The iron wall of Dzulkarnain loomed like a fortress of gods, runes glowing along its surface. Merchants, adventurers, and refugees shuffled patiently in line for inspection, their chatter filling the air.
That peace was shattered when a group of demons barged through the crowd. At the center strode a man clad in gilded armor, a dark cape sweeping behind him, sneering as though the world beneath him was dirt.
"Out of the way, peasants!" he barked. "I am Lord Forbio of the Three Beastketeers of Eurazania! Kneel and submit this little kingdom to the rule of our lord, or be crushed under his paw!"
Nervous whispers rippled through the crowd. Merchants retreated, adventurers gripped their weapons. But the Tempest gate guards stood firm. Their plasma rifles gleamed, their visors reflecting cold sunlight.
Captain Shion stepped forward, her tone sharp as steel.
"Halt. All entrants undergo health inspection, identity verification, and state their purpose. No exceptions."
Forbio's face twisted with fury. "How dare you! I am an elite warrior! I do not wait in lines like vermin! Open your gates or I'll see you flogged!"
The guards shifted, fingers tightening on triggers. But then—A shadow fell across the ground. Small in frame, yet heavier than a mountain.
Fran Tempest.
Her presence was suffocating. The Outer God's aura that clung to her sword rivaled even a Demon Lord's, and the air itself seemed to bend around her. The crowd froze.
"Your rank and title hold no weight here," she said evenly, her greatsword resting against her shoulder. "You follow protocol—or you leave."
Forbio's sneer faltered. A tremor ran through him. 'W-When did she move behind me? And this pressure… it's almost crushing me…'
Still, pride chained his tongue. "Y-You dare threaten me?! Do you even know who I—"
Fran tilted her head, expression unreadable. "No. And I don't give a fuck. But answer me this… if thou were to take a holiday… where would thou go?"
"What?! You dare mock me, little girl?!"
FWUMP.
In an instant, his body folded into a sphere of compressed air, his scream strangled inside. With a violent clap, the bubble launched across the horizon at light-speed. Gone.
The square erupted in gasps, half horror, half laughter.
"Fran! At least hear who he represented before tossing him to who-knows-where! And stop copying that foul-mouthed weird guy—you're picking up his bad habits!" her sentient blade scolded.
Fran only smirked.
"Forbio-sama! Y-you… what did you do to our leader?!" one of his followers, a female demon, shouted in panic.
Another snarled, raising his weapon. "You're gonna regret this, brat! We were merciful enough to offer you the honor of serving under our King, Demon Lord Carrion! Let's give this brat a lesso—GAHHHH!!!"
FWUMP.
The second demon vanished into the horizon, leaving only the trembling girl.
Fran's gaze fell on her. Cold. Unyielding. "Now thou… listen well. Do not repeat this foolishness again. Next time…" She raised her blade ever so slightly. "…I will not be merciful."
The girl collapsed to her knees, sobbing, before Fran sending her flying the same way as her comrades.
Shion burst out laughing, cracking her knuckles. "As expected of the Blade of the Golden Emperor. These pests just keep lining up for punishment lately. Let's spar sometime."
Fran shrugged. "Anytime. But not today. I have important guests to welcome."
The crowd was still buzzing—half in awe, half giddy from the humiliation of the arrogant intruders. But then… the atmosphere shifted.
A bitter wind swept across the square. Frost crawled along the stones, snowflakes drifting from a sky that had been clear moments before. The temperature plummeted, every breath turning to mist.
The chatter died instantly.
Then—an immense shadow fell over the gates as a figure dropped from the heavens.
Veldora landed heavily, his stormy presence flaring—yet his face was pale, beads of sweat freezing on his brow.
His voice trembled. "The rumors… they were true. She's here. The sadist herself."
The frost thickened into a raging blizzard, blinding and suffocating. And from that veil of snow, a woman's silhouette emerged, majestic and terrifying.
Velzard.
The Frost Dragon Empress.
One of the True Dragons.
The air itself seemed to freeze in reverence—and fear.
Velzard raised a delicate hand, frost swirling around her fingertips. Her voice was soft, yet cold enough to bite through flesh and bone.
