Yandelf rolled her shoulders and stretched her arms wide, the early light dancing off her bronzed skin as she climbed gracefully back onto Noctharn's back.
"I'll go deal with the guests from last night," she said, voice relaxed but sharp beneath the yawn. "If I remember correctly, this exchange is supposed to be about learning... for the young knights, I mean. So I'll go pretend to be diplomatic."
Orion stepped up beside her, still straightening the royal pins on his half-wrinkled cloak. His hair was a bit tousled. He didn't try to fix it.
"It's more than just education," he said quietly. "This is also a chance... for them to settle the pain of their pasts. The things we couldn't."
Yandelf looked down at him. Her smile softened for a breath. Just a breath.
"Yeah... that too."
She turned without another word, her dragon's wings flapping gently as they lifted her toward the towering silhouette of Aethercastle — now glowing like a divine mirage against the morning sun.
Orion remained where he was, watching her fade into the golden horizon, then sighed and turned toward the Knights Academy.
Noctharn leaned his great head low, his silver-blue eyes narrowing with a flicker of something almost... fond.
"Climb on, young king. I shall take you to your destination."
Orion blinked, rubbing his temple gently. "Thanks, but... I'm not exactly ready yet. I look like I wrestled a bear in my sleep."
Noctharn let out a quiet, rumbling chuckle, then exhaled a slow breath of frost-laced mist.
The air shimmered around Orion, cold and clean. When the fog cleared, he stood tall—his royal attire immaculate, trimmed with navy and silver; his hair cascading down in freshly-groomed waves. Even his boots gleamed.
Orion looked down at himself and blinked twice. "…What. How?"
He opened his mouth to question further, but gave up and just sighed. "You know what? Fine. Thanks for the spa treatment."
He climbed onto Noctharn's back without another word, settling into the familiar grooves of the ancient dragon's scales.
"Now let us go."
With a single push of his wings, Noctharn soared into the air. The skies welcomed him like an old friend. Each beat of his wings was smoother than silk, the wind parting around them like a bow to royalty.
As they flew across the gleaming towers of Arian, Orion's gaze softened.
"This reminds me of Felix," he murmured. "I wonder if he's alright..."
Noctharn didn't look back, but his voice rumbled with confidence. "The Frost Dragon personally named by Lady Kaelya? If he had fallen, every Frost Dragon would have felt it. We are not so easily severed from our own."
Orion exhaled slowly, the weight in his chest easing a little.
As they approached the edge of the capital, the light caught them—Orion upon a Cryo dragon, his regal form outlined by the morning sun.
To the people of Arian below, it was no longer just a king returning.
It was a symbol.
In the Womb of Arian—
Kaelya lay submerged beneath the glowing waters of the Lake of Life, her black hair fanned out like woven threads of void. Her body pulsed with Prana so dense, so ancient, that every blade of grass in Arian leaned toward her like worshippers to a deity. The trees sang with her breath. The birds mimicked her heartbeat. Life itself knelt in reverence.
Near the water's edge, Seraphyx rested silently on a patch of grass that shimmered with ethereal glow, his wings folded like relics left too long in stillness.
Kaelya's eyes fluttered open briefly, her voice soft and fragile, like the whisper of a forgotten goddess.
"Just... two more weeks…"
Her hand trembled, releasing a faint glimmer of white-gold light into the air. "The Leylines… they need two more weeks to form. We have to make them... and link them... to the Tree of Knowledge in Teyvat…"
Her lips barely moved now. "Irmin…"
And with that, she slipped back into slumber beneath the surface, her aura spreading silently through the water like divinity liquefied.
---
Inside Seraphyx's Mindscape—
Darkness.
There was no sky, no floor, no gravity. Only an endless void pulsing with distant echoes and forgotten memories.
In the center of this emptiness floated Seraphyx—a ghost of himself. His form was hollow, transparent, like stained glass dulled by time.
His voice, raw and unanchored, rippled through the abyss.
"THE LOSS OF IDENTITY."
The words did not just echo.
They burned.
"I can't feel anything... Wait..."
His voice cracked, trembling like frost on fire.
"...Who am I?"
Silence.
"...I don't know..."
His eyes, once radiant with the cold fire of Arian's soul, flickered dimly.
"What's my purpose...?"
