The royal study of King Varron of Netheria was less a room and more a fortress of ancient wisdom. Massive shelves stretched to the vaulted ceiling, packed with scrolls, grimoires, and forbidden texts whose bindings pulsed with dormant power. Books levitated occasionally, drifting between towering stacks like ghosts of their own knowledge.
At the heart of this silent cathedral, Varron hunched over a crescent-shaped desk of starstone, bathed in pale blue light. Candle flames flickered across his silver pauldrons, and his long cloak pooled on the marble floor like a waterfall of midnight.
He had meant only to search for a missing treaty draft, but curiosity had other plans.
> "Ah… what's this?" he muttered, fingers brushing against a thick scroll bound in gold-threaded crimson silk.
He unrolled it carefully. The name at the top made his heart lurch.
The Final Trial of Ardyn Caelus: The War of No Light.
Varron's breath caught. He knew this story. Everyone in the royal bloodlines did — passed down in whispers, warnings, half-believed legend. Ardyn Caelus, the man who faced the God of Death in single combat. The man whose hatred burned brighter than the stars. The man who died… and yet somehow never truly did.
And now — standing alive before them all — with his face, his power, his presence.
Varron's gloved hands trembled as he read.
> "The Caelus Flame did not flicker before Death. It consumed it."
Each word rekindled awe within him. Doubts he once harbored about the crimson-cloaked Supreme Destructor vanished like mist under the morning sun. Ardyn wasn't a fraud. He wasn't an imposter. He was divinity reborn in war-forged flesh.
Varron exhaled, folding the scroll.
> "So… the world truly turns on a cycle of fire."
As he returned it to the shelf, another scroll — tucked behind a collapsed stack of astronomy texts — fell to the floor with a dull clack.
He almost ignored it… until he saw the wax seal.
A spiral of black and red. A military mark. Sector 13 classified combat file.
Curious, he opened it.
His eyes widened.
> "Ryo Kurogane…"
The parchment detailed the clash in the Dead Streets — how a boy no older than eighteen had stood alone against Unit Null, one of Netheria's most savage bio-cybernetic divisions. Every brutal moment recorded with chilling clarity.
> "…after unleashing a final burst of Kineta, subject R.K. collapsed — spinal paralysis confirmed. Despite physical ruin, he stood. He stood… and fought."
Varron read it again. And again.
The king, who had commanded legions and outwitted conquerors, felt something rare and sharp tug at his chest.
> "This boy…" he whispered. "This boy could become a wall."
Not just a warrior. Not just a weapon. But perhaps one day… a guardian. Maybe even a suitor.
His gaze shifted across the room, toward the crystalline portrait of his second daughter — Princess Theodosia. Her serene expression frozen in time, eyes half-closed, shoulders wrapped in snow silk.
He remembered her words from days ago:
> "I don't want to be protected. I want someone who'll stand beside me — no matter what happens."
Could this wild, reckless, brilliant fighter… possibly be that someone?
Varron poured himself a glass of sun-forged brandy, eyes still locked on the report.
> "I'll need to arrange a meeting."
---
Meanwhile, across the capital, the nights in Sanctum Vale were warm, quiet, and gently lit by hovering lotus-shaped lights. In a shaded garden near the Western Wing, Lysa, her short jacket draped over her shoulders, sat by a dimly glowing tree, boots crossed, eyes scanning the stars.
Beside her, Kiel Vashti leaned against a post, spinning a dagger between his fingers.
The two had found a strange rhythm over the past days — not quite lovers, not quite allies. Somewhere in that fragile in-between where secrets remained secrets, but the silence began to feel shared.
> "You're quiet tonight," she said without looking at him.
> "I'm always quiet," Kiel replied.
> "No. This is… something else."
Kiel stopped spinning the blade.
> "The king's been asking about Ryo," he said finally. "I think… he's being considered for something bigger. Maybe even tied to the princess."
Lysa raised an eyebrow, finally meeting his gaze. "And that bothers you?"
Kiel exhaled through his nose. "Not really. Just… I've seen Ryo fight. He's strong. But he's not stable."
> "And yet he made you bleed."
Kiel smirked. "Fair."
They sat a moment longer.
> "Do you think he'd accept something like that? Tethering himself to royalty?"
> "I think Ryo doesn't tether," Kiel said. "He burns. Whatever path he's pulled into… it'll change all of us."
---
Back in the royal study, Varron penned a new decree.
> "By royal request, Ryo Kurogane is to be summoned discreetly for council and private interview with the Crown. Further inquiries to remain confidential until approval."
He stamped the order with his seal, then tucked it into a shimmering red envelope marked urgent.
His gaze returned once more to the scrolls — to Ardyn's impossible victory, and Ryo's desperate one.
One a god-slayer. One a fire yet to be forged.
And standing between them… Caelus — the man who might be both.
The king drained his brandy, the fire warming his chest, and muttered beneath his breath.