The voice came apart as it spoke.
Crackling. Whispering. Shivering like something caught between centuries, dragged through eras and never allowed to rest. Each word sounded weathered, splintered by time itself, as if language had eroded around it but the will to speak remained.
His breath was hollow.
He did not know how long he had been drifting. Time here had no edges. No sunrise, no dusk. Only the slow sensation of himself coming undone, thread by thread. Mana bled from him in fine fractures, like glass under pressure. Every small crack stung. Every pulse faded a little more.
He wondered what he would do if it ever opened fully.
This hollow.
This wound in existence.
A hole where everything began and where everything might end. It felt older than memory, older than kingdoms, older than whatever the world once was before names were given to it. Its age pressed against him like gravity. Epochs layered upon epochs. And within it, whispers. Ancient ones. Regret, pain, unfinished stories circling like restless ghosts.
He floated in the dark, weightless.
Only at the edges of the rupture did light appear. Thin lines. Hairline fractures where brightness slipped through the black surface like veins in stone. Tiny pathways. Proof that something still existed beyond the void.
He reached for them without moving. Without strength left to move.
Emptiness answered him.
Still, he smiled.
A small, stubborn curve of the lips, fragile as the last ember in a dying hearth. Because even here, unraveling, he knew the choice he had made had been the right one. Even if it had cost him his own light.
...
The messenger's words dropped into the breakfast hall like a blade into still water.
"Galesphire?" Queen Eliza's fan stilled mid-air. For a heartbeat the room forgot how to breathe. "That cannot be right. We signed a treaty on the borders. Lines drawn, seals pressed, hands shaken. Surely this is a mistake. A false letter, perhaps. They would not move against us without cause."
The messenger bowed, armor still dusted from the road. "Your Highness… our scouts confirm it. Elven units on the border. They do not advance by day. By night, they move. Small strikes. Camps harried. Land reclaimed inch by inch. A slow invasion, precise and patient."
Silence thickened. Even the cutlery seemed to listen.
Queen Eliza lowered her fan. "Then I will write to their Elder. There must be reason behind this. There is always reason before ruin."
Aster leaned slightly toward Elodie, voice low but not nearly low enough. "What exactly is Galesphire?"
Elodie folded her hands. "A small kingdom south of the Ironspike Highlands."
Aster frowned. "Wait. There's a northern Ironspike Highlands too, right? What's the difference besides… north and south?"
Nikolai snorted into his tea. "Astounding. A scholar for the ages."
Elodie shot him a look and continued anyway. "Eidralis used to be vast. Vast enough that Galesphire was once just a forested city under our banner. An ancient forest. Spirits, elves, pixies, fae. When tensions rose centuries ago, our great forebears brokered peace. We built them a fortress. Granted independence. The Bridge of Elderbough was raised so trade and aid could flow freely."
Her voice softened. "Then unity fractured. Elves, centaurs, dwarves, pixies, gnomes… too many leaders, too many visions. Old grudges bloomed like mold in damp stone. Trade halted. Alliances broke. They have not truly been whole since."
"We still help when monsters swarm their borders," Nikolai added, tone flat. "Supplies. Medicine. They take it. Some gratefully. Some like we're poison wrapped in silk."
Elodie exhaled. "The elves were always the most diplomatic. That is why this makes no sense."
"War rarely sends a letter before arriving," the queen murmured.
Aster crossed his arms. "So… why would the elves start this?"
Nikolai didn't even hesitate. "Because they don't want the fairies receiving Sigilroses."
Aster blinked. "That sounds like a pastry."
"It's a flower," Elodie said. "A rare one. Amplifies spell longevity."
Nikolai leaned back in his chair, expression sharpening. "Fairies burn through magic quickly. Brilliant bursts. Short lifespan. Sigilroses let their spells linger. Strengthen. Persist. With enough of them, fairy battalions become walking catastrophes."
"Which makes them terrifying," Elodie added.
"Which makes the elves nervous," Nikolai finished. "The roses grow along wide, fast rivers. Most of those rivers cut through disputed territories. The fairies lost access. We supplied them instead."
Aster slowly pieced it together. "So the elves.."
"..are cutting the supply line," Nikolai said. "Starve the fairies of amplification. Level the playing field. Maybe tilt it."
