The elven palace slept under a sheet of silver light. Somewhere beyond the endless branches, a flute sang softly — low, haunting, like the sigh of trees dreaming. Ryn couldn't sleep. He'd tried counting vines, stars, and escape plans, but his thoughts kept circling back to one person. The forest queen who called herself curious.
A knock broke the silence. When he opened the door, a pair of guards stood there — silent, eyes glowing faintly green.
"Her Highness requests your presence," one said.
Ryn rubbed his face. "At midnight? What is it with royalty and bad timing?"
They didn't answer, of course. He sighed and followed.
The halls glowed softly, alive with light flowing through the veins of vines. By the time they reached the garden balcony, the forest itself seemed to shimmer in the dark — each petal holding a drop of moonlight.
Princess Ilyndra waited at the center of a circular pool surrounded by white blossoms. She wasn't wearing her crown tonight. Only a gown spun from leaves and light, hair cascading like a river of green fire.
"Evening stroll?" Ryn said lightly, hands in his pockets. "Because if this is another duel, I'm still recovering from the last one."
She smiled. "No duels tonight, little fox. Only conversation."
"Conversation," he echoed. "That sounds suspiciously peaceful."
"Peace can be dangerous too," she said, and gestured for him to sit. A vine coiled behind him, forming a chair. He eyed it warily before sitting down.
The air smelled faintly of rain and roses. Somewhere, distant water trickled. For a moment, neither spoke.
"You've adjusted well," she said finally. "Most mortals lose themselves here. The forest devours their thoughts, their will. But you… you resist."
"Bad habit," Ryn said. "Started when people tried to tell me what to do."
She tilted her head. "And yet you listen to the voice inside you."
Ryn stiffened. "What voice?"
"The one that isn't yours."
Her gaze held his — not sharp, not cruel, but knowing. Too knowing. "I felt it during our battle. A presence older than frost itself. You hide it, even from yourself."
"I hide a lot of things," he said quietly. "It's kind of my thing."
Ilyndra rose, her bare feet silent on the moss. "Do you know what the forest told me after our fight?" she asked softly. "That your power did not destroy life. It danced with it. Ice and vine. Death and growth. Perfect harmony."
"Funny," he said. "It felt more like a blizzard."
She smiled faintly. "Perhaps that's what harmony feels like to you."
She stepped closer. The air grew warm despite the frost clinging to his sleeves. Her hand lifted, stopping just before touching his mask. "You wear this like armor. Is it fear, or shame?"
Ryn held her gaze. "Maybe I just like hiding my expressions. Makes sarcasm more effective."
Her fingers hovered near his cheek, light as wind. "I could help you. I could quiet the voice inside. Free you from her."
Her words echoed — but not just aloud. The vines, the air, even the petals whispered them back: Free you… free you…
Inside him, the Ice Fox's voice stirred, sharp as cracked glass. She lies. She seeks your leash.
Ryn flinched slightly, earning a curious look from Ilyndra.
"You'd like that, wouldn't you?" he said. "Turning the Ice Fox into your house pet."
"Not a pet," she murmured. "A partner. Together, we could restore balance. Green and frost — creation and stillness. Imagine what we could become."
"Frozen salad?" he offered.
Her lips curved, though her eyes glinted with something deeper — hunger, maybe. Or yearning. "You jest because you're afraid."
"I jest because it's cheaper than therapy."
She laughed softly, the sound carrying like rain. The vines around them swayed, releasing pale motes of light that drifted between them. He felt warmth brush against his skin — her magic, gentle, wrapping around his aura like ivy.
He could feel it probing, coaxing, pulling at the cold inside him. Trying to touch what wasn't hers.
"Stop," he said.
She didn't.
Frost burst from his hands, slicing through the vines like glass. The air snapped cold, petals crystallizing midair. Ilyndra staggered back, surprised — then smiled slowly, eyes burning bright green.
"So the fox still has fangs."
"Depends who's poking it," he said, voice low.
Their power met in silence. Her vines bloomed with light; his frost shimmered blue. They twisted together in the air, forming a spiral of ice and leaf, life and death locked in an endless dance. For a moment, it was beautiful — a storm that breathed.
Then the world stilled.
Ilyndra stepped closer again, voice soft but laced with power. "You could be a god, if you stopped pretending to be a man."
Ryn's one visible eye gleamed. "And you could be human, if you stopped pretending to be a god."
The vines around them froze mid-bloom. Her expression flickered — half fury, half admiration. Then, slowly, she laughed.
"You really are dangerous," she said.
"Only when people flirt with world domination," he replied, brushing frost from his sleeve.
The vines uncoiled, retreating. The garden sighed, and the air grew warm again. Ilyndra turned away, her laughter softer now — almost wistful.
"Go, little fox. Before I decide whether I want to kiss you or cage you."
He blinked. "That's… a confusing threat."
"Good," she said. "Keep guessing."
When he returned to his chambers, the forest was silent. Only his footsteps echoed. He closed the door and leaned against it, heart pounding, frost still tracing his veins.
Inside his mind, the Ice Fox purred. You resisted her charm. Perhaps you are worth keeping after all.
"Yeah," he muttered, sliding down to the floor. "Tell that to my nerves."
Outside, the vines along the balcony bloomed — half green, half frozen white. As if neither had truly won.
Only the moon watched, pale and knowing, as the Ice Fox and the Flower Queen began their silent war.