[Mirabel Anstalionah]
Morning sunlight drifted through the open archways of the garden, painting the roses in pale gold.
The air still carried the softness of night, and the quiet hum of distant wards reminded me the world beyond these walls was already stirring for war.
Nicholas was attending the Council of Order, something held to revise and speculate about the future of Anstalionah.
I had Veronica remain with me, though she wore the lighter silks I'd chosen for her, less temptation, more distraction.
Her presence here was deliberate; her eyes caught movement where my magic could not.
Still, she requested to be sent, so sent she shall.
The twins rested peacefully beneath the shade of the willow canopy. Their soft breathing steadied me as I monitored the frontlines.
Scouts from both sides moved with caution, each step hesitant as if the ground itself were listening.
The dragons' forces had settled on a nearby island, layered in protective magic even I would need time to unravel.
Fertical's messengers arrived before dawn, claiming Stella intended to declare war.
They asked for alliance, us against them, and Drandafal. Uhana, ever the diplomat, agreed to act as mediator.
Still, I would not rely on sentiment. I've learned that emotions cloud the only thing worth trusting: results.
Before Nicholas left, I placed a bind upon him, subtle enough that even he would not notice.
It was not born of distrust, but necessity.
His True Self is far too powerful, and if grief twisted it again, even the Heavens would tremble.
I refuse to let that version of him return, not until we both ascend, together.
Even if that ascension is feared.
***
[One Day Later: Sansir]
The moon hung high like a blade sharpened by the night, its reflection glinting along the edge of my sword.
I slowly wiped the monster blood away with a cloth, each motion steady and ritualistic, a way to keep my mind from unraveling in the stillness.
The tent was small, one bed, a table, a low-burning lantern, and outside, the wind carried the screams of dying beasts across the frostbitten plain.
The dragons hadn't attacked directly, only dropped monsters from the skies like living bombs.
Each fall shattered lines, crushed men, and sent the rest scattering in panic.
We had stretched the borders of our territory to the very edge of the coast, yet the order to strike the island never came.
So I waited, blade in hand, restless, loyal, and on edge.
When she arrived, Veronica, dressed in sleek black armor that caught the moonlight in sharp, flickering glints.
She moved too fast and collided with me, sending me stumbling back into the tent.
Her eyes met mine, steady and bright, but there was a subtle flicker at the corners, a teasing spark I couldn't quite read.
"Alright," she said softly, almost cooing, "you have new orders. Time to head forward."
I grabbed her waist instinctively. "Really? Tell me… is there an army waiting for me?"
Her lips curved faintly, but there was a hidden sharpness beneath it.
"Yes… though perhaps you'll meet Danguian soldiers as well. Or maybe you'll find the danger elsewhere."
Her words lingered, deliberate and teasing, and I found myself questioning whether she meant it, or was simply testing me.
I exhaled through my nose. Of course.
Dangu had been silent for weeks, letting the dragons roam freely. That kind of silence always meant betrayal.
"So," she asked, tilting her head just slightly, "how's it been out here? Lonely without someone to tease?"
Her voice carried a soft, playful lilt, but I couldn't tell if it was genuine or deliberate seduction.
I gestured for her to come further inside, closing the tent flap behind us. "Come on. I'll tell you while we get ready for bed."
As I stripped off my armor, setting each piece neatly on the table, I noticed her removing her own.
Only black underclothes remained, sleek, minimal, almost tactical.
"You're insane," I muttered. "If anything tears through that armor, you'd be standing there naked."
She tapped her chin thoughtfully, letting her eyes linger on me a beat too long. "Who knows," she said with a faint, wicked smile.
There was a pause, and in that moment I felt it, her subtle intent, teasing yet controlled, coaxing me to see her, want her, question myself.
I sighed and sat on the bed. "It's been constant attacks," I said, voice low. "Planned. Coordinated."
She sat beside me, close enough that her subtle scent, a natural musk with faint floral undertones, reached me.
"Mirabel wants the armies crushed quickly," she said quietly, almost too quietly, letting her words slide over me like a caress.
"Then we march west, to the continent's edge."
I studied her carefully. "You alright? You look… tense."
She exhaled slowly, letting her gaze drop. "This is important. I'm… in a war, after all."
Her tone suggested more, an unspoken question about me, about us, about whether I noticed her effort, her presence.
I leaned back, folding my arms behind my head. "You should rest. Tomorrow will be worse than today."
Winter had claimed the north.
The heater Nicholas had given us hummed softly, keeping the air tolerable, though the earth itself radiated cold.
When she crawled under the blanket and pressed close, I didn't resist. Warmth was survival.
Her head rested against my chest, her hair spilling like dark silk.
Young, my age, yet already fierce, sharp, capable, a predator hidden behind civility.
I admired her, I truly did. Veronica was the kind of woman who never faltered, never bent to fear.
But her calm… it unnerved me. Deliberate, practiced, seductive in its subtlety.
Her legs wound around mine, her warmth sinking into me, and I felt my pulse rise.
She shifted restlessly, chasing comfort yet daring me to respond, testing me.
I laid still, letting her movements speak, until she finally gave a soft, frustrated grunt and straddled me.
"Hey?" she asked, eyes gleaming with mischief and challenge. "Am I really just not pretty to you? Can't you feel me?"
For a heartbeat, I almost laughed, not out of mockery, but disbelief.
The woman in my arms was stunning, magnetic, dangerous. And yet here she was, vulnerable, testing me.
"Damn it, woman," I said at last, voice low and rough, hands rising to her chest. "Just kiss me."
Her lips curved, faintly teasing, tilting her head as if gauging my resolve. "It's really that easy? Here I thought you were a virtuous man."
"Marriage?" I gave a short, humorless laugh. "I'm a soldier about to fight resurrected dragons. You think I care enough to resist you?"
She leaned down, pressing her lips to mine with deliberate, calculated intimacy, warm and soft. "Hmm… probably not. So this is fine."
Her presence atop me felt almost sacred, a quiet, consuming light that seeped into my skin and bones.
Her lips tasted of sugar and wine, subtly prepared for this, yet I couldn't tell whether the intention was seduction, reassurance, or something darker.
I lifted her slightly, spinning her beneath me, smooth and instinctive. "You drunk?" I murmured. "Aren't you afraid you might regret this?"
Her arms slipped easily around my neck, drawing me in close.
"I'm sober enough to know you taste like blood," she whispered, "and look like my future husband."
I hesitated, weighing the thought of marrying her, a woman both brilliant and ferocious.
There were no cons.
Perhaps her beauty erased them, or perhaps it was my quiet devotion to her eyes.
These were eyes which held both fire and mystery, and something I didn't yet dare name.
I lowered my head, tracing a line between her breasts. "You know," I murmured, "those are… quite reassuring words."
It was war, a force that defied explanation.
Soldiers who risked their lives, medics who tended the wounded and healed the weak, generals who guided and commanded, each playing their part in the chaos.
War could not be confined by normality or formality.
Yet when a blessing was granted to those who fought, they accepted it without hesitation.
Was it the rain that hid their tracks, or the blood that revealed their intentions?
Was it death that freed their orders, or the vows they kept to the bitter end?
Each act, each choice, allowed them to exist beyond the field that sought to claim them.
But above all, there was love, an emotion that drove them, that fueled them. Some raged with it, some wept.
This love of satisfaction, fleeting and desperate, became their final act of defiance, a last chance to feel something amid the impossibility of it all.
I basked in the moment, suspended in the impossible.
It was perfect. I could remember this forever.