In another dream—another reality—
Orion found himself holding a blade to Frieda's throat.
His hands trembled, yet the knife remained pressed against the fragile skin at her neck. Her eyes, wide and shimmering, were not afraid. They understood.
Then—shatter.
The scene dissolved into another life. This time, Frieda was pregnant. Her hand rested on her swollen belly as Orion held her close, forehead pressed to hers, their shared warmth defying the cold around them. They whispered names they'd never remember.
Again, the world shifted.
Now they were not lovers, but gods—Heavenly Principles incarnate. Together, side by side in radiant armor, they hunted the Sovereigns across starless voids, their wings casting celestial shadows as galaxies trembled beneath their decree.
And still the dream wove on.
Countless lifetimes spiraled outward—each a thread in an unfathomable tapestry. Some ended in fire, some in tears. In some, they were enemies. In others, strangers who brushed fingers on crowded streets and never knew why their hearts ached.
Through all of it, Morven watched.
From a place beyond time, he kept his silent vigil. An ancient eye in the ever-turning storm.
He did not mourn the memories lost. That was the nature of such dreams. What mattered were the feelings—the impressions seared into the soul like starlight onto night. The agony of betrayal. The serenity of an embrace. The laughter. The grief. The ache of a kiss almost given. These would remain.
Because when the soul remembers, the body follows.
---
Back in the Realm of Arian.
Far from dreams, far from illusions, the sunlit spires of Aethercastle pierced the clouds like blades of divine geometry. Marble walls shimmered with woven veins of starlight, the heart of civilization pulsing through its corridors.
In the royal chamber, laughter rang gently beneath crystal chandeliers.
Seraphyx stood tall, draped in robes of molten midnight and sky-silver, his smile as sharp as it was sincere. Across from him, seated with the ease of old companions, were Queen Minerva—serene, ageless, unreadable—and King Orion, his presence a strange blend of warmth and weariness.
Their conversation flowed like aged wine… until it was interrupted.
A rift tore reality open mid-air. The air snapped, crackled, and folded in on itself like a page being turned too harshly.
Ignarion stepped through.
The light from the rift clung to his silhouette for a heartbeat longer, as if reluctant to let him go. His cloak dragged the weight of distant storms behind him, and he let out a long, weary sigh.
Seraphyx raised an elegant brow, the corner of his lips twitching.
"Ignarion," he greeted with a knowing smile. "How goes Prince Orion's training?"
Ignarion let out another sigh, slow and heavy, before nodding. He walked over to a high-backed chair of woven crystal and took his seat across from the royal couple and Seraphyx. Resting his cheek against a gloved hand, he stared at the polished floor for a moment before speaking.
"I wasn't able to teach him much," he admitted. "He's able to walk again—that's something. But his fighting skills?" He glanced at the seated King Orion and gave a tired smile. "They're worse than this one's. Useful for a monarch, maybe. But far beneath what's expected of an Emblem."
Seraphyx tilted his head, not unkindly, but with curiosity. "That's to be expected… but why weren't you able to teach him? Wasn't that the reason you took him under your wing?"
Ignarion's brow creased.
"He has no potential for combat. Not for the sword, not for brute strength. I've passed his training over to Morven instead." His tone dropped into something grimmer. "Maybe Morven can bring out what never existed."
At that, Seraphyx's expression darkened. He stood sharply, the silk of his robes whispering with sudden motion. "You gave him to Morven?"
He stepped forward, eyes narrowing. "Ignarion… what have you done? Without Morven, who's going to watch the barrier?"
Ignarion flinched slightly, taking a small step back before lifting both hands in mild defense. "Calm down, Seraphyx. No one knows the Realm of Arian exists—not near Dragonspine, not anywhere."
Seraphyx didn't ease his glare. "That may have been true in the past. But since the Abyss attack, we can't afford that kind of certainty. The remains of the battle weren't contained. Durin's corpse still rots across the entire mountain range."
The air seemed to chill at the mention of Durin.
Ignarion exhaled through his nose, firm but not dismissive. "I know. Traces of my blade are still etched into his bones… But if anyone were to attempt to breach the barrier, we'd still have a full day's warning. That's ample time to bring Morven back."
Seraphyx studied him for a long moment before slowly backing down. He returned to his seat, the tension in his shoulders easing slightly as he sank into the chair with a tired groan.
"…I suppose that's true," he murmured, rubbing his temple.
From beside him, Queen Minerva leaned gently into Seraphyx's side, resting her head on his shoulder. King Orion mirrored her, wrapping an arm around Seraphyx's waist with a teasing grin.
"Don't worry, Mother," King Orion said softly. "Mother Rosen is with us. Who could possibly harm this realm while she watches over it?"
But Seraphyx didn't return the smile.
His frown deepened. "She won't be able to take part in any battle, should something happen," he said. "Mother Rosen can't afford to be sensed by the Heavenly Principles. If they become aware of her existence…" His voice dropped to a whisper, heavy with dread. "The Realm of Arian will be destroyed."
Far above the jagged, frozen ridges of Dragonspine, a shape darkened the clouds.
A serpentine dragon, scales a sickly emerald laced with pulsing black veins, glided silently across the sky. Its wings—vast enough to carry ten of its own massive body—stretched like living shadows, blotting out the moonlight as it passed.
Cradled between the ridges of its spine was a man clad in the polished white and silver of the Knights of Favonius. He sat motionless, eyes glowing faintly with a rose-tinted light—an unnatural hue beneath his helm.
In a voice not quite his own, he spoke:
"We found him near the northern base. He introduced himself as the Crown Prince of Arian. Captain Frieda ordered us to continue the patrol while she stayed behind to monitor him."
The dragon sneered, lips curling around jagged fangs.
"That's ample information."
Without another word, it banked sharply, gliding back toward Starfell Lake. The wind howled beneath its wings as it descended, talons scraping against stone and snow as it gently released the knight onto the ground.
The dragon's head lowered, slitted eyes gleaming with amusement and hunger.
"Highfall's intelligence was brilliant," it hissed. "We've found the location of Arian's barrier at last."
Then, with a powerful sweep of its wings, it lifted off again, scales flashing green-black in the moonlight.
As the knight's boots touched the earth, the pink glow faded from his eyes. He blinked, disoriented, looking around with confusion—no memory of the flight, or the words he'd spoken.
Above, the dragon hovered in the clouds, lost in thought.
"The man carries the essence of VlastMoroz…" it muttered, tone no longer mocking, but wary. "A realm full of such beings…"
Its voice turned somber, even pained.
"If war breaks out… too many of our kind will die. Perhaps His Highness was right. Perhaps we should consider an alliance rather than resistance."
But then it chuckled—low and ancient, a sound that sent frost shivering down pine trees.
"Or maybe... I'll just pay an old friend a visit."
"Let the people of Arian feel fear in their bones."