The grand doors of Aethercastle swung open with a thunderous boom.
"Daughter, what are you doing?!"
King Orion stormed into the chamber, fury etched into every line of his regal face.
"Frieda, today is your coronation. You're to be crowned Queen!"
He let out a long, exhausted sigh and dropped into the velvet-cushioned chair beside her.
Frieda, however, didn't look remotely ready to rule.
Still in pajamas, her blonde hair a mess, she sat cross-legged on a velvet couch, nibbling on dried berries. Her cool blue eyes, framed by a pale, fair complexion, looked nothing like her father's flame-toned features.
"But Father…" she muttered, avoiding his gaze, "I don't want to be Queen. I want to live—go beyond this kingdom. There's more out there than thrones and parades."
King Orion massaged his temples.
"Frieda. I've told you a million times. You're meant to inherit this kingdom's legacy. The whole of Arian believes you will carry us into the future, my dear."
He moved closer, launching into a heartfelt—if slightly condescending—lecture about duty, legacy, and sacrifice.
Frieda, already tuning out, gazed longingly through the stained-glass windows at the blue horizon beyond.
"If only I'd been born somewhere else," she whispered.
"A place where freedom isn't a privilege but a birthright… where I could be whoever I wanted."
---
Meanwhile, in Mondstadt...
The winds were wild, the music was loud, and the tavern was definitely violating fire safety codes.
Inside, Orion slammed his mug down on the counter with a barbaric laugh.
"Two more glasses of wine—for me and my friend Venti!" he roared, throwing an arm around the bard's slender shoulders.
"CHEERS, my friend! HAPPY BIRTHDAY!"
Venti, blinking and already three cups in, hiccupped.
"Orion... you've had too much..."
He blinked again, confused.
"And today isn't my birthday."
Orion paused, furrowed his brow… then started laughing even harder.
"THEN DRINK IN ADVANCE!"
The grand hall of Aethercastle shimmered with golden light. Trumpets blared. Velvet banners waved in the airless breeze of expectation. All around the hall, nobles in ceremonial robes knelt, forming a path lined with lowered heads and whispered prayers.
At the end of it stood Frieda—draped in regal silver and blue, her blonde hair braided with frost-white jewels. Her cool eyes were steady, her steps silent as she walked toward the throne.
Queen Minerva clutched King Orion's arm, both holding their breath.
Then…
She stopped.
Halfway down the aisle.
A beat passed. Then another.
Frieda slowly turned.
"No…" she whispered. Then louder. "I won't be taking the role of Queen."
The hall gasped. Nobles stirred. Confusion erupted in hushed murmurs.
And then Frieda ran.
"GUARDS!" King Orion roared. "Stop the Princess!"
Steel clashed and boots thundered as royal guards surged forward—but they were too slow.
Frieda leapt—graceful as moonlight—vaulting onto the shoulders of a noble, kicking off with a spin, flipping over a guard's halberd.
"Sorry, Lord Cedric!" she called mid-air as she used the poor noble's head as a springboard.
One guard lunged—she stepped on his shield, spun sideways, and vaulted again, her laughter echoing as silken banners tore in her wake.
The massive gates of the throne room creaked—
And slammed shut.
Frieda skidded to a halt just meters away, chest rising and falling. Guards closed in. Her path was gone.
But then—
A divine light pierced the hall.
From the heavens above, through the stained-glass ceiling itself, a radiant beam descended, bathing the space in soft, holy brilliance.
And from that light… came a dragon.
A small, elegant creature with scales like pearl-dusted snow, wings that shimmered like translucent silk, and a crown of delicate feathers that pulsed with quiet majesty. It descended with a grace that silenced even the guards.
Every soul in the chamber froze.
Then—they knelt.
Even King Orion.
Even Queen Minerva.
The divine presence was unmistakable: Seraphyx.
But something else stirred within him. A warmth. A whisper of something ancient. Maternal.