"So this is the famed new country I've heard whispers of. Walls that turn away Demon Lords… laws that dare humble even Dragons. Tell me, little girl—" her piercing eyes fell on Fran, "—will you attempt to deny me as well?"
Her aura spread like a living blizzard. Frost crawled across the invisible dome shielding Tempest, licking at its unseen surface—only to scatter harmlessly into mist.
The Blade of the Golden Emperor stood firm, her greatsword resting at her side, eyes blazing against the frost.
"Hostility will be tolerated only once. Beyond that, retaliation is assured. I am the blade that pledged itself wholly to my Emperor—to help him usher in a new era. That is why…" her voice cut through the storm like steel, "I cannot be intimidated by a mere Dragon of this world."
Velzard's eyes narrowed. Then, unexpectedly, she smiled. "Fufufu… what a bold kitten. To think one so young dares to bare her fangs at me. How refreshing." Her gaze shifted, icy and playful, to the trembling figure behind Fran. "And as for you… little brother. No proper welcome for your dearest big sister? Did I not already teach you something as simple as etiquette?"
The bystanders who caught her words nearly collapsed in shock, their voices trembling.
"W-What?!"
"This beauty is Veldora-sama big sister?!"
"Two True Dragons… in one place?! This is madness!"
Veldora ducked behind Fran, shaking like a leaf. "S-Shut up, you old hag! Why are you here?! She's evil! Don't let that dangerous and scary woman into our country!"
A vein popped on Velzard's forehead, her smile sharpening. "Ara, ara~ Please repeat that, little brother. Which part of me is… old and scary?"
"Hiiiiii!!! I-I'm sorry! Please don't punish me again!" Veldora stammered, hands clasped together in pitiful surrender. His tone made it clear this was not the first time he had suffered at her hands.
"Clear a path! She is a VVIP guest!" Rigurd barked, gesturing to his subordinates.
Treyni stepped forward gracefully, bowing low, her voice steady as the leaves in spring. "Welcome to our Empire, Velzard-sama. It is an honor to host one of Veldora-sama's kin. I am Treyni, guardian dryad of Tempest. May your presence bring understanding rather than frost."
Velzard's lips curved faintly. "Most who welcome me do so trembling, yet you speak as though we are equals. Do you not fear me?"
Fran's voice rang out, unwavering. "We acknowledge your power. But fear alone cannot build nations. Here, all who enter—no matter how mighty—are honored as guests, and bound by law. Even a True Dragon such as yourself. That is the creed our Emperor entrusted to us."
Velzard studied her, eyes glittering with cold amusement. The air stilled, save for the faint crackle of frost at her heels.
Then she laughed—a sound like a shattering crystal, beautiful and deadly. "Very well. Let us play by your laws… and see if this city of wonder can endure the winter I bring."
•
Tempest Central – Orientation Chamber
The Ice Dragon Empress sat upon a crystalline chair, posture regal, frost coiling along the armrests like living veins of winter. The officers of Tempest stood nearby, wary yet respectful, their discipline unbroken even under her oppressive presence.
A humanoid android aide stepped forward—sleek and silver-skinned, its calm eyes glowing like twin stars. Its voice was smooth, without tremor.
"Pleased to meet you, Miss Velzard. My name is Connor and I be in the service of you today. For verification and orientation, we will initiate a guided neural-link. This process will grant you an understanding of our laws, language, and customs within moments. You will retain your will and identity—yet the knowledge will settle within you as though you had lived here all your life."
Velzard's eyes narrowed, cold mist rolling off her shoulders. "You speak of tampering with my mind."
Ambassador Connor lifted a hand gently, diffusing the tension. "Not tampering—sharing. We do not demand obedience to rules unknown. This is our way of welcoming guests and allies. With a single touch, you will understand what we stand for."
The android extended its hand. Light hummed faintly at its palm.
For a long heartbeat, pride warred with practicality. Then Velzard exhaled through her nose, sharp and frosted. With a sudden motion, she pressed her hand against the android's. Ice clashed with radiance.
Her eyes widened.
In an instant, visions poured into her mind:
—The laws of Tempest, etched with fairness and justice.
