Two days later, on the first day of the twelfth month of 2034, the Northern cold felt denser than ever.
The metallic clash of swords echoed through the training courtyard, shattering the silence of the gray morning.
Ereon spun his blade with an almost lazy precision, eyes locked on his brother before him.
"You're hesitating, Éon." His voice was cold, with a faint edge of provocation. "If it were an enemy, they'd already be dead."
Éon deflected the strike with a sharp movement, stepping back, body relaxed, gaze steady.
"An enemy reveals themselves in haste," he replied, low and controlled. "You've always been too fast to understand that."
The swords crossed again. The impact reverberated like thunder among the stone columns.
Neither sought to win—only to measure the other.
The training was a silent dialogue of intentions.
Ereon attacked as if to provoke a reaction.
Éon responded as one who studies a pattern.
"The queen arrives today," Ereon said without breaking eye contact, locking his brother's blade with his own. "And the king intends to welcome her with a feast."
"So that worries you?" Éon forced a twist of his sword and pushed his brother back. "Or are you just eager to see if she's truly all they say?"
Ereon smiled, the corner of his mouth curved in irony. "They say she rules with her eyes, not her words. I want to see what happens when she looks at us."
The wind stirred between them, lifting the frozen dust.
"And if she attacks us?" Éon asked, repositioning his blade.
"Then we attack." Ereon lowered his sword, purple eyes flashing under the cold light. "Nothing reveals an enemy more than the way they choose to strike."
For a moment, they froze. The distant sound of bells began to toll, deep and continuous.
Éon lifted his gaze.
Ereon smiled.
"Seems the queen has arrived."
The bells rang again, closer this time.
Ereon dropped his sword, the blade embedding in the earth with a sharp thud.
Éon did the same.
Ereon twisted his neck, shoulders relaxed, and said with a half-smile:
"A fair duel, hand to hand. The winner decides how we greet our dear grandmother."
Éon said nothing. He simply advanced, eyes fixed on his brother.
Ereon moved first, a short lateral step, angling for the flank. His right fist arced upward toward the chin.
Éon blocked with his forearm and countered immediately—a spinning elbow grazed Ereon's shoulder.
Ereon twisted his body, barely evading, and drove his knee upward in succession, a front knee strike aiming for the abdomen.
The impact echoed. Éon absorbed the blow with his thigh, rolling slightly to maintain balance.
Ereon stepped back half a pace, lowered his center of gravity, and advanced again.
Hands, elbows, and knees collided in precise, controlled movements. No attack was wasted.
Éon dodged a punch and replied with a short combination: two straights and a low hook.
Ereon intercepted the second with his forearm, rotated his hips, and redirected his brother's force—a modified hip throw, unsettling Éon for a brief instant.
Their bodies collided with force. The sound bounced between the stone columns. Éon attempted a projection.
Ereon planted his feet and locked his brother's body. With a swift motion, he applied a kimura, controlling the arm and twisting his hips.
Éon's right arm passed over his neck, while the left gripped his waist firmly.
The brother was thrown to the ground but rolled to soften the impact, escaping the lock.
Ereon advanced again, right knee aiming for the abdomen. Éon twisted to the side and used his brother's momentum against him—the right hand grabbed the forearm, the left pushed the opposite shoulder.
Ereon fell on his back, but before hitting the ground, he thrust his legs and executed a leg scissor takedown, trapping Éon between them and spinning his body.
The maneuver ended with both locked, each trying to dominate the other. Heavy breaths, the wind mixing with the rhythmic clash of bodies.
Ereon forced Éon's arm down. Éon pushed with his knee, shifting the weight. One second. Two. Ereon let out a faint laugh, still pinned to the ground:
"You're improving."
Éon twisted his hips and applied a modified rear-naked choke, immobilizing his brother, forearm pressing against the neck.
"I learn fast," he said, taking a deep breath.
Ereon tapped his arm lightly, laughing. "Alright. Your victory."
Éon stood first, breathing deeply. He extended a hand. Ereon took it, rising with a crooked smile.
"Then you decide," Ereon said, adjusting his coat, "to watch or to strike?"
Éon lifted his gaze, golden banners fluttering behind him.
"Watch," he answered firmly. "She will reveal herself before I need to strike."
Ereon nodded, eyes fixed on the distant walls. A curious gleam crossed his eyes.
"Good. That way I can see up close what happens when the Northern serpent awakens."
The sound of the golden wheels of the procession echoed through the castle gates.
No soldier dared raise an eye.