Queen Eliza closed her eyes briefly, the weight of a kingdom pressing between her brows. "If they sever aid, the other clans weaken. If the other clans weaken, Galesphire fractures further. And if Galesphire fractures…"
"War spills," Nikolai said quietly.
Aster rubbed his temples. "All this… over flowers."
"Power rarely looks dangerous while it's blooming," Nikolai replied.
A beat passed.
Then Aster muttered, "Great. We're about to fight a war because someone didn't want to share their magic fertilizer."
Elodie covered her mouth, pretending to cough.
Nikolai did not even try to hide his smile.
The war room quieted, but the tension lingered like a storm that refused to break.
"How do we even choose a side," Elodie said, voice low but sharp. "We don't know what started the dispute. Picking blindly could ignite the whole forest."
Across the table, Eloise sat stiffly, fingers curled in her lap. She was still adjusting to the idea that wars were discussed between bites of bread and tea. Still, she lifted her head.
"What if… we don't choose at all?"
The room tilted toward her.
"We listen," she said softly. "Send envoys. Not armies. Not banners. Quiet teams. One to each clan. Bring supplies, medicine, tools. They'll accept help. While we're there, we observe. Learn what each side believes the war is about."
An advisor frowned. "Espionage in six directions at once is risky. Every clan wants something different. Aid one and you offend another."
"Yes," Eloise said. "But we won't be siding with them. We'll be hearing them. You said they were one nation once. That means they shared something. If we find what bound them together, maybe we can remind them they're tearing at their own roots."
Queen Eliza's smile was faint but proud. "A bridge built from understanding rather than steel. Clever."
The advisor hesitated. "If they suspect we're aiding rivals, they could unite against us."
"Then we make that the point," Nikolai said, leaning forward, eyes bright with dangerous clarity. "We help all of them. Equally. Publicly enough to be known. Quietly enough to avoid panic."
Elodie glanced at him. "And when they realize?"
"They'll notice we didn't arm anyone. Didn't choose a banner. We only delivered aid and listened." Nikolai's smile curved. "If they discover we spoke to every clan, they won't unite to destroy us. They'll unite because they'll realize something unsettling."
He opened the map and tapped it.
"That they still react as one people when threatened from the outside."
Silence settled, taut as a drawn bowstring.
Queen Eliza exhaled slowly. "So we become the mirror. Not the blade."
Nikolai nodded. "Exactly. We give them no enemy to strike. Only a reflection. If there's still a nation buried under the factions… it will surface."
"Gosh. What a lovely, peaceful breakfast," Aster muttered, staring into his cup like it might offer an escape route.
Nikolai smiled as if chaos were simply another course on the menu. "You should expect this often, dear."
Aster didn't even look up. "I already regret waking up."
"Especially now that you're soon to be my wife," Nikolai added smoothly, then took Aster's hand and pressed a light kiss to his knuckles.
Aster recoiled like he'd been branded.
The table watched in various states of shock, amusement, or quiet resignation.
"Your Highness," Elodie said flatly, sipping tea, "we are discussing war strategy, not courtship rituals."
Aster's face twisted in disgust, which did absolutely nothing to hide the color creeping up his ears. He yanked his hand back. "Stop doing that in public."
"You're in the family now. This is public," Nikolai replied, unfazed.
Queen Eliza set her fan down with a soft click. "Enough theatrics. We proceed with diplomacy. We will hear each clan, offer aid, and attempt to mend this fracture without igniting a greater one. But if they strike us—"
"We respond without choosing a permanent enemy," Elodie finished.
Aster leaned back in his chair. "So… walk into a forest full of feuding magical factions, don't offend anyone, don't get stabbed, and somehow fix centuries of resentment. Easy morning."
"Precisely," Nikolai said.
Aster stared at him. "You're enjoying this."
"Immensely."
Queen Eliza nodded once. "Then it's settled. We listen first. No clan is to be harmed unless absolutely necessary."
"That's why," Nikolai said lightly, reaching for another slice of bread, "we should begin by wooing the pixies."
Every head turned.
"…I'm sorry?" Aster said.
"The pixies," Nikolai repeated. "They produce the finest sleeping mist in the forest. Nonlethal. Effective. Useful for pacifying hot-headed factions without spilling blood."
Elodie tilted her head. "You want to charm the most temperamental creatures in Galesphire first."
"Yes."
"They're known to hex diplomats who blink wrong."