—The rights of its citizens, equal for all.
—The shared customs of diplomacy, cooperation, and respect.
—Even flickers of their art, their music, their laughter, echoing like memories not her own.
She pulled back, silver hair drifting as if caught in an unseen wind, her breath clouding in the chilled air.
"…Impossible. These systems, this unity… they should not exist in this world. Such harmony… such order… What kind of ruler builds this?"
"Our Emperor is a leader who upholds justice—not for the few, but for all. To him, every subject must live in prosperity, without exception. Even we—machines, constructs—are not treated as tools, but as equals. He accepts nothing in return, asks for nothing but that we contribute positively to the whole. Some whisper of him as godlike, yet he denies it always. He claims only this: that his duty is to build a world where all may stand together." The android's voice was steady, almost reverent.
Silence lingered, heavy as snow.
Velzard straightened, dignity unshaken, though her gaze was sharper—more thoughtful. "Very well. I shall abide by your laws… for now. But know this—if this unity is but a facade, if your peace hides weakness, I will shatter it myself."
The android bowed, recording the verification.
"Identity confirmed. Orientation complete. Welcome to Tempest, Miss Velzard."
•
A faint whisper of sound drew King Gazel Dwargo's gaze upward. Sleek, silver shapes glided above the streets—vehicles without wheels, hovering effortlessly in perfect formation along glowing lanes of light. No beasts, no reins, no smoke. Only silence and order.
Below, rails shimmered as a levitating train passed, sliding like a phantom serpent, carrying hundreds in such smoothness it seemed unreal. Not even a rattle of metal on stone.
The dwarf guide walked beside him, his tone respectful yet strangely casual. "This is our transit system. Powered entirely by renewable energy. Fast, clean, and self-regulating. No horses starve, no smoke poisons the sky."
Gazel's eyes narrowed, his steel-hard voice betraying his disbelief. "Carriages without horses… yet they obey invisible reins. The cost to sustain such systems must be monstrous."
The guide's lips curved knowingly, as if he had heard the thought a thousand times before. "There is no cost to us, Your Majesty. The city is self-sufficient. Our sun, rivers, and winds feed these systems endlessly. We take nothing we cannot replace. We ask no tribute."
The King said nothing, but his steps grew heavier. Even his trusted generals at his side shifted uneasily.
They were next led through a bustling district. Streets lined with glass-front shops shimmered with light. And yet, instead of gaudy excess, he found… abundance.
Children laughed, eating fruits that should not exist this season, their sweetness preserved in humming crystalline crates. Bakers pulled steaming loaves from ovens that burned no wood, no coal—only invisible fire. Machines hummed softly, cutting, cooking, preserving. All powered by unseen energy that eluded his senses.
And then—his eyes caught something stranger still.
Merchants and buyers traded without coin, without gold. They pressed glowing wrist-chips to hovering displays, light flashing once to mark the end of each transaction.
Gazel's brow furrowed. "No gold? No silver? Then what binds these people together?"
The dwarf guide lifted his wrist, showing his own embedded crystal.
"This is the STR-Credit system. A currency backed not by metal, but by energy itself. Each citizen holds their share within these chips. Outsiders may use temporary cards, but theft is impossible. Even we cannot spend another's coin."
For once in his long reign, Gazel Dwargo—the king who had faced wars, monsters, and calamities—felt words slip from him. His entourage, hardened generals of Dwargon, looked on in pale astonishment.
"…Monstrous," one finally breathed. "Not only their warriors, not only their sorcery… but marvels hidden in plain sight. If they ever turned to conquest… what chance would the nations of this world truly have?"
Another knight stiffened suddenly, pointing with a trembling hand. "Wait—look there! Is that not the infamous Orc? The Calamity that once devoured all in its path?"
The figure in question strode forward, clad in a suit of power-augmented armor that gleamed like molten steel, every step steady and precise.
Yet instead of savagery, he stopped and bowed with perfect discipline. His voice rolled like distant thunder, deep yet controlled: "Honored guests. May your stay in Tempest bring peace and harmony."
The knight nearly dropped his halberd. "They… they look so civilized…"
And then the escort carried them onward, to the heart of it all.