Under the white veil, the queen surveyed the North like an enemy disguised as an ally.
The king waited atop the steps—and for a brief moment, the wind seemed to pause between them.
One of the knights opened the carriage door. She emerged, sublime, hypnotic, lethal.
Her long, silver hair cascaded like strands of light over her shoulders, contrasting with the crimson gleam of her eyes.
Skin pale as lunar marble, lips crimson, forming a smile blending elegance with a faint edge of danger.
Her royal gown, adorned with gold and rubies, seemed to pulse with its own living energy.
The crown of crystal and thorns sparkled under the Northern sun, a symbol of authority that needed no words.
The guards knelt immediately.
She raised her eyes to the king atop the stairway, speaking in a clear, controlled, ironic voice:
"I heard intriguing rumors on my journey." She paused, taking in every detail of the castle and courtyard. "Seems you've welcomed two... stray dogs."
The king remained impassive, gaze firm.
"Not every dog rejects the hand that feeds it," he replied thoughtfully. "But it is wise to remember: even the most loyal dogs can bite if provoked."
She smiled again, this time with a flicker of humor and authority.
"So… where are my unexpected guests hiding?" she teased, tilting her head slightly.
"In the courtyard, training," Cassian answered firmly. "I warned them of your arrival, but..."
Heavy footsteps echoed behind Cassian. Two figures emerged, grimy from training.
Ereon stepped down first, a casual smile on his lips, approaching with the posture of greeting an old acquaintance.
He bowed slightly in a classic gesture of courtesy and extended his hand, as if to kiss it.
The queen lifted her chin, halting him with a look mixing disdain and amusement.
"Kiss my hand, Your Majesty?" Ereon teased, raising an eyebrow. "Or is that reserved for… special occasions?"
She smiled, brief and cold, retracting her hand delicately.
"Some gestures are reserved only for those who deserve them." She paused, studying him from head to toe. "And some are better ignored."
Ereon tilted his head, eyes sparkling with irony.
"Ignored? What a crime. I enjoy it when they underestimate my etiquette…" He stepped forward, voice low. "It always yields pleasant surprises."
She stepped back subtly, watching him as one studies an animal trying to seem bigger than it is. "Surprises bite sometimes. And not always the way you expect."
Ereon laughed low, deep, provocative—a silent flirtation in the heavy air.
"Ah… I like dangerous animals. They make the game far more interesting."
The queen arched an eyebrow, the smile returning.
"We shall see, then. Some games begin with scratches… and end with scars."
For a moment, they remained still—only the distant wind broke the silence as their gazes met like blades.
Behind him, Éon remained silent, arms crossed, studying the queen with clinical attention, yet ready to intervene at any moment.
The atmosphere was set: challenge, tension, and charm entwined in every word and gesture.
The guards stayed still, nearly petrified, as the queen crossed the courtyard.
No one dared breathe loudly. Every step she took demanded attention and reverence, and yet, there was an authority that asked no permission—it simply existed.
She paused for a moment, eyes fixed on Éon.
A silence heavy with meaning descended, so dense it seemed to touch everyone present.
Éon merely nodded, brief, respectful, acknowledging the queen's attention without losing composure.
She averted her gaze and ascended the steps with graceful strides, each movement calculated, stopping beside the king.
The courtyard air seemed to compress, as if the world held its breath.
"So… this was your solution?" Her voice, cold and noble, cut through the space like a sharp blade. Every syllable carried contained danger and a silent challenge.
"I am simply receiving my daughter and grandchildren after so long," the king replied, lifting his chin, voice firm and commanding. "Remember: it was not only they who escaped ancient curses."
She tilted her head slightly, eyes flashing with disdain, steps slow over the stone.
The king remained still for a moment, before speaking again, low and firm:
"Do not delude yourself, my queen. The North has not kneeled. Neither before the Emperor… nor before you." A faint smile curved his lips. "Your little games with my brother will not change that."
The queen advanced a few steps, the fabric of her gown undulating as if alive.
"They have not yet been recognized by the temple," she said, soft but venomous between the lines. "It would be a pity if something… happened before that."
The king inclined his head, eyes cold as blades.
"No one touches my blood without my permission. If something is to happen, it will be under my command. There will be a three-day banquet… and every gesture will be witnessed."
She lifted her chin, a contained, almost provocative smile.
"Then toast. When the cups empty, remember who shares this blood—and who has a long memory for the forgotten."
She entered, and the air around became almost tangible, heavy, charged. Every presence in the courtyard felt the weight of the silent clash of wills.