"Yes."
Aster squinted. "And you think they'll like us."
Nikolai smiled in that calm, slightly dangerous way. "They like gifts. And stories. And flattery. We bring all three."
Aster dragged a hand down his face. "We're negotiating peace with glitter-covered insomniac sprites. Of course we are."
Queen Eliza hid a small smile behind her fan. "Then prepare accordingly. If this war is a tangled forest, we start with the smallest wings and the lightest step."
Aster muttered under his breath, "I fought goblin hordes yesterday. Now I'll court pixies. My life has no consistent genre."
As usual, the two of them scrubbed plates side by side, the warm morning sun streaming through the kitchen windows, casting long streaks of light over suds and steam. The ladies moved about quietly, clearing and arranging the tables, leaving only the soft clinking of dishes and their occasional splashes.
Nikolai… Aster muttered, scrubbing a stubborn spot on a plate without looking up. "Have you… ever actually seen a dragon?"
Nikolai hummed, tilting his head just enough for a silver strand of hair to catch the light. "No," he said, voice flat, measured, like he was bored just thinking about it. "They're extinct. If any remain, they're probably the last of their kind, hiding somewhere far from prying eyes."
"But… what if there is one?" Aster asked, voice quiet, almost a whisper over the bubbles.
Nikolai's cold, fox-like gaze flicked toward him, lips curling into a faint, dangerous smirk. "There shouldn't be. Dragons disrupted the equilibrium of mana itself. Their power doesn't come from mana...it comes from igris. A force born of pure will, of emotion, of everything they are. They're… terrifying. Most nations despised them. Half of Eidralians were wiped out in the last war."
Aster shivered, remembering tales of the Shattered Pact. "Yeah… the Shattered Pact."
"Yes," Nikolai continued, voice now calm but edged like steel. "A dragon killed the neighboring princess. Then they had the audacity… to burn Velthora and half its people. That's why most dragons now stay hidden, isolated, sleeping in shadows, far from anyone foolish enough to wake them."
Aster paused mid scrub, brow furrowing. "Then… why did I see one before I retrieved Everanth? Are they… not fully extinct? Why would they roam freely in Eidralis?"
Nikolai's smirk deepened, curling into something almost predatory. "Some still exist," he said softly. "But in secluded parts, away from humans and… idiots like you. They prefer solitude… and sanity and the one you meet is either a reptilian or so nevertheless I'm surprised you meet one "
Aster finally looked up, squaring his shoulders. "Could you… fight a dragon?"
Nikolai leaned casually against the counter, one eyebrow raised, the sunlight catching his silver hair like a halo of mischief. "Yeah," he said, voice smooth, deliberate. "If it isn't too strong."
Aster blinked. "Oh really?"
Without warning, Nikolai flexed a massive bicep, letting the morning light skim over its sharp definition. "Are you doubting the power of my arms?" His smirk was sly, a fox playing in its den.
Aster, cheeks already heating, let out a laugh and flicked a handful of soap bubbles at him. They burst in a sparkling cascade, clinging to Nikolai's arm, making him arch a brow.
"Cute," Nikolai said, voice low, amused. "Do you often throw soap at men stronger than you… or just me?"
Aster sputtered, flustered. "I-I...neither! It's...ugh! Stop being smug!"
Nikolai stepped closer, letting his presence loom without touching, just enough that Aster felt the heat of him. "Smug? No… I'm merely… observing. You, struggling with a sponge and your courage… it's… adorable."
Aster jabbed a sponge at him, nearly dropping it. "Adorable?! You… you fox!"
Nikolai's smirk widened, sharp and predatory. "And yet, somehow, I see you can't stop looking at me." His blue eyes flicked down to Aster's, icy and teasing. "Tell me… do you always fight with this much fire, or is it just when I'm around?"
Aster groaned, cheeks crimson, and threw the last of the bubbles at him. "I'm not flustered!"
Nikolai caught one effortlessly, rolling it between his fingers like it weighed nothing. "Mmh… fire, stubbornness, spunk… charming. You really are something else and I didn't say you were flustered you were aware that yourself."
Aster almost dropped the plate again, and Nikolai simply watched, sharp, fox-like, predatory...but never closing the distance… yet.
The kitchen was filled with the scent of soap, sunlight, and the silent electricity of a tension neither could or wanted to break.