The throne room of the Eastern Empire bathed in a soft, golden glow as the sun began its descent. The light touched every corner—except one.
Velgrynd stood in silence, her gaze locked on Rudra.
He was seated on his throne, posture rigid, his knuckles pale from gripping the throne's armrests too tightly. He wasn't speaking. He hadn't said much since their abrupt return from Nyvaris. His eyes stared ahead, not at her, not at anything in particular—just forward. Like a man lost in thought... or trapped in it.
It had been hours since they returned.
Velgrynd's arms were crossed, but not in defiance. It was the posture of a woman holding herself together, struggling to understand something she could no longer ignore.
"…You've changed," she said softly.
Rudra didn't move.
She stepped closer, slowly, the echo of her heels resonating against the marble floor. "You're quiet, but not in the way you used to be. Not in that thoughtful, strategic way that used to make me admire you."
Still no answer.
"You came back from that meeting with Varvatos… shaken."
Finally, Rudra's voice emerged—low and clipped.
"He was powerful. I acknowledge that."
"That's not what shook you," Velgrynd said gently, her eyes searching his face. "You've met powerful people before. You've been the most powerful person in the room more times than I can count."
She circled around, standing in front of him, watching his unreadable expression. "This was different. You're different."
His jaw tightened, but he didn't respond.
"I don't know if it's something he said, or something else entirely… but you've been slipping for a while now. I just didn't want to see it."
Rudra looked up, eyes sharp, but clouded. "Are you doubting me now too?"
Velgrynd didn't flinch. "No. I'm worried."
That struck deeper than any accusation. Rudra looked away, eyes falling to the floor.
"You've always carried burdens alone," she continued. "But lately… it feels like you're being carried by something else. Like your will isn't fully your own. Your anger flares faster. Your judgments are harsher. You speak more of conquest and purity than harmony and ideals."
She took a breath, her voice trembling. "That's not the Rudra I knew. Not the man I—"
She caught herself and turned away, brushing a strand of red hair behind her ear.
"I don't know what happened," she said, softer now. "But something is happening to you."
Rudra rose from the throne, his presence towering, regal—but not the same. His aura, though restrained, had a different edge. Colder. Sharper. Less human.
"I am who I've always been," he said. "What you see is clarity, not change. My path is clearer than ever."
"Is it?" she challenged gently. "Or is it just louder?"
He narrowed his eyes. "You're letting doubt cloud your vision."
She turned to face him again. "And you're letting something else steer yours."
A tense silence stretched between them.
Velgrynd stepped forward, close enough to place her hand gently on his arm. "You don't have to bear everything alone, Rudra. Let me help you… before you forget what you're fighting for."
He looked down at her hand—then slowly pulled away.
"…I need to prepare," he said, voice distant. "Varvatos is not just power. He's dangerous. I won't allow him to disrupt what I've built."
He turned away, walking toward the balcony, staring out over his empire.
Velgrynd watched him, a knot forming in her chest.
She didn't know what exactly was wrong. She didn't know what had twisted within him, what shadows had crept into his soul. But she felt it.
And it terrified her more than any enemy ever had.
Velgrynd decided that she can't let Rudra go through with the attack and only one person can talk to Rudra and she made her way to the Ice Continent.
The Ice Continent glistened beneath a pale aurora, endless tundra stretching toward a twilight sky that never truly saw day. The cold here was eternal, not the absence of warmth, but a presence—ancient, unyielding, almost divine.
A crimson streak cut across the sky. Velgrynd descended in a blaze of controlled fury, her presence like a falling star crashing into a sea of ice. She landed just outside the obsidian palace—an ancient fortress chiseled into the bones of the world itself.
She was immediately recognized.
The massive gates parted not with noise, but with reverence, ancient enchantments responding to her presence. She entered without hesitation, boots echoing against crystalline floors. The air inside shimmered faintly with raw magic—thick, old, and alive.
Rain and Misery, Guy's handmaidens, appeared without a word, materializing from shadows laced with cold fire. They bowed slightly.
"He's expecting you," Misery said, her voice soft like falling snow.
Rain added with a smirk, "You certainly stirred the atmosphere."
They led her through grand halls filled with ice sculptures that looked too perfect to be made by hand. Some said they were frozen moments in time. Each step closer to the throne room weighed heavier, not because of the cold, but because of what she was about to say.
At the end of a long corridor, Guy Crimson sat atop his floating obsidian throne. Behind him, the icy wall was a canvas of shimmering blues and silvers. His crimson eyes locked onto her the moment she entered.
"Velgrynd," he said, not unkindly. "Again so soon?"
Velgrynd approached but did not bow. "It's Rudra."
Guy's smile evaporated.
"Let me guess," he said, standing slowly, his long coat billowing slightly, "he's decided to declare war on a god."
Velgrynd's silence confirmed it.
Guy sighed, pacing toward the window, arms clasped behind his back. "I warned him, Velgrynd. I warned both of you when you visited Nyvaris. Varvatos is not someone you poke. That man is—" he paused, then turned to face her, eyes burning like twin furnaces, "—something else. Something we were never meant to contend with."
Velgrynd looked down, frustration plain on her face. "He's changed, Guy. He's… not the same. He's colder. Unforgiving. Determined to win against everything."
Guy's gaze narrowed. "You don't say. A man once full of idealistic dreams now walking the edge of tyranny? How surprising."
Velgrynd winced at the sarcasm but said nothing.
"I always respected Rudra," Guy continued. "But this? This is insanity. If he attacks Varvatos, if he makes that mistake…"
Rain's voice broke the silence. "Then it won't be war."
Misery followed with a whisper. "It will be extinction."
Guy raised a hand. "Exactly. Varvatos doesn't need an army. He is the army. The city of Nyvaris itself bends to his will. Even I wouldn't dare take that fight unless the world was already ending."
Velgrynd's voice cracked slightly. "Then help me stop him. Please. Before he makes the biggest mistake of his life. He won't listen to me, but he might listen to you."
Guy's stare hardened, his eyes now glowing with faint, crimson energy. "No. He won't. Not anymore."
Velgrynd looked up, shocked. "You mean—?"
"I mean," Guy growled, "if he truly intends to strike at Varvatos, then Rudra is gone. And something else is pulling the strings."
He stepped forward slowly, the temperature in the room dropping with every word.
"If he does this, Velgrynd… if he sets one soldier's foot on Nyvaris' soil… he will die. Not in body, no. His soul will be shattered. His name erased. His legacy turned to ash. He will face a fate… far worse than death."
Silence hung thick in the air.
Velgrynd's breath caught in her throat. "Then we stop him now. Before it's too late."
Guy's eyes gleamed with a feral light. "Agreed."