The crystalline clink of their glasses lingered in the air like a fading echo of something ancient, delicate, and new. Elmesia took a sip of the nectar—cool, lightly sweet, and laced with some gentle magical essence that relaxed the tension in her shoulders. It was unlike any drink she'd had in her own empire. Everything here was different. Even the silence held a kind of gravity, as if the world itself listened.
Varvatos sat beside her now, not opposite. Not out of formality, but something more natural—like two minds drawing closer, curious and cautious in equal measure.
"You speak very little of yourself," she said softly, cradling the glass in her fingers.
"There's little about me that would matter to most."
"Then perhaps I'm not most." Her voice was velvet, with that same seductive undertone she used when disarming her opponents in court. Yet with Varvatos… she was testing something else.
He smiled slightly, looking out the arched window at the sky where the faint shimmer of Nyvaris' protective barrier could be seen rippling like the skin of a dream. "A long time ago, I lived for conquest. Then I lived for isolation. Now... I live to protect what little peace this world can offer. I suppose I've lived too many lives to bother counting."
She studied him, silent for a moment. "You sound like someone who's lost much."
"I've gained more than I deserve," he replied. "But peace... comes with a price. I choose to pay it."
There was something in his voice—melancholy layered under serenity. A man who had been many things, who could still become many more.
Elmesia leaned back against the cushions, crossing one leg over the other. "And do you always welcome queens from distant kingdoms with this much wine and wisdom?"
He gave her a sidelong glance. "Only the ones who carry the scent of frost and ambition."
She laughed—a soft, musical sound. "Careful, Lord Varvatos. You're flirting."
He didn't deny it. "Perhaps."
The mood shifted like silk brushing against bare skin—smooth, subtle, with a hint of tension.
And then the air changed.
A sudden pulse of magic—a cold, divine presence descending like a winter storm—caused the lights in the chamber to dim slightly. The soft hum of the barrier outside resonated deeper, like it was acknowledging a kindred power.
Elmesia's eyes sharpened. "What is that?"
Before Varvatos could reply, a portal of cold light swirled into being near the far end of the chamber. From its center stepped a figure both regal and dangerous—her long, flowing hair as white as snow, and her eyes like twin glaciers—beautiful, aloof, and filled with endless judgment.
Velzard, the White Ice Dragon, had arrived.
"Elmesia," Varvatos said gently, "Allow me to introduce you—Velzard."
Velzard stepped into the chamber like she owned it. She didn't walk—she glided. Her presence was overwhelming, colder than death but not cruel. There was divinity in the way she carried herself, a raw, ancient might.
Elmesia stood instinctively, spine straight, her instincts honed by centuries of dealing with power. But Velzard wasn't political power—she was elemental. Primal.
The dragoness' eyes locked on Elmesia, studying her in silence.
"So," Velzard spoke, her voice soft yet commanding, "This is the queen who dared to walk through the barrier. I felt it shiver."
"I am Queen Elmesia of Sarion," Elmesia replied, respectfully but not submissively. "And I came here in peace."
Velzard raised an eyebrow. "Peace is a luxury. You must have known that when you left your throne to step into ours."
"I came to understand what makes Nyvaris worth such devotion," Elmesia said carefully. "From what I've seen, it may be one of the last hopes of the world."
Velzard tilted her head, almost amused. "You speak well… like someone used to veiling her truths. But your heart isn't empty. That's why the barrier let you through."
Then she turned to Varvatos. "You entertain guests now?"
Varvatos smiled lightly. "Only the ones who matter."
Velzard didn't smile, but her aura eased just a touch. "Hmph. Very well. I'll be watching, Elmesia. Closely. Because if you think Nyvaris is like the courts of Sarion, you'll find yourself frozen in more ways than one."
"I look forward to the challenge," Elmesia replied, chin held high.
Velzard stared for a beat longer, then turned and walked toward one of the upper balconies, her long coat trailing like mist behind her. She didn't vanish with a portal this time—she wanted Elmesia to see her walk away. Power demonstrated in the subtlest of ways.
When she was gone, Elmesia exhaled slowly.
"...She's protective of you," she said, not quite a question.
Varvatos nodded. "We've known each other a long time."
"And what am I to her?" Elmesia asked, raising an eyebrow.
Varvatos glanced at her, something unreadable behind his calm expression. "A question she hasn't answered yet. Nor have I."
Elmesia laughed again, this time lower. "Careful, Lord Varvatos. Between you and Velzard, I might find myself enjoying this visit too much."
He gave a small chuckle. "And here I thought queens were immune to temptation."
She leaned in slightly. "Only the boring ones."
