The Western Gate of Forgemire was a massive slab of soot-stained iron, usually radiating the ambient heat of the internal foundries. Now, it was slick with a thin, unnatural layer of rime. Mikaela stood before the threshold, her silver hair whipping in the grit-laden wind, her deep blue eyes fixed on the shadows of the citadel above.
Kael descended the stairs, his dark cloak billowing. Neith followed a few paces behind, her small hands tucked into her sleeves, her expression unreadable. As Kael stepped into the courtyard, the temperature plummeted. The humid, sulfurous air of the Seventh Nation met the biting frost of the Second, creating a thick, swirling mist that obscured the ground.
Kael stopped ten paces away. He looked at Mikaela—not as the boy who had shared a quiet moment in the arena, but as the Sovereign of Forgemire. The iron signet on his finger caught the orange light of the torches.
"Kaldaria is a long way from the soot," Kael said, his voice like grinding stone. "Why are you here, Mikaela?"
Mikaela didn't flinch. She took a step forward, her boots crunching on the frost-dusted gravel. "I am here because the North is gone, Kael. And because I realized that staying in the ice while the world burns is a coward's death. I've left Kaldaria. I am here to offer my blade to the Seventh Nation."
A soft, rhythmic clapping echoed through the courtyard. Neith stepped out from behind Kael, a small, mocking smile playing on her lips.
"A touching sentiment," Neith chirped, though her eyes were cold as she scanned Mikaela. "But let's be precise, shall we? A high-ranking frost-weaver, the pride of Commander Darko's elite, simply... walks away? This is unprecedented, Mikaela. In the thousands of years I've watched the A.N.Ts, a soldier of your caliber switching nations without a formal treaty is unheard of."
Neith walked a slow circle around Mikaela, her gaze lingering on the hilt of the girl's ice-blade. "One might argue that Kaldaria is playing a much deeper game. One might argue that this is the first step of a coup. Send the beautiful prodigy to the 'tyrant's' side, let her infiltrate his inner circle, and then—when the moment is right—the Second Nation swallows the Seventh from the inside out."
Mikaela's jaw tightened, a pulse of blue mana flickering at her fingertips. "I am no one's spy, Goddess. I am a woman of no nation until the Sovereign takes me in."
Kael watched the exchange, his face a mask of iron. He could feel the cold radiating from Mikaela—not just the elemental cold, but a desperate, sharp ambition that pricked at his senses. He remembered Neith's words about the loneliness of power, about the hollow fate of those who chase greatness together.
"You speak of killing Noelle and taking over from him," Kael said, repeating the words Mikaela had thought back in the Kaldarian HQ, as if he could pluck the intent straight from the air. "You speak of allying our nations through strength."
Mikaela froze. She hadn't said those words aloud to anyone but Arianne. She looked at Neith, realizing the Goddess of Knowledge had already stripped her mind bare the moment she walked through the gate.
"I am here to train," Mikaela said, her voice dropping to a low, defiant rasp. "I am here to become stronger. If you are as powerful as they say, Kael, then you shouldn't fear having a rival at your side."
Kael stepped closer, entering the radius of her frost. The heat of his Emperor State began to hiss against her cold, creating a localized storm of steam. He reached out, his hand hovering near her throat, not in a threat, but as a test of her resolve.
"I don't fear rivals, Mikaela," Kael whispered. "I fear distractions. If you stay, you work the forges like the rest. You bleed like the rest. And if I find that Neith is right—if I find the scent of a coup on your breath—I won't send you back to the ice. I will turn you into the same ash I left in the lair."
Mikaela didn't look away. "Agreed."
Kael turned his back to her, looking up at the citadel. "Give her a room in the barracks. Not the palace. If she wants to be a woman of no nation, let her start from the dirt."
As Kael walked away, Neith lingered for a moment, leaning toward Mikaela's ear.
"You're a very good liar, child. But remember: I've seen ninety-eight versions of this world. The 'traitor' and the 'hero' always end up in the same grave. I wonder which one you'll be."