to ask the question."
Another general, Commander Relias, looked between the others, unease on his face. "But… opening a portal directly here, in the Imperial Hall? That's… It's impossible. That's sacred space."
"No," Velgrynd interjected smoothly, "it's unprecedented. Not impossible."
Just as she spoke, the air beside the throne shimmered.
A sudden, low hum echoed throughout the chamber. Every general turned, hands instinctively moving toward their weapons before freezing in place.
Reality rippled.
A single spot of light appeared just left of Rudra's throne—pure white, small at first, like a glowing star had descended from the heavens. Then it expanded, rings of magical glyphs swirling around it, ethereal and foreign. The floor beneath the light did not crack or react—the magic flowed above it, respectful yet unfathomably dominant.
Gasps filled the room.
"What in the—" Galva whispered, instinctively stepping back.
Relias's jaw slackened. "He… he really did it…"
The portal fully bloomed, a swirling gate of liquid starlight, rimmed in violet fire and encased in a soft golden edge. Unlike any teleportation magic they had ever seen—this wasn't cast through effort or chant. It simply was.
Rudra stood slowly, eyes fixed on the portal. "…He kept his word."
Velgrynd smirked. "He always does."
One general took a step forward, eyes wide. "My Emperor, should we secure the chamber? This might—"
"Stand down," Rudra ordered sharply, yet calmly. "No one moves unless I say so."
They obeyed, though unease remained etched across every face.
Rudra turned to Velgrynd. "Ready?"
She gave a small nod. "Let's meet the enigma."
Without hesitation, Rudra stepped toward the swirling gate of power. As he approached, the portal reacted—its swirling light steadied, becoming almost translucent, showing a glimpse of another place beyond. Trees unlike any found in the Cardinal World… an ornate path of white crystal… and in the distance, a faint silhouette seated calmly.
Velgrynd followed beside him, her eyes taking in every detail of the otherworldly magic. "This… doesn't feel like a gate. It feels like… a passage between worlds."
Rudra smiled slightly. "That's because it might very well be."
Together, they stepped through.
And in a flash of light, they vanished.
The portal remained behind, pulsing softly, silent but alive—until it slowly faded out of existence, leaving only stunned silence in the grand throne room.
One of the younger generals broke the stillness.
"…So it's true."
Another whispered, voice shaking, "What kind of being is Varvatos…?"
The instant Rudra and Velgrynd emerged from the portal, they were momentarily blinded—not by light, but by sheer contrast. The space around them was no ordinary city. No oppressive guards, no noisy crowds, no architectural disarray like one might expect from a kingdom hidden in the wilds of the Jura Forest.
Instead, they stepped onto smooth white marble tiles etched with glowing runes, laid out in elegant geometric patterns across the plaza. The air itself was… different. Clean. Crisp. Impossibly pure. A sweet fragrance floated on the breeze, coming from the open windows of a bakery nearby.
Velgrynd blinked, her crimson eyes scanning the streets, stunned. "...This isn't a kingdom," she muttered. "It's... a different world."
Rudra said nothing for a moment. He turned slowly, taking in the sweeping beauty of Nyvaris.
Elegant stone homes with crystalline windows and ivy-covered walls. Floating lampposts emitting a soft, golden light. Trees with silver leaves. Roads paved with a glimmering obsidian-silver alloy, etched with flowing patterns that almost pulsed with life.
And the people…
Merchants with robes of silk and armor imbued with divine ore. Restaurants bustling with citizens—human, beastmen, demons, dragonkin—all walking peacefully side by side. Each radiated strength, some subtle, some openly immense. Yet, not a hint of tension. There was a harmony here… deep and ancient.
Rudra narrowed his eyes. "The flow of magicules here… it's natural, but also curated. Like a divine garden."
Velgrynd nodded slowly, brows furrowed. "I don't sense the ley lines of the Cardinal World. The very fabric of this city feels... suspended between realms."
Then, a voice called out gently.
"You must be Emperor Rudra and Lady Velgrynd."
The two turned to see a tall, crimson-haired man walking toward them, dressed in black and crimson armor with golden trim, bearing a relaxed yet authoritative air. His eyes burned with quiet confidence, and power radiated from his form—not violently, but in a contained and disciplined manner.
"Benimaru," Rudra said, eyes narrowing slightly. "You're... a kijin but...stronger..."
Benimaru smiled faintly, placing a fist across his chest and bowing respectfully. "I am Benimaru, Commander of the Scarlet Flame Division. Lord Varvatos is expecting you. I'll guide you to him."
Velgrynd's gaze narrowed, watching him as they began walking. "Your control is impeccable. You suppress your aura perfectly, yet I can tell you're more than just a warrior."
Benimaru chuckled softly. "A few people have said that before."
As they followed Benimaru, the streets subtly shifted. The closer they got to the center of the city, the more surreal it became. Buildings seemed to hum with power. Magic-infused flora decorated corners and balconies, and subtle enchantments enhanced the senses—gentle melodies played from floating crystals, birds of magical origin perched on rooftops, glowing softly.
And then they saw it.
The Sanctum of Concord.
A palace—or perhaps a temple—stood before them, towering high with a strange paradox: it looked ancient, yet untouched by time. Its spires reached toward the sky, laced with silver and adorned with violet banners bearing a sigil neither Rudra nor Velgrynd had seen before. The entrance was open, no guards, yet the sheer presence of it demanded reverence.
"It doesn't feel like a fortress," Rudra murmured, voice quieter than before. "More like… a divine dwelling."
Benimaru nodded once. "Some call it a palace. Others call it the Heart of Nyvaris. But Lord Varvatos simply calls it his home."
They stepped inside.
And the world changed again.
The halls were vast but serene. Polished floors of mirror-like crystal reflected the starlight above, though no sky could be seen. The walls pulsed faintly with runes—shifting, unreadable, alive. The scent of sandalwood and ancient parchment floated through the air. Soft music echoed faintly, and chandeliers of suspended water droplets illuminated the paths.
Velgrynd's voice was barely above a whisper. "This place… bends space."
"It is a space," Rudra said, eyes wide with awe. "No kingdom on the surface of the world could hold this… it exists outside the normal flow of time."
Benimaru led them up a grand staircase flanked by ethereal white flames and opened a pair of great doors.
Inside, the Chamber of Eternity.
A lounge, yet more majestic than any throne room. Its design defied architectural logic—floating platforms with garden vines hanging between them, waterfalls flowing upward into the ceiling. In the center, a wide platform held an elegantly carved obsidian table, and atop beautiful sofas sat two figures.
Varvatos and Velzard.
Varvatos leaned back slightly, clothed in regal robes of deep midnight, trimmed with starlight silver. His presence was still, quiet—like a void. Eyes half-lidded, but aware. Observing. Always watching.
Velzard sat beside him, relaxed and regal. When she saw her sister, her expression brightened.
"Velgrynd," she said softly, with a small, rare smile. "It's been too long."
Velgrynd stepped forward, her voice tinged with emotion. "It really has. You look… at peace."
"And you look like you've been busy playing watchdog," Velzard smirked playfully.
The sisters embraced briefly—an act simple, yet rare between beings of their stature.
Varvatos stood slowly.
His gaze met Rudra's.
The room fell silent.
Rudra's breath caught for a moment. There was no aura. No killing intent. No divine pressure. But his instincts screamed.
This man was dangerous.
More than that—this man was unknowable.
The last time Rudra had felt this sensation was long ago, when he first stood before Veldanava.
"…You're Varvatos," Rudra said, voice firm but low.
Varvatos nodded slowly. "And you are the last true Emperor."
Their eyes met—centuries of stories, wars, burdens, and triumphs crashing in a silent exchange.
Then Varvatos spoke again.
"I believe you wished to speak."