The grand hall stretched like a temple of light and crystal, vast and suffused with an energy unlike any forge or shrine Gazel had ever known. At its far end, three figures waited.
The first, small and seemingly unassuming. Yet the very air around them bent with unseen weight, power cloaked in disarming warmth. Rimuru Tempest, Empress and Sovereign of this nation.
To Rimuru's right stood a tall woman, draped in elegance. Her gaze was sharp enough to cut through steel, her bearing regal, dangerous, yet alluring. Morgan le Fay—a name carried in whispers, now serving as Royal Advisor.
And to the left, expression serene, presence so absolute it defied mortality, was a being that felt less like flesh and more like inevitability itself. Raphael—the embodiment of wisdom given form.
King Gazel's breath escaped in a quiet exhale.
He had faced Demon Lords. He had measured swords against calamities. He had stood in the shadow of legends.
But this…
This was something far beyond.
•
For a long moment, silence ruled the crystalline chamber. Even Gazel's most battle-hardened generals—men who had faced calamities and spilled blood without flinching—stood rigid, unsure if they were in a meeting room… or the living heart of some divine engine.
At last, King Gazel Dwargo stepped forward. His boots rang against the glasslike floor, his heavy cloak brushing behind him. Though his chest tightened beneath the invisible weight pressing down, he kept his head high—the bearing of a king unbroken.
He stopped a few paces short of the three figures. His eyes flicked first to Rimuru—small, unassuming, almost innocent in appearance. Yet every instinct screamed that this being was more dangerous than any Demon Lord he had ever faced. Then to Morgan, whose sharp emerald eyes seemed to strip him bare, weighing both king and man. And finally to Raphael, whose stillness was so absolute it felt less like a person and more like judgment incarnate.
Drawing in a slow breath, Gazel spoke, his voice steady, iron-bound.
"…So this is the power of Tempest. I see now why whispers of your nation shake the world. Armies, magic, technology… even monsters once feared as calamities, all bound together under a single banner."
He paused, gaze narrowing.
"I have lived long, and seen many unique civilization. But this—" his hand gestured subtly to the walls, the light, the city that pulsed beyond, "—this is no mere nation. It is something new. Something the world has never seen."
The chamber held its breath.
At last, Gazel inclined his head in a curt bow—measured, regal. The bow of one monarch acknowledging another.
"I am Gazel Dwargo, King of the Armed Nation of Dwargon. I come not as conqueror, nor supplicant, but as ally—if such a bond is possible. Empress Rimuru Tempest… I would speak with you as equals."
For a heartbeat, Rimuru said nothing. The little slime-turned-sovereign simply tilted their head, golden eyes unreadable. The silence stretched long enough that Gazel's generals tensed, hands brushing hilts.
Then Rimuru smiled. Light, playful, almost disarming.
"Equals, huh? Not a bad start. Honestly, Gazel-san, you've got that kingly aura down so well I almost feel like I should be the one bowing."
Nervous laughter rippled among the Tempest officers. But Rimuru's expression sharpened just enough to silence them again. It was subtle—yet undeniable. For a moment, everyone in the chamber understood: this being had chosen not to rule as a god… but could, at any instant.
Spreading their hands casually, faint energy shimmering between their fingers, Rimuru's voice turned firmer.
"Tempest was never built to be a weapon. We're not here to make the world kneel. But we will protect what we've built—our people, our laws, our freedom. If that makes the old order tremble…" their smile curved faintly, "then maybe the old order needs to change."
The words hung heavy. Even the walls seemed to hum with their weight.
At last, Rimuru's tone softened. "So, Gazel-san. What kind of future do you want to build with us?"
The dwarves shifted uneasily, none daring to speak. Only Gazel answered, his deep voice steady.
"…A future where my people need not fear being left behind." His gaze locked on Rimuru's. "I see your streets, your power, your law. Dwargon cannot match it—not in arms, nor in craft. If we stand apart, we will fade. If we kneel, we lose ourselves. So tell me, Empress—what does it mean to stand as your equal?"
A presence stirred.
Morgan le Fay stepped forward, bowing her head with deliberate grace. Her words cut like velvet-wrapped blades.
