Within the palace at Rose City, King Gavin Ward sat in silence, his hands moving carefully across a canvas. Today, his attention was not on matters of war or governance, but on the very identity of his kingdom.
He was designing its flag.
The old banner of the Ross Kingdom had been a tired symbol: a white background bordered in red, with crossed swords and a shield in the center. Such designs were everywhere across the continent. Shields and swords on flags had long since become cliché, repeated so often that they carried no true meaning. Gavin wanted more for his people. They needed a standard that was not only distinct but one that stirred pride and awe.
He had sketched and erased countless drafts, yet the image he settled on was striking in its simplicity. A black field, solemn and unyielding, and in its center, a red dragon curling in silent menace.
But this was no ordinary dragon. Gavin had painted a totem rooted in his own world's memory—a creature from the traditions of Huaxia. The dragon coiled with power, its claws outstretched, its eyes fierce with hunger.
Black stood for dignity, for the gravity of the kingdom's struggles and future. The dragon's fiery red, by contrast, represented relentless hunger, a force that devoured all obstacles. A nation that marched under such a banner would never be mistaken for another.
Gavin leaned back, examining his work. Yes, it was simple—but simplicity was power.
Just then, the door creaked open. Stephens, his steward, entered and bent close to whisper.
"Your Majesty… there are elves outside requesting to see you."
Gavin blinked, startled. "Elves? They wish to see me?"
It was no small matter. Elves were rare across the continent, their kind seldom venturing into human realms without purpose. For two of them to appear here—in what was considered a remote kingdom—was astonishing.
More than that, Stephens added, they had spoken of the battle fought days earlier. The miraculous victory. That detail set Gavin on edge. If outsiders knew too much, it could be dangerous.
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At the Gates
Outside the palace, two elves waited in a chamber near the entrance.
The princess, with golden eyes and long hair that shimmered like sunlight, leaned toward her maid Ya'er and whispered with excitement. "Ya'er, look at those weapons the guards carry. I've never seen anything like them."
Ya'er followed her gaze. The soldiers at the door stood with rigid discipline, rifles slung over their shoulders—sleek steel weapons with fixed bayonets, the famous 98K models Gavin had introduced.
"They're too short to be spears, yet not bows either…" Ya'er murmured. "What strange weapons these mortals wield."
The princess nodded, curiosity burning brighter. Then her eyes roamed over the city they had passed through on their way. "And did you notice? The city may lack the grandeur of empires, but its common folk are… astonishingly neat. Their clothes are clean, their faces bright with energy."
Ya'er thought back to the towns they had crossed before arriving here. Most had been squalid, filled with beggars and crumbling homes. But here, in Ross, even the poorest looked dignified.
"And look at this," the princess added, lifting a glass cup placed on the table before them. Light danced through it like crystal. "I have never seen glass so clear! Even in the Central Magic Empire, with all their spells, their colored glass isn't as pure as this. Yet here it is, offered casually to us."
Her voice brimmed with wonder. Every detail they had encountered so far hinted at something unusual about this kingdom.
Ya'er, restless, approached one of the soldiers guarding the chamber. "Little brother, could you tell us… what kind of man is your king?"
The soldier did not move. His face was hidden behind an iron mask, his posture unyielding, eyes locked forward. He stood like a statue, the embodiment of discipline.
Silence stretched.
Embarrassed, Ya'er huffed and returned to her seat. "So cold!" she muttered under her breath.
But the princess's golden eyes only shone brighter. If even the common soldiers were this disciplined, what kind of man must their king be?
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The King Approaches
Suddenly, a voice thundered outside.
"His Majesty the King approaches! Line up! Stand at attention! Salute!"
The sound of boots striking stone rang out in perfect unison. Soldiers shouted as one:
"Long live His Majesty!"
The devotion in their voices carried not just duty but fervent admiration. The princess felt a shiver run down her spine. These were not ordinary cries of respect. They were cries of worship.
Inside, Gavin paused a moment before stepping through the doors. He felt heat rise in his chest, a mix of pride and embarrassment. His soldiers' loyalty was admirable, but it bordered on fanaticism. Was this the birth of a personality cult? The thought unnerved him, yet he could not help but acknowledge its usefulness.
Still, he silently warned himself: You cannot become a tyrant with nothing but a mustache and arrogance. If you lead, you must lead successfully.
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The Meeting
"He's here!" the elf princess whispered. Her heart pounded like a drum.
The doors opened with a heavy creak. Her breath caught.
Through the threshold stepped a young man clad in a pitch-black military uniform. His boots struck the floor with confidence, his belt gleamed, and his wide-brimmed hat shadowed his eyes. But the sharp cut of his nose and the blade-like lines of his jaw revealed a face both stern and arrestingly handsome.
The moment he entered, the air in the chamber shifted. He carried an aura of command, the oppressive dignity of a man who bore both power and responsibility.
The princess's heart skipped. This was no grizzled warlord or white-haired veteran. This was someone far more unexpected—and far more dangerous.
Gathering her courage, she rose swiftly. "Hello! My name is Angelina. I am a traveler, from the eastern elven tribes, descendant of the ancient Elven Empire!"
Her voice rang too loud, betraying her nerves. She bent at the waist, bowing a full ninety degrees before him.
Ya'er froze, her mouth slightly open. "Your Highness?!" she gasped, shocked by the sudden formality.
Even Gavin himself paused at the sight of the blond girl bowing so deeply. For a heartbeat, he was simply confused.
Angelina, realizing what she had done, felt heat flood her cheeks. What am I doing? Did I just scare him off?
She straightened, mortified.
But Gavin only smiled softly. He found her awkwardness oddly charming.
"I am Gavin Ward, Third of His Name, King of the Ross Kingdom," he said, his voice calm yet resonant.
Taking his place at the head of the chamber, he gestured for her to sit. "Please, be at ease. Tell me, Lady Angelina—what is it that brings you before me?"
Angelina raised her head slowly. For the first time, Gavin saw her face fully. And in that instant, his breath stilled.
She was beautiful beyond words.
The golden eyes of the elves, framed by her flushed cheeks, glimmered with light. Her features were delicate, carved with an artistry that seemed almost divine. Gavin, who had faced storms of blood and war without flinching, found himself momentarily dazed.
This meeting, he knew, would change much.
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