The southern wind smelled of pine and rain when the carriage finally rolled beyond Solvane's borders.
For three days, Ryn and Lysandra traveled without pause — sleeping in turns, eating whatever Ryn could "borrow" from roadside stalls, and avoiding soldiers who were suddenly very interested in posters featuring a masked man and a pink-haired princess.
Each wanted poster called him The Ice Fox — Traitor of Solvane.
The sketches were flattering. He kept one.
By the fourth morning, the road narrowed into winding trails flanked by towering trees whose leaves shimmered green and gold under sunlight that never quite reached the ground.
The Southern Empire of Eldara.
Home of elves, forests older than memory, and the bearer of the Greenery Dragon Spirit — Princess Ilyndra Veylen.
Ryn reined the horse in at the forest's edge. "So, this is the part where we don't anger the nature people, right?"
Lysandra sighed. "Try not to steal any trees."
He gasped. "You make one mistake with a royal orchard and suddenly you have a reputation."
She smirked. "You set it on fire."
"Minor detail," he muttered, guiding the carriage under the emerald canopy.
The deeper they went, the stranger the world became.
The air grew thick with pollen and light, like liquid sunlight. Flowers bloomed in their footprints. Whispering vines curled from branches, brushing against their hair as if curious.
Ryn's horse snorted nervously. "Even the plants are judging me."
"Behave," Lysandra said softly. "The Greenery Spirit watches everything here."
"Good to know," Ryn muttered. "Next time I sneeze, I'll apologize to the ferns."
Still, despite his sarcasm, he couldn't deny the beauty. The forest pulsed with life — leaves humming faintly, streams glowing with phosphorescent moss.
It was the kind of place that felt alive enough to listen.
They followed a narrow path between roots thick as walls, sunlight spilling through the leaves in shifting gold patterns.
Then Ryn frowned. "Hold on… Didn't we pass that rock before?"
Lysandra looked around. "I think we took the wrong turn."
Ryn pointed. "How can you take a wrong turn in a forest that literally grows in one direction?"
"Don't blame me!" she snapped. "You're the one steering."
"I'm steering, not navigating! There's a difference!"
A sudden rustle made them both freeze.
The air shimmered. Leaves fluttered without wind. Then — from the branches above — shapes dropped like shadows.
Five figures landed silently around the carriage, their cloaks blending with the forest. Long silver-green hair framed sharp ears and sharper eyes. Bows drawn, arrows glowing faintly with spirit light.
Ryn raised his hands slowly. "Okay, I surrender on behalf of gravity for scaring me."
One of the elves stepped forward, his voice calm but firm. "Intruders. You walk uninvited through the Sacred Grove of Eldara."
"Uninvited?" Ryn asked. "We were totally invited. Right, Princess?"
Lysandra whispered through clenched teeth, "We were not invited."
"Ah. Right. Then consider this… a surprise visit?"
The elf scowled. "State your purpose."
Ryn glanced at Lysandra. "You're the royal one. You do the talking."
She sighed and lowered her hood. The moment the sunlight hit her pink hair and emerald eyes, the elves hesitated — recognition flashing across their faces.
"I am Princess Lysandra of Lumeria," she said. "Bearer of the Greenery Spirit's rose."
The lead elf blinked, uncertain. "The Rose-Bound One? Then why—"
Ryn interrupted. "Great! Glad that's sorted. Now, if you could just let us—"
An arrow thunked into the dirt an inch from his boot.
"—go deeper into your terrifying forest in peace," he finished weakly.
The elf narrowed his eyes. "Your companion wears the mask of a thief. His name?"
Ryn hesitated. "Uh, Mr. Not Important?"
The elf drew another arrow.
Lysandra sighed. "He's called the Ice Fox."
Every elf froze.
Then, almost simultaneously, they drew their weapons tighter.
"The Ice Fox?" one hissed. "The one who defied Solvane? The breaker of the treaty?"
Ryn held up his hands. "Whoa, whoa, let's be clear. It wasn't defiance, it was… creative disagreement."
"Seize them."
"Oh, come on!"
The next hour was a blur of ropes, stubborn horses, and Ryn's endless complaints.
