The Emperor stood before a tall mirror, servants bustling quietly around him as they adjusted the folds of his formal garments. Silken layers shimmered in the light, embroidered with threads of gold and deep violet — the mark of the royal house.
Ivan Avorton de Albanus gazed at his reflection, expression unreadable but his eyes alight with anticipation. His fingers brushed the edge of his collar, straightening it. The man who stared back at him was the image of imperial grace — silver hair glinting like frost under sunlight, eyes the shade of polished amethyst. His beauty carried both the youth of a man in his prime and the authority of one born to rule.
Today, the throne room awaited him — and with it, her.
In the great hall, courtiers, advisors, and noble vessels gathered in murmuring clusters. The air was thick with speculation.
"The Maiden Knight…" someone whispered.
"Is it true? The Maiden Knight herself requested an audience?" Then another spoke, "After all these years?"
"Why now" another muttered, disbelief and curiosity mingling in their tones.
No one truly knew why she had come — only that the woman who once vanished from the world was now at the Emperor's doorstep, requesting an audience.
At the sound of the herald's staff striking the floor, the whispers died instantly.
"His Majesty, Emperor Ivan Avorton de Albanus!"
The great doors opened, and the Emperor entered from the left side, his steps calm, assured. The crowd bowed deeply as his presence filled the room — the living embodiment of power.
Ivan ascended the dais, settling onto the throne carved from white stone and gold. He rested an arm against the lion-headed armrest, his other hand smoothing a crease on his sleeve. His gaze swept over the hall — composed, regal.
"Be at ease," he said simply, his voice smooth yet commanding. The courtiers straightened, their eyes fixed on him in anticipation.
Then, with a faint smile, he gestured toward the double doors at the far end of the hall.
"Proceed," he ordered.
The herald, clearly nervous, stepped forward and took a deep breath before speaking — his voice echoing through the vaulted chamber.
"Announcing the Hero of the South, the Guardian of the North…"
"The Light of the Realm, the Blade of Dawn…'
"Marchioness Catalina Duavan Lievan Castell — the Maiden Knight!"
The massive doors groaned open, the sound of ancient wood echoing like thunder. Every gaze in the throne room turned toward the entrance.
The Emperor leaned forward slightly, his eyes glinting with something almost unguarded — a flicker of excitement buried beneath his composed mask.
And then she appeared.
Catalina Duavan — the Maiden Knight — stepped into the light.
Her boots met the red carpet with quiet authority, each step echoing like a heartbeat through the silent hall. She was clad in armor of dark gold that gleamed faintly with crimson hues, the metal etched with runic lines of her past glories. Flowing silks draped from her arms and waist, catching the light like liquid fire.
Her helmet concealed her face entirely, its pointed crown-like crests glinting as she moved — a veil of black silk trailing over her mouth, lending her an air of holy mystery. Long jeweled tassels swayed with each measured step, glimmering with deep red and violet stones.
A whisper rippled through the court — awe, reverence, and fear all at once.
Twelve years had passed since anyone had seen the Maiden Knight. And yet, here she was — unchanged, untouchable, and more mesmerizing than memory itself.
The Emperor watched her approach, the faintest curve touching his lips as he murmured, almost to himself:
"So… you've finally returned."
Catalina knelt, her movements fluid yet heavy with the weight of memory. Even after all these years, her aura as a knight still lingered—strong, unwavering, disciplined.
Emperor Ivan watched her with a faint smile.
"Rise, Marchioness Catalina. There's no need for that," he said, his voice calm but laced with quiet warmth. "After all… it's been so long since then. So—" his eyes sharpened, "why have you come to meet me after all this time?"
Catalina didn't answer right away. She hesitated, her head still bowed, as though searching for words that refused to come. Slowly, she stood, her gloved hand brushing the side of her armor. Her mouth twitched slightly beneath her veil—she was about to speak when—
The double doors burst open.
A soldier stumbled in, panting, his boots echoing across the marble. He rushed forward, dropping to one knee just distances behind Catalina, his voice trembling with urgency.
"Your Majesty!" he cried.
"I bring news from the North! I apologize for the sudden intrusion—!"
The court erupted into startled murmurs. Nobles leaned in, whispering furiously. The noise was a storm of confusion—
"What's happening?"
"From the North?"
"Now, of all times?"
Ivan's expression soured immediately. His jaw tightened, his patience thinning. He had waited for this reunion for years—twelve years—and now someone had barged in right as she was about to speak. It was, to him, like having his favorite dessert snatched away mid-bite.
He rose slightly, his tone cold. "Remove him," he ordered.
The royal guards stepped forward, seizing the soldier by both arms. The poor man looked panicked, unsure what to do—his words tangled in his throat as he struggled to explain.
Before the guards could drag him out, Catalina's voice cut through the noise.
"Your Majesty," she said firmly, not turning around.
"with respect—news from the North should not be silenced. Let him speak."
The words struck the hall into silence.
All eyes turned toward her—the Maiden Knight, standing tall and unmoving, her tone neither pleading nor commanding, but balanced between the two.
Ivan stared at her for a moment, clearly displeased, but also… intrigued. He exhaled through his nose, annoyed. Then his gaze shifted to his left—just below the throne's steps where his advisors sat.
There, Robin, his most trusted aide, was staring up at him with wide eyes, discreetly shaking his head and clasping his hands together in a silent "Please, just hear him out, Your Majesty."
Ivan's brow twitched. A sigh slipped from him.
With a wave of his hand, he muttered, "Fine. Release him."
The guards obeyed instantly, letting go. The soldier dropped down, steadying himself before kneeling once again, breathless but determined.
"Your Majesty," he began, voice steadier now.
"This message could not wait. It only just happened a few days ago, The Duke of the North Eldrin Thane Veynar—requests your aid. And… especially—" he hesitated, eyes flicking toward the emperor, "—the aid of the Maiden Knight once more."
The throne room froze.
It was as if the air itself had stopped moving. Advisors exchanged uneasy glances. Courtiers murmured nervously, their whispers rising like ripples in still water.
Ivan's expression darkened, his voice booming across the chamber.
"The Duke of the North dares to ask me for aid?" he thundered. "He, who stands as Warden of the Wall, sworn to guard the realm's northern border, seeks my help? Has he forgotten his duty?"
He leaned forward, anger flashing in his eyes.
"And to summon her—" his hand gestured sharply toward Catalina, "—a retired knight whose service I personally honored and laid to rest—! This is outrageous!"
The soldier faltered when the Emperor's gesture directed his gaze toward the woman standing before him. His breath hitched—his eyes widening beneath his helmet.
There she was. The Maiden Knight.
His knees almost buckled as realization struck him; he had spoken in her presence—her presence. For a brief moment, all words deserted him. Awe filled his chest, and reverence took hold.
The courtiers recoiled, some murmuring prayers, others watching the Emperor's fury in silence.
The soldier bowed lower, trembling, unable to speak further. The court fell into uneasy whispers once more.
"It's been years since the last summons from the North…"
"Why now?"
"Has something… awakened?"
A heavy stillness spread. The Emperor's anger slowly cooled, replaced by something else—unease.
"So," Ivan murmured, his tone low and wary, "the far North stirs once more…"
The words hung like frost in the air, cold and foreboding.
Somewhere beyond those mountains, beyond the reach of southern light, something had begun to move again.
Something the world once feared enough to forget.