"Equality does not mean sameness. What you call weakness is resilience. What we wield is innovation. Together, we form halves of a greater whole." Her gaze swept over his generals, sharp enough to pin them. "But understand this—standing with us means embracing change. Refuse it, and you will be buried beneath it."
Unease rippled through the dwarves, but Gazel did not flinch.
Then Raphael's presence bloomed, their voice resonating without sound—cold, undeniable.
"Analysis complete. Alliance increases survival and prosperity thresholds by 89.6%. Margin of error negligible. Failure to cooperate results in Dwargon destabilization within four generations. Conclusion: Unity is optimal."
The generals stiffened at the weight of that truth.
Rimuru sighed, rubbing their cheek. "Geez, Raphael, you make it sound terrifying." Then their gaze softened on Gazel. "But they're right. We're not looking for vassals. We're looking for partners. Friends."
"Tch. Too soft, Rimuru," Morgan muttered, folding her arms. "Naïveté will bite us someday."
"Fufufu," Raphael allowed themselves the faintest smile, "there is a reason our husband fell for my master."
The chamber froze at those words, an almost domestic warmth breaking through the tension.
Gazel, the battle-hardened king, slowly removed his helm. His scarred face was grave, but his voice rang firm.
"…Then let us forge this bond. Not as ruler and subject. Not as master and servant. But as equals—Dwargon and Tempest, flame and storm, enduring together."
Applause thundered through the chamber—Tempest officers and dwarven generals alike, though some still wore disbelief.
Rimuru grinned and extended a hand. "Then let's make it official."
But Gazel's eyes gleamed with sudden fire.
"One more thing. Where is he? The so-called Golden Emperor. The man whose vision forged all this. I would meet him—and learn from him, if I can."
Rimuru's smile twitched, turning faintly annoyed. "…That idiot— I mean, my husband has business outside Tempest today. He isn't here."
"I see…" Gazel nodded solemnly. "No doubt his business is of a scale beyond our grasp. Very well. Tomorrow, then. For today, I am grateful for this meeting."
The dwarven king smiled at last, the weight of history settling on his shoulders.
For the first time in centuries, he felt not the weariness of a ruler—but the thrill of a new age.
•
Satria Mansion
While the grand halls of Tempest thundered with diplomacy and the clash of ideals, far away in the mansion gardens, a very different scene played out.
In a gazebo overlooking a crystal-blue pool, Satria lounged back on a bench, his grin as wide as the evening sun. At his side, a small, sleek creature splashed merrily in the shallows—Ariel, the Vaporeon. Water droplets glittered in the air like scattered gems each time she leapt from the pool.
"Hehe~ too cute," Satria cooed, running a hand along her smooth scales as she bounded into his lap. "You really are a gift from heaven, Ariel. Tell me, are you happy staying with me?"
"Vee~!" Ariel chirped, nodding enthusiastically before burying herself against his chest with a happy purr.
From a little ways off, Jeanne d'Arc observed the sight with her usual mixture of fondness and faint exasperation. The saint crossed her arms, tilting her head just so, her expression torn between amusement and reproach.
"Honestly, Master—" she caught herself, flushed lightly, and corrected, "dear. You dote too much on her. On everyone, really. Sometimes I wonder what kind of… parenting you'll have when it comes to our children."
Great Red, sprawled lazily across the veranda, cracked open one golden eye at that line and rumbled a deep laugh. "Already thinking that far ahead, Jeanne? Bold. For someone they call a saint, you don't hesitate to stake your claim."
"Fufufu," Crom snickered, leaning on the railing with an irrepressible grin. "Not wrong. That's quite the line for a holy maiden. You're supposed to blush and dodge the question, not plant the flag."
Jeanne's cheeks burned crimson, but she raised her chin proudly. "I… only speak truth."
Meanwhile, in the far corner of the gazebo, Fatalis sat with elegant poise, her crimson eyes fixed on the communication device in her hands. She finished her report with icy calm, though the faint curl of her lip hinted at amusement.
"…The Shadow Monarch has already moved," she said. "Kyoto."
