The walk from the Great Library to the grand gates of Avalon was a study in escalating tension. Julius moved with a steady, unhurried pace, Isabella trailing slightly behind him. They passed through corridors where the usual floral scent of the palace was being pushed aside by something sharper, a metallic tang that seemed to vibrate in the back of the throat. The Royal Guard stood in double rows, their silver armor polished to a mirror finish, but their hands gripped their halberds with visible tension.
When they reached the transition to the outer courtyard, Julius saw his siblings. Alaric and Elena stood at the foot of the grand staircase, flanking their father like statues of gold and sapphire. Alaric's golden aura was not manifest, yet the air around him was hazy with the sheer volume of his 5 star presence. Elena looked equally formidable, her fingers tracing invisible patterns in the air, her mind likely already halfway through a dozen defensive calculations.
"There he is," Alaric muttered as Julius approached. His voice lacked its usual booming cheer. "I hope you are ready, Julius. The air coming off that valley is different."
Julius took his place beside them, offering a small, grounding nod. He did not manifest his mana. He remained a pocket of absolute stillness in the center of the palace's frantic energy. His red eyes were fixed on the massive iron gates at the end of the courtyard.
The sound reached them first. It was not the rhythmic clatter of horses or the groan of wood. It was a heavy thrumming that felt as though the earth itself were being struck by a drumbeat. With a sound like a controlled explosion, the gates of Avalon were pulled wide.
The iron scaled drakes entered first. They were massive, low slung beasts with scales the color of obsidian, their breath coming in visible plumes of sulfurous heat. They did not move with the grace of the Slatemark horses; they moved with a grinding, unstoppable momentum. Behind them rolled the carriages, carved from solid black iron and reinforced with plates of tempered steel. There were no banners of silk, no heraldry of gold. The only decoration was the scarred surface of the iron itself.
As the lead carriage came to a halt, a wave of heat rolled across the marble courtyard. It was not the warmth of the sun or the glow of a fire. It was a dry, abrasive heat. To the Slatemark guards, it felt like a physical pressure against their chests.
The door of the black iron carriage opened, and the Namgung delegation stepped out. They were led by a man whose hair was as white as bone, his dark robes simple but woven from a material that seemed to absorb the light. This was the Namgung Elder. He did not possess the radiant, expansive aura of the King. Instead, his power was sucked inward, coiled around his bones like a sleeping serpent.
Behind him walked the youth. Among them was a girl who appeared to be Julius's age. Her blonde hair was tied back in a knot so tight it looked painful, and her eyes were a dark, stormy blue.
Min-ah's gaze found Julius and paused. Her eyes narrowed, scanning him from head to toe with a clinical detachment. A faint curl touched her lip, not quite a sneer but something close to it. She looked at him the way one might look at an ornament in a shop window: pretty, perhaps, but ultimately useless.
Julius did not look away. She moved differently than anyone at the Academy. She was not flowing like a mage or a knight of the Star System. She was coiled. She looked like something waiting for the exact moment to spring. He found himself cataloging the subtle differences: the way she kept her center of gravity low, her slow and shallow breathing, and the way her eyes remained fixed and unblinking when they met his. He felt a sharp, focused curiosity sharpen the edges of his mind.
They were what the scrolls had called weight. Not refined. Just present. Heavy. Inevitable. The Namgung were a hammer strike in a silent room. They were a system that had traded every ounce of versatility for the ability to endure and destroy.
"Your Majesty," the Namgung Elder said. His voice was not loud, but it carried a resonance that made the glass in the nearby windows hum. He offered a curt nod that was less a greeting and more a confirmation of presence. "The Eastern Continent sends its greetings. We have traveled far to see if the stars of Slatemark are as bright as the stories say."
The King stepped forward, his own 7 star presence rising to meet the Elder's heat. "And we have waited with great interest to see the Unbroken Pillars of the East. Welcome to Avalon."
Julius stood perfectly still. He felt the three stars in his chest pulse in a slow, deliberate unison. He was fascinated by the density of the air around the visitors. It lacked the melodic harmony of the Star System, replaced by a raw, crushing simplicity.
"The drakes," Julius said softly, his voice cutting through the heavy silence of the courtyard. He was not speaking to the Elder or his father, but the sound carried. "They are not just for transport. You have been using them to keep your meridians under constant pressure during the journey, have you not?"
The Namgung Elder turned his flinty gaze toward Julius. A flicker of genuine surprise crossed his weathered face. "A keen eye for a boy of the central world. Most see only the beasts. They do not see the tempering."
"It is an efficient way to travel," Julius noted, his red eyes fixed on the heat shimmering off the drake's scales. "To treat the entire journey as a training session. I suppose when the world is a meat grinder, you cannot afford to waste a single mile on rest."
The Elder let out a short, dry sound that might have been a laugh. "Indeed. We do not have the luxury of mountains to hide behind, Prince."
The King placed a hand on Julius's shoulder, a silent warning against further provocation, but the tension had already shifted. The formal greeting continued, but the atmosphere had changed. The Namgung looked at the Slatemark line with a new, guarded interest, and the Slatemark line looked at the black iron carriages with a growing realization that their peace was being weighed by people who had no use for it.
As the delegation was led toward the guest wing, Julius remained in the courtyard for a moment, watching the drakes being unharnessed. He could still feel the rhythmic thrumming in the soles of his feet. He looked at Isabella, who was pale but composed.
"They are not here for a gala, Isabella," Julius said, his voice carrying a thin, sharp edge.
Isabella whispered, "They look dangerous."