They were marched through the forest under guard, vines parting silently as if the woods themselves disapproved.
Ryn leaned toward Lysandra as they walked. "Okay, so maybe diplomacy isn't my strong suit."
She didn't look at him. "You think?"
"Hey, in my defense, I only annoyed them slightly before they decided to tie me up."
"They were aiming to shoot you."
"See? That's restraint! I'm rubbing off on them already."
Despite herself, Lysandra nearly smiled.
When they reached the heart of the forest, the trees opened into a vast clearing — and Ryn stopped dead.
Before them rose an enormous tree, wide as a fortress and tall enough to scrape the clouds. Bridges of woven vines wound around its trunk, connecting platforms that shimmered with golden runes.
The Palace of Eldara.
Ryn whistled low. "You could build a whole city in there."
Lysandra nodded softly. "That's the seat of Princess Ilyndra — bearer of the Greenery Dragon Spirit."
"Right," Ryn muttered. "The woman who can probably talk to trees and hates people who steal apples."
They were led up a spiraling bridge that wound through glowing leaves. Fireflies drifted like stars. The air smelled of rain and roses.
When they reached the top, an archway opened into a vast hall carved from living wood, its walls blooming with flowers that seemed to grow from song.
And there, seated cross-legged on a throne of intertwined roots and petals, was Princess Ilyndra.
At first glance, she looked no older than twenty — her skin pale gold, her hair a cascade of living green that shimmered like sunlight on water.
But her eyes — ancient, calm, and amused — betrayed forty years of wisdom and power.
She rested her chin on one hand, watching the guards drag Ryn forward.
"Well, well," she said, her voice lilting like wind through leaves. "What do we have here? A runaway princess and a masked fox."
Ryn straightened, trying to sound casual. "Nice palace. Love the foliage. Big fan of not being executed."
Ilyndra's lips curved. "You must be the famous Ice Fox. I expected someone taller."
Ryn blinked. "You know, I get that a lot."
The elves pressed him to kneel. He resisted just long enough to make it awkward, then sighed and dropped to one knee. "Your royal leafiness."
Lysandra buried her face in her hands. "Please forgive him. He has… issues."
Ilyndra chuckled, her laughter light but cutting. "Oh, I don't mind. It's been years since anyone dared joke in this hall."
She leaned forward, studying Ryn with curious eyes. "So, this is the man who broke a divine seal and angered five empires. You don't look like a godslayer."
He tilted his head. "More of a god's mild inconvenience, really."
Her smile deepened. "I like him."
The guards exchanged uneasy looks. Lysandra sighed, half in exasperation, half in relief.
"Your Highness," Lysandra said softly, "we seek only passage through your lands. We mean no harm."
Ilyndra waved a delicate hand. "Peace, child of roses. You carry the Greenery's mark — though faintly. You'll have safe passage."
Her gaze flicked back to Ryn. "But him…"
Ryn froze. "Him what?"
Ilyndra's eyes gleamed with mischief. "He intrigues me. The forest whispers strange things about his frost — that it does not belong to the Ice Dragon alone."
Ryn tried to laugh it off. "Oh, the forest must've misheard. Happens all the time. Trees are terrible gossips."
She rose gracefully, stepping down from her throne. The air shimmered faintly around her — every petal in the hall turning toward her like worshipers.
"Bring him to the courtyard," she said, her tone soft but commanding. "I wish to see if the Ice Fox's tricks melt before the bloom of the Greenery Spirit."
Ryn blinked. "Wait, hold on, can we not—"
"Silence," one guard said, pushing him forward.
Ilyndra smiled — a smile equal parts kindness and danger. "Relax, little fox. I promise not to kill you… probably."
Ryn groaned. "You say that like it's supposed to be comforting."
Lysandra followed, whispering, "Try not to insult her plants."
"No promises."
As they were dragged toward the glowing courtyard, Ryn muttered under his breath, "Great. Arrested by elves, judged by a flower queen, and I haven't even had lunch."
The laughter that followed him wasn't his own — it came from the princess herself, amused by the mortal foolish enough to joke before a dragon's heir.
And somewhere deep within the vast living palace, the vines rustled, whispering as though the forest itself were laughing too.