Satria's grin faded, his gaze sharpening. "Kyoto, huh? If I recall, that's under the Youkai Faction's rule. Isn't My Hime familiar with them? We should consult her before chasing shadows."
Crom waved lazily, still smirking. "Forget it. Kiyohime's busy. Shuna dragged her to somewhere in Tempest—apparently they bonded over 'shared grievances.' Don't expect her to crawl out anytime soon."
"Ughhh…" Satria groaned into his hands, sinking against the bench. "Why did you have to bring that up again? Just when I was feeling peaceful, now I feel like an ass all over again…"
Fatalis arched a perfect brow, her lips curving into a wicked smile. "Tch, tch. And here you always claim your favorite genre is vanilla. My, my. To think my husband turned out to be just another one of those men."
"W-What?!" Satria shot upright, his face redder than a ripe apple. "Don't make it sound like it's all my fault! You were the one who encouraged it!"
"Details, details," Fatalis purred breezily, twirling her device in her hand. "History will judge you."
"Oh, you—!" Flustered beyond reason, Satria reached out and grabbed her cheeks, stretching them with a vengeance. "Say that again, you smug dragon!"
"Ahhh! It hurts, you dummy!" Fatalis flailed, swatting at his wrists, her voice muffled by his grip. "How dare you treat the great Fatalis with such indignity! I'll— I'll sue you!"
But her protests crumbled into laughter, soft and unguarded, her struggles only half-hearted.
•
The Frost Dragon Empress sat within the sleek skytram as it glided silently along its track. The capsule's walls were transparent, granting her an unobstructed view of the city unfurling before her.
Outside, towers of glass and steel speared toward the heavens, wrapped in glowing panels of light. Between them bloomed rivers of pink—endless cherry blossoms that climbed terraces and skybridges, their petals drifting through the air like snow.
The tram curved gracefully through the skyline like a silver blade. Below, layered roads carried streams of vehicles in seamless order, moving with uncanny precision—no collisions, no chaos.
Velzard pressed her frost-pale hand against the glass, her breath fogging the surface.
"…A city of flowers, yet forged in steel," she murmured. "You have not chained nature with fire, but with harmony."
Fran, seated beside her, smiled gently at her awe.
"Not chained, Velzard-san. Guided. Our Emperor swore that every city must breathe as nature does. Gardens, rivers, forests—none are decoration. They are the lungs of our homes. Machines live with nature, not against it." She gestured gracefully as the tram passed a soaring tower entwined with vines. "That is his miracle."
Velzard's eyes followed a drifting petal until it landed softly against the glass, clinging there as though unwilling to leave. For that fleeting moment, her aura of frost seemed to dim.
"…In this world, power was castles and armies," she said quietly. "Here, you display it with blossoms. Strange… and yet… beautiful."
The tram slowed as it entered a floating plaza. Markets thrummed with life—shops shimmering with holographic signs, foods glimmering with unnatural colors, fabrics rippling like liquid light. Small creatures with glowing fur darted among laughing children who chased petals at the plaza's edge.
No guards. No chains. No fear. Only peace, humming through the air like song.
Velzard rose from her seat, her chin lifted with pride, though her voice softened.
"…If this is the future your Emperor forged… then perhaps he wields greater power than any crown. It is undeniable—this city alone shakes the balance of the world."
Fran tilted her head, her tone genuinely curious. "Is that… bad? We only wish to improve lives. Why do you look troubled, Velzard-san?"
Velzard's gaze hardened. "It is… complicated. This world was decreed by the True Creator to live in balance. If demons gained too much power, angels descended. If angels became oppressive, monsters rose. Humans were meant to walk the line, growing by navigating between them." Her eyes flicked sharply toward her brother across the cabin, making Veldora stiffen. "But my eldest brother… he insisted only that balance could sustain the world. Yet even that has begun to crumble—angels and demons war without end, True Dragons ravage unchecked, and humans remain fragile in the crossfire."
She turned her gaze back to the city beyond the glass, eyes narrowing. "And yet from what I've heard… your Emperor is human. How could a mere human build this? He has shattered the very law of balance itself. That is why I must know… what does he truly seek?"
Fran's smile was soft, but her words cut like silk-wrapped steel.