Frieda stood frozen as Seraphyx approached—his form still glowing with celestial light.
He lowered his head… and gently touched her forehead with his own.
The moment their skin met, Frieda's eyes widened. Her breath hitched.
"I understand," Seraphyx said softly. His voice was warm—almost motherly.
"You want to go. To witness it for yourself."
The divine dragon's eyes sparkled.
"Let me help you."
His wings unfurled, stardust trailing from each feathered tip.
Frieda gasped as a sigil of flight bloomed beneath her feet, the ground glowing with ethereal frost and fire. The gates behind her shimmered—not open, but unlocked by something greater than authority.
In the quiet streets of Mondstadt, beneath the twilight sky, Orion lay sprawled across cobblestones like a tragic sculpture of bad decisions and vintage wine. His silver hair was tousled, his clothes rumpled, and his arm still reached out, as if trying to toast an imaginary glass in his sleep.
He snored gently. A pigeon judged him from a nearby rooftop.
Then—light cracked the air.
Right in the middle of the street where Orion lay, a rift formed, spinning with glimmers of frost and stardust. The world paused.
Through it stepped Frieda—still barefoot from her coronation escape, but glowing with purpose. Her silver-blonde hair billowed softly behind her, and her cool blue eyes scanned the unfamiliar surroundings with cautious wonder.
Hovering beside her was the dragon head of Seraphyx, spectral and semi-transparent, a fragment of divinity woven into the veil between realms.
"Remember," Seraphyx intoned, voice solemn and low,
"If any danger arises—repeat this exact phrase:
'I ask for the VlastMoroz's Emblem, Yandelf, to protect me from threats beyond Arian.'"
A flicker of tension passed through his dragon eyes.
"Some of the frost dragons will respond instantly. Don't hesitate."
Frieda nodded, stepping closer. She pressed a soft kiss to his scaled brow, affection sparkling in her eyes.
"Thank you… Mother."
She whispered.
"I love you."
The spectral dragon lingered for a moment… then vanished as the rift closed behind her, folding reality back into place like it had never been touched.
She turned.
And there, in the middle of the street, still lying face-down and completely dead to the world...
Was Orion.
Frieda blinked.
"...Is that a wine bottle under his head?"
A silver-haired man, slumped sideways on a wooden bench near a closed fruit stall, one boot off, a half-empty wine bottle nestled under his arm like a beloved child.
Frieda tilted her head.
"Oh no..."
She stepped closer, frowning in concern.
The man's breathing was slow but steady. His hair glittered under the moonlight, and despite the mess—there was a strange warmth to his presence.
"...Sir?" she whispered gently, crouching beside him.
"Are you alright?"
The man stirred, eyes fluttering open—just barely.
"You're... so pretty," he slurred, voice dreamy and full of soft awe.
"You smell like... stars and snow... Are you real?"
Frieda blushed furiously.
"Y-Yes. I'm quite real. I think you may be... intoxicated."
She looked around, unsure.
"Do you live nearby? Can I help you get home?"
The man blinked. Then pointed in a direction that may or may not have been east.
"Uh... somewhere... with a green roof... and a duck... I think I left my soup outside..."
Frieda nodded as if that was entirely coherent.
"Alright. Come on. Let's get you there."
She helped him up, wrapping one arm around his waist and slinging his arm over her shoulders. Despite her slim frame, there was strength in her—trained poise hidden behind royal softness.
The man leaned into her, eyes fluttering again.
"You feel... safe."
"You smell like someone I lost..."
Frieda paused, glancing at him—something tugging at her chest.
But she smiled softly.
"And you're someone I hope finds his way."
Together, they walked under the starlight, one half-asleep and mumbling nonsense about dragons and soup, the other quietly wondering why her heart beat faster near this stranger.
She didn't know his name.
He didn't know he'd already loved her.
But for one stolen moment, two souls brushed against fate once more—not with fire, not with frost…
…but with kindness.