They approached a towering structure of ice and stone, its entrance carved with faintly glowing runes warmed by the oasis air.
As they drew closer, the doors opened on their own, revealing a long corridor sloping downward into light.
They walked through in silence.
The corridor opened into an ancient city, so vast and breathtaking it forced a moment of stillness from every one of them.
It was like walking into an Atlantean myth reforged in ice and emerald light.
Tiered terraces spiraled downward, carved into the hollowed interior of the plateau itself. Great sweeping bridges stretched between crystalline towers. Waterfalls poured from impossible heights, turning into glowing mist that drifted through the air like stardust.
Dragons — sleek, powerful, scaled in silver, sapphire, and frost — perched along rooftops and balcony rails as though they were extensions of the architecture.
Mage-lamps illuminated the city in shifting hues of blue and gold.
People filled the streets below — thousands — but each bore dark hair and blue eyes.
Their clothing was woven with silver thread, ceremonial and elegant.
Mages and shifters walked side by side without separation.
Nova's breath hitched softly — barely audible — but she kept her spine straight, her expression serene. Only Jax and Fin noticed the micro-reaction.
Without a word, she dismissed Fin's gold shield.
A shield here would be perceived as a threat.
This was a city with civilians. There would be no open fire.
And every set of eyes was turning toward her.
Their elevated walkway stretched high above the bustling lower levels, clearly a path reserved for nobles or high officials. The people on this upper tier — finely dressed, poised — froze as the group approached. Conversations halted mid-sentence.
Not just staring at Nova.
Staring at all of them.
Five outsiders.
All of their appearances were different from anything they'd ever seen.
Dragons perched above shifted, sensing something. Their heads snapped toward Nova, eyes glowing like glacier fire.
Nova looked down briefly, steadying herself, making sure her eyes remained green.
She blinked twice, controlled her breath, then lifted her gaze again — composed.
Jax felt his own vision beginning to blaze sapphire. He forced his eyes down, grounding himself before looking up again. He did not need this city realizing he and Nova were bonded to dragons in the same breath.
As they continued along the high road, the dragons stood, wings rustling.
Then — one by one — they exhaled columns of ice into the air, spiraling them upward in a synchronized salute.
And they bowed.
Every dragon in sight.
Fin's pulse spiked.
Rex inhaled sharply.
Aeron whispered, "Gods…"
But something else happened too.
Several dragons shifted their attention to Jax — watching him with the same reverence.
And they bowed again.
Rex's eyes narrowed sharply, a calculating glint passing through them.
"Interesting," he murmured under his breath, unreadable.
The procession continued. The dragons watched from above.
No one spoke. There was a quiet understanding, they were being taken to the leader.
The warriors led them into a crystalline palace carved from ice and stone, lit from within by glowing sapphire. A vast fountain dominated the entry hall — water so clear it looked unreal, spilling in sheets of liquid crystal into a basin shaped like a dragon's wing.
Two thrones sat at the far end of the chamber.
A king and queen occupied them — regal in every sense.
The queen's gown shimmered like frostwoven silk. Her eyes were cutting blue, her dark wavy hair had braids, and a gold crown sat upon her head.
The king wore armor worked with dragon motifs, elegant but unmistakably meant for war.
Nova immediately lowered herself into a respectful dip curtsey, head bowed. When she spoke, her voice flowed in their language — smooth, reverent, flawless.
The queen rose slowly.
Her steps were nearly soundless as she circled Nova, examining her with the precision of a general studying a battlefield. She spoke sharply in her tongue to the king — the cadence clipped, assessing, not friendly.
Fin's jaw flexed. Rex subtly shifted his stance.
Nova remained still.
Composed.
Warm.
When she responded — again in their tongue — her tone held respect, steadiness, and the calm control of someone who refused to be intimidated.
The queen's expression stone. Almost an expression of malice or dislike.
A test.
A deliberate push.
The queen stepped back, eyes never leaving Nova.
Then the king spoke — in perfect common tongue.
"Interesting indeed."
The group tensed.
He leaned forward slightly on his throne, studying Nova with sharp intelligence. His voice carrying a coded weight.
"If I were to say I was a Warden of the Western Sky…"
Nova knew this. She had read it once. One of the first readings Aeron assigned to her. She answered with a small smile — warm, but undeniably sad.
"Then I would answer that I am a Keeper of the Eastern Flame… and that neither sky nor flame survive alone."
Silence cracked through the chamber.
The queen's face remained the same, eyes still fiercely on Nova.
The king inhaled, eyes widening just barely.
The queen spoke, "And if I were to say, 'The Gate remains closed to the unproven'?"
Nova responded, "Then I would answer, 'Let it judge me, for I do not come untested.'"
The queen spoke again coldly, face neutral. Nova didn't fail the test but the queen wasn't convinced, that much was clear.
The queen spoke, her voice devoid of warmth. "You are of Moonveil. Your features betray it."
She continued, "Your people are dead. Yet you stand before me."
Nova answered, "Moonveil has fallen, Your Majesty. I stand before you as Shadowclaw. Formed by their guidance, shielded by their loyalty, and made strong through their devotion."
The queen's gaze swept over Nova, still cold, still unyieldingly appraising.
"You are no common daughter of Moonveil. You bear crownlines in your veins. Yet you are far too young to carry its scars. You did not stand upon its walls as they burned. You did not watch your people die."
Nova lowered her head in respect, but her voice remained steady, warm, and understanding.
"No, I did not stand upon those walls. My mother bore me as Moonveil fell, and she endured only long enough to deliver me into this world. She perished soon after, poisoned by those who sought to finish what the flames had begun. I did not witness the destruction of my people, yet I have lived each day beneath the enduring shadow of their loss. Their fate shaped me long before I possessed the understanding to name it."
She lifted her gaze, unwavering and composed.
"Moonveil forged me, Your Majesty, before Shadowclaw found me."
The queen's eyes narrowed, studying Nova with a scrutiny that measured lineage, bearing, and purpose in a single breath.
"You are more than a royal bloodline. You are a queen." The words left her as a declaration, as though Nova had been attempting to conceal the truth.
Nova