The void did not answer. It never did.
"...I don't know..."
And then, more quietly—resigned, hollow, distant:
"...And I don't feel the desire to want to know."
His voice dissolved into the void, like a soul forgetting how to scream.
The only thing left behind—
—was breathless stillness.
Inside the Throne Room — Aethercastle
The air shimmered with the weight of power and judgment. Moonlight spilled through stained glass windows, casting fractured colors across ancient marble.
Queen Minerva sat tall on her throne, her fingers drumming the armrest in quiet irritation. Her eyes, sharp and regal, scanned the room.
"Where is he? Orion should have been here ten minutes ago," she muttered, half to herself.
Neuvillette and Morax exchanged glances. A silent conversation passed between them, as old and unspoken as the stones beneath their feet.
"He may still be… caught in transition," Neuvillette said quietly, voice calm, but the furrow in his brow betrayed concern.
Raimei, standing to one side, curled her nails so deep into her palms that a trickle of blood kissed the floor. Her gaze burned into Neuvillette, full of history and fury.
Highfall stood near the center, boots echoing on the polished floor, his arms crossed. "This is pointless. We're dancing in circles. The King is absent, and the killers sit among us."
Just as the tension thickened—
The gates slammed open.
Yandelf strode in with a storm behind her, wings unfurled like the herald of a blizzard. Her every step radiated confidence and command, and the temperature in the room dipped just enough to make exhaled breaths visible.
"Apologies for being late," she said flatly, without even pretending to sound apologetic. "I had matters to settle with the young ones."
Her boots clicked on the red carpet as she moved forward.
"You are the one who killed my brother," Highfall growled. "Stratofall."
Yandelf's lips twitched into a small, cold smile. "Yes. I did."
"You admit it so casually?" Izel asked, voice sharp and amused a little. "Was his life nothing to you?"
Yandelf turned her gaze to Izel. "I didn't want to kill him. But he chose death the moment he lost sight of reason."
Her voice lowered, icier. "I gave him a choice to fight for his life. He refused it."
Highfall took a step forward. "You call forcing a man into a corner and committing sucide, a choice?"
Dorores, ever the shadow of caution, rose from his chair and placed a hand on Highfall's chest. "Don't do anything stupid."
Highfall pushed him away. "Let go of me."
"I'm trying to keep you alive," Dorores muttered.
From the other side, Raimei took one step forward, her eyes never leaving Neuvillette. Her voice was like broken glass.
"Speak, Dragon Judge. Did you truly have no hand in the sentence of my kin? Or have you simply washed your hands with rainwater and called it justice?"
Neuvillette's gaze met hers—calm, ancient, weary. "If I had intended to sentence the Thunderstorm Dragons , there would be no bones left to find."
Raimei's eyes twitched, fury rising.
In that breath, everything snapped.
Highfall roared and stepped forward, the ground shattering beneath him with the force of his movement. Raimei leapt, lightning coursing across her arms toward Neuvillette.
Yandelf didn't flinch.
In a blink, she spun her spear into existence, its frost-tipped edges gleaming with lethal promise. The next heartbeat echoed with the growl of dragons as three Frost Dragons emerged beside her—battle-forged titans of war, their forms barely fitting inside the grand hall, armor gleaming with centuries of scars.
But before the strike could land—
A second heartbeat dropped like a thunderclap.
BOOM.
The entire room shook.
A pressure heavier than mountains fell upon the chamber. Raimei froze mid-air. Highfall staggered. Even the Frost Dragons bent their heads instinctively.
The source?
Morax and Neuvillette. Their eyes glowed with divine wrath. Morax's jade gaze was firm, unblinking. Neuvillette's iris had become a swirling storm.
"You dare raise arms within this sacred hall?" Morax's voice rumbled like tectonic plates grinding. "I thought that We were here to blend out differences, not create more."
"You shame yourselves," Neuvillette added. "And if not for the Queen's presence, none of you would leave this room intact."
Queen Minerva stepped forward at last, letting the echo of their voices settle.
She exhaled, long and tired. "Everyone. Stand down. Mother Rosen is a single thought away from manifesting here herself. And I do not feel like explaining to her why The throne room has turned into a slaughterhouse."
The room fell silent, breath held collectively. The moment had passed... but the war still lingered just beneath their skins.