The air within the chamber remained serene, the low hum of magical currents brushing gently against the skin like a breeze that carried no weight—only presence. The walls whispered of arcane secrets in their design, and every curve of the furniture and ornamentation spoke of elegance honed through centuries of refined craft, not ostentation.
As the deep conversation between Varvatos and Rudra hovered on the edge of silence, the chamber doors quietly opened with a soft sound—almost like the sigh of velvet.
A group of attendants entered—three maids and one woman in particular who radiated an air of gentle dignity and sublime grace.
Shuna.
Her footsteps made no sound on the smooth crystal-laced floor, her long robes of pale rose and silver flowing like living silk. Behind her, the maids bore ornate trays carved from crystalwood, levitating gently beside them by subtle enchantments.
Shuna bowed respectfully to Velgrynd and Rudra, then to Velzard and Varvatos. Her voice, when she spoke, was warm and soothing, a soft breeze after a long march.
"I've brought refreshments, Lord Varvatos, as requested."
"Thank you, Shuna," Varvatos said with a nod.
She offered a light smile and gestured. The trays descended slowly onto low glass tables that materialized from magic circles etched into the floor—shimmering into being only when needed.
One tray bore carafes of luminous nectar-like drinks, their glow faint but hypnotic—made from the fruits found only in the mystic groves of Nyvaris. Another held a carefully arranged selection of spiced meats, rare fruits, and elegant confections sculpted in shapes that mirrored celestial beasts.
Velgrynd raised an eyebrow, visibly impressed. "This... is not what I expected from a hidden city in the Jura Forest."
Shuna chuckled softly. "We try to offer more than what meets the eye. Please, enjoy."
Velzard plucked a chilled fruit from a small dish and bit delicately. "You'll find that nothing in Nyvaris is ever what it seems."
Rudra stared at the refreshments, then looked back at Varvatos. "You even have nobility in your staff. That girl... she isn't ordinary."
"She is not," Varvatos replied. "She has refined both her soul and skill in silence. A gentle flame doesn't roar, Rudra—but it endures."
Shuna bowed once more before stepping back to stand by the wall alongside the other maids, their presence quietly attentive but never intrusive.
Rudra picked up a silver chalice and took a cautious sip. His eyes flickered slightly. "...That's not wine."
"No," Velzard said, smirking. "It's dreamleaf elixir. Clears the mind. Settles the soul. Try it with the shadowfruit slices—it's a perfect balance."
Velgrynd was already sampling some of the dark-hued, gold-speckled fruit. Her expression softened despite herself. "Gods. This is... amazing."
Shuna nodded politely. "Each dish and drink is infused with calibrated enchantments. They support recovery, ease fatigue, and even strengthen the core."
"Alchemical cuisine?" Rudra said with a low hum. "That's rare even in the Eastern Empire."
Varvatos folded his hands calmly. "Every part of Nyvaris is designed to restore, not exploit."
A long silence passed, during which only the sound of glass lightly clinking and drinks being poured remained.
Then, Rudra finally set his chalice down, exhaling.
"Alright. You have my attention."
Varvatos gave the faintest smile.
"Then let's begin."
Rudra leaned back slightly in his seat, his gaze steady upon the man seated across from him.
Varvatos.
The man who built a city that shouldn't exist in a forest no one dared settle.
The man who exuded power deeper than any sea, yet with no pressure, no aura, no hint of intent—just the feeling of something... vast.
And Rudra, even corrupted as he was, knew power. He was a man who ruled half the world and challenged its balance. But Varvatos unsettled him—not through force, but through presence.
Rudra set down his goblet gently and finally broke the silence.
"So tell me, Varvatos... who are you really?"
Varvatos raised his gaze slowly, amber eyes glinting like ancient gems catching moonlight. He didn't answer immediately.
Instead, he returned the question with one of his own.
"Why does it matter who I am, Rudra?"
Rudra's brows furrowed, more confused than offended.
"It matters because a city like this doesn't just exist. Not here. Not in Jura. No kingdom could rise in Veldora's territory without shaking the entire balance of the Cardinal World. And yet... here you are. Your city thrives, your people are powerful... even the flow of magic here feels—"
"Different?" Varvatos interrupted gently.
Rudra nodded. "Yes. Controlled. Pure. Who are you to bend the laws of nature like this?"
Velgrynd watched silently, her arms crossed, sensing the tension behind Rudra's curiosity. Even Velzard had gone still, sipping her drink while her gaze flickered between the two men like a silent referee to a game that hadn't fully begun.
Varvatos didn't rush to answer. He glanced toward one of the crystalline windows to his right, where moonlight cast cascading reflections along the floor like rivers of silver light.
"I am... a traveler," he said at last.
Rudra narrowed his eyes. "A traveler doesn't build cities like this. A traveler doesn't settle in forbidden lands. And a traveler doesn't give off the same feeling Veldanava once did."
The chamber fell completely still at the mention of the Star King Dragon.
Velgrynd stiffened slightly, glancing at Varvatos with a more searching look now. Velzard tilted her head, quietly intrigued.
Varvatos remained composed.
"And yet," he murmured, "you still stepped through my portal."
Rudra's jaw clenched for the briefest second before he smirked.
"You got me there."
Varvatos leaned forward slightly, his voice dropping—not in volume, but in weight.
"You came not just to learn who I am, Rudra. You came because for the first time in many lifetimes, you weren't certain."
Rudra's smirk faded.
"You were not certain if your power... your throne... your vision... still stood above all else."
The air thickened—not with power, but with realization.
Rudra stared at him. "What do you want?"
"I want nothing from you," Varvatos said calmly. "Not your armies, not your lands, not your throne. I've built something here in silence. I protect it. I guide it. But I do not seek to rule the world."
Velgrynd looked from Rudra to Varvatos, then asked with honest curiosity, "Then why build all this in Jura? Why here of all places?"
Velzard answered softly. "That was what I asked him too. But I stayed because I saw what he was doing. It's not a kingdom—it's a sanctuary. A place for those who have nowhere else to go."
Varvatos nodded.
"There is no legacy in conquest. Only in creation."
Rudra's eyes darkened for a moment, a flicker of old memories rising behind them—memories of a young king with ideals long buried under blood and steel. Something inside him stirred, but Michael's grip on his soul tightened like a noose.
"You say that now," Rudra muttered. "But the world doesn't allow such things to last. Sanctuaries are burned. Peace is always temporary. Sooner or later, someone will come for this place."
Varvatos met his eyes directly.
"They already have."
The silence that followed was icy.
And then, slowly, a faint smile touched Varvatos's lips.
"But I am still here."
The chamber was still, bathed in the golden-orange hue of a sun that had long since vanished beyond Nyvaris's crystalline horizon. The silence between them was no longer uncomfortable—it was thick, almost sacred. Rudra sat unmoving, his gaze heavy, intense, scrutinizing the man who stood before him like a living paradox.
Varvatos.
A man no one could truly define.
A king without a crown. A legend without origin.
A threat that stood before the self-proclaimed Emperor of the World without fear, yet without the arrogance Rudra had grown used to from so many others.
Rudra's eyes narrowed.
"You speak of truth as though it's simple. As though it's yours to claim."
Varvatos, standing with one hand calmly resting against the ornate crystal frame of the archway behind him, met Rudra's gaze without a flinch. "Truth is never simple. But it's what remains when the illusions fall away."
Rudra's teeth clenched. Deep inside him, something stirred—something cold and silent. Like chains tightening.
Michael.
It was always there. Whispering. Calculating. Waiting. A voice Rudra once mistook for his own ambition. Now it was simply part of him. Familiar, persistent, patient... and corrosive.
He shook his head slightly, banishing the tightening in his chest.
"I once believed in words like yours," Rudra said, his voice low, thunder buried in restraint. "When I was young. When my ideals still held weight. When I thought the world could be changed through reason… diplomacy… mercy."
Velgrynd watched him, her breath shallow, eyes not leaving his face.
Velzard glanced sideways at her younger sister, then back at Rudra. Her posture subtly shifted—more alert now, sensing something deeper unraveling within the man across from them.
"But ideals are for fools," Rudra hissed. "The world trampled them beneath my feet. I rebuilt them with steel. With armies. With control. Because only control can create peace."
Michael stirred again. A faint flicker behind Rudra's eyes. A phantom crown tightening its grip.
"And in doing so," Varvatos said, walking forward slowly, "you stopped seeking peace, Rudra. You began enforcing silence."
Rudra's aura flared—just a spark, involuntary. Velgrynd turned sharply toward him, eyes wide.
"You presume much," Rudra growled.
"I observe deeply," Varvatos replied without pause.
"You call this peace?" Rudra stood now, fists clenched at his sides. "This... sanctuary of monsters and fantasy? A nest of abominations disguised as utopia?"
"Nyvaris is not perfect," Varvatos admitted. "But it breathes. It grows. It survives because the people here believe in something together—not because I force them to."
Rudra's breath came quicker. He could feel it again—Michael's voice, rising just beneath the surface. "Crush him. Silence this lie. Command. Subjugate. Rule."
But he fought it back, masked it behind a bitter smile.
"You built this city in Veldora's domain," Rudra said sharply. "No one dared approach Jura Forest for centuries. And yet... you did."
Varvatos simply nodded. "Because it needed to be done."
"And who are you to decide that?" Rudra barked. "A ghost without a past. A king with no history. You... you appear out of nowhere, defy logic, power, law, and demand to be taken seriously?!"
"I demand nothing," Varvatos said, softly now. "But I will be remembered."
The fire behind Rudra's eyes dimmed for just a moment.
And he asked—his voice cracking slightly under the weight of it:
"Who... are you really?"
Varvatos didn't answer immediately.
Instead, he gestured slightly toward the far wall, and with a flick of magic, part of it shimmered, revealing a vast mural—etched not with paint, but with raw light. Shapes, beings, echoes of distant time, a swirling tapestry of war, creation, death, and rebirth.
"I am what remains when time forgets," he finally said. "And what rises when history chooses to sleep."
Rudra was silent. He stared at the mural, as if pieces of himself were trapped in it—fragments of memory that refused to surface. Velgrynd stepped closer to Rudra, her voice gentle.
"Rudra... maybe this isn't a war. Maybe it's a warning."
Rudra's jaw tightened.
Velzard then broke the tension. "There's food. You should eat. You both traveled far."
As if on cue, the doors slid open.
Shuna entered gracefully, accompanied by several maids. Platters of exotic food and crystal-carved pitchers filled with golden nectar-like drinks were brought in. Sweet and savory aromas danced in the air. Spiced meats, glowing fruits, breads still steaming, and pastries that sparkled with enchantment. The maids moved silently, respectfully—none dared disturb the atmosphere but all moved with pride, as though serving royalty was second nature here.
Rudra sat again, slower this time, his expression unreadable.
He picked up a drink—an amber-colored liquid served in an elegant goblet—and stared into it.
"What are you after, Varvatos?" he asked.
Varvatos remained seated across from him, gaze level. "I don't want your throne. I don't want your empire."
"Then why let me come here?" Rudra demanded. "Why show me all of this?"
"To remind you of what power can create... not just what it can destroy."
A long silence followed.
And for the first time, Rudra didn't have an answer ready.