"I see… your brother feared imperfection more than failure. But strip away flaws, and you strip away life itself. Perhaps that is why his perfect balance crumbled."
Velzard's head snapped toward her. "…What did you say?"
"Nothing," Fran replied quickly, her poise returning. "I am not the one you should debate with. These questions… only my lord can answer."
Velzard's eyes narrowed, studying the girl. "…This little one dares…"
"Pfft—ahahahaha!" Veldora suddenly broke into loud, wheezing laughter, clutching his stomach. "You got roasted by a little girl! Incredible! This is the best day of my life! Hah, I almost feel sorry for you—almost!"
Velzard's frosty aura flared instantly, the tram's glass frosting over in jagged spiderwebs. "Silence, you buffoon, or I'll freeze your tongue solid."
"Eek!" Veldora flailed, scooting to the far corner of the cabin. "O-oi oi oi, don't take it out on me! I'm innocent! I was just appreciating the comedy of the situation!"
Fran covered her mouth to stifle a laugh, though her eyes sparkled. Velzard growled low in her throat, yet deep down… even she could not deny that something about this world—and its Emperor—unsettled her more than she cared to admit.
At last, their journey brought them to a quieter wing of the Tempest palace, where warm light spilled through paper lanterns and the faint scent of tea drifted on the breeze.
Here, beneath a flowering veranda, Shuna and Kiyohime sat together, their laughter soft and unhurried. It was a rare sight—two women from utterly different origins sharing peace as if they had always been sisters.
Fran stepped forward, her voice respectful but firm. "Kiyohime-san. We've returned with a guest. May I introduce Velzard, the Frost Dragon Empress."
Kiyohime tilted her head slightly, amber eyes narrowing as she studied Velzard. Her presence was deceptively calm, but the air around her pulsed with restrained heat, like coals hidden beneath ash.
"…And who might you be to seek us out?" she asked, her tone deceptively polite.
Fran gave a small smile. "She wishes to visit our husband."
"…Wait." Velzard's brow furrowed, her icy aura stirring. "Are you implying you are part of his… harem?"
Kiyohime didn't flinch. She only smirked, eyes narrowing with pride.
"Yes. I am his wife. And more importantly—" she leaned forward ever so slightly, menace thickening in the air, "—what business do you have with my Danna-sama~?"
Velzard kept her poise, though her frost deepened around her shoulders. She returned the glare with a cold, formal smile.
"I seek only to learn more about this man. Is that a problem?"
Kiyohime's aura flared hotter, but her smile never wavered.
"Not a problem, no. But lately, far too many thirsty women have set their eyes on him. I can't let every shameless floozy through the door, can I? After all—why should I sacrifice my time with him just so some random bitch can leech off his affection?"
Velzard's eyes widened slightly, then narrowed with indignation. "What?! How vulgar! Do not mistake me for one of those… shameless women. I would never fall for a man like him!"
Her voice rang with certainty, her pride untouchable. Unlike her brother, this man was no figure of faith or order. If she were ever to choose a mate, he would have to match her strength and carry the dignity of a True Dragon—Nothing less!
Kiyohime tilted her head, her serpentine calm returning, and asked smoothly:
"Then… what is your true reason for meeting my Danna-sama?"
Velzard's face hardened, her voice edged with cold authority. "I was tasked by my brother to preserve the balance of the world. And your husband…" Her gaze swept across the room, ice crystals forming at her feet. "…has shattered that balance. I wish to know his true intent before I decide what must be done."
Kiyohime regarded her for a long moment, then slowly rose, smoothing her kimono. Her aura receded, leaving only the stillness of decision.
"…Very well." She turned to Shuna with a warm smile. "Forgive me, Shuna-chan, I'll be taking her with me."
Shuna bowed her head politely. "Of course, Kiyohime-sama."
"If that is your reason, then follow me." She turned, her long sleeves trailing like fire across the floor. "The path to my Danna-sama is not one I open lightly. But today… You shall see him with your own eyes."
Velzard's pulse quickened despite herself. At last, the moment drew near.
The meeting between the Golden Emperor and the Frost Dragon Empress was about to begin.
To be continued...