Their eyes met—two ancient souls, rulers, warriors, wielders of hidden depths—and something passed between them. Not quite an alliance. Not yet trust. But something undeniable.
A beginning.
Nyvaris
Elmesia awoke in her guest chamber, a sleek marble structure humming with soft, latent magic. The air carried a calming chill that reminded her of Sarion's high mountains, yet it was layered with the perfume of strange blossoms and something else—peace.
She stepped to her balcony. Below, the city of Nyvaris unfolded like a vision. The buildings were crafted from enchanted stone and living crystal. Vines of silver and gold wove along walls, blooming with glowing flowers. Creatures both mythical and mundane coexisted—harpies sold fruit alongside dwarves; sylphs flitted through the air, laughing among dragons that basked on elevated terraces.
Nyvaris was more than a sanctuary.
It was a miracle of coexistence.
She dressed in a pale lavender gown with obsidian filigree, her platinum hair cascading freely as she made her way to the bustling city below.
Market of Whispers
The market earned its name for good reason. Every footstep echoed with stories—enchanted stone beneath the citizens' feet whispered the emotions of the day. Elmesia didn't ask how; she simply listened.
A merchant, a foxkin with golden fur, greeted her warmly. "Lady traveler, try the flame-fruit! Imported from the Ashen Isles. Burns your lips, cools your soul."
She raised a brow. "A contradiction?"
"Like most things worth tasting." He grinned.
She purchased the fruit, biting into it with a slight grimace—spicy at first, then delightfully cool. He wasn't lying.
As she walked, she overheard conversations:
A young dwarf proudly spoke of his citizenship, having earned it by forging enchanted steel for the city guards.
A beastkin mother praised Nyvaris for allowing her family to live free of old caste chains.
A trio of elven nobles murmured how even rejected aristocrats from other nations had been turned away if the barrier found them wanting.
It was fascinating—and humbling.
She arrived at one of the training grounds near the river. A tall red-haired warrior, Benimaru, barked orders at a squad of lizardmen and ogres. His fiery aura made the very air ripple.
Nearby, Shion was effortlessly tossing a wyvern in practice sparring, while Shuna stood to the side, weaving fine magical scripts mid-air.
Elmesia approached Shuna first.
"You're drawing divine threads," she noted.
Shuna bowed. "Queen Elmesia. A pleasure.
Elmesia tilted her head. "You've grown strong."
"We all had to," Shuna said quietly. "Lord Varvatos allows us to be more than what the world decided."
Benimaru approached, his presence commanding. "Queen of Elves," he said with a respectful nod. "You've caused quite a stir."
"Oh?" She smiled.
"Half the city's talking about the 'silver queen who walks like a sovereign and listens like a disciple.'"
"I'm honored. Nyvaris has humbled me," she admitted. "So many species, each treated as equals…"
"It took more than laws," Benimaru said. "It took belief. And one man willing to change everything."
"Varvatos." She looked toward the towering citadel. "He doesn't rule… he leads."
Benimaru smiled faintly. "You see it too."
Later that evening, she walked alongside Varvatos through the Harmonium Gardens—a place of rare flora, where each plant resonated with the soul.
"You've built a nation unlike any other," Elmesia said.
"I didn't build it alone," he answered, watching a glowing wisp drift through the garden. "But I gave it space to grow."
"You gave them more than space. You gave them hope."
He glanced at her. "What do you seek here, Elmesia?"
She paused. "Truth. Perspective. And perhaps…" she hesitated, "a glimpse of what peace might look like for my people."
Varvatos stopped walking. "And what do you see now?"
She faced him. "I see a man who carries the weight of nations… and hides it behind a calm smile."
He chuckled softly. "You're dangerous."
She stepped closer, her voice barely a whisper. "Only if you're afraid of being seen."
Later, on her balcony, the wind chilled. A presence arrived like a storm contained.
Velzard.
The frost dragoness stood in the moonlight, her expression cold but poised.
"You're enjoying your stay."
Elmesia didn't turn. "It's hard not to."
Velzard stepped forward, her arms crossed. "You're not here to admire architecture. You're circling him."
Elmesia turned now, calmly.
"Would that be such a threat to you?"
Velzard's eyes narrowed. "He's not a throne to sit upon, Elmesia."
"And I'm not a rival, Velzard. I don't hunger for power. I came seeking answers… and found someone worth understanding."
Velzard's voice was a low growl. "Stay in your lane, queen."
Elmesia smiled, unbothered. "If you're so certain of your place beside him… why are you here warning me?"
A tense silence. Then Velzard vanished into frost, leaving the air cold behind her.
Elmesia exhaled slowly.
"This city… it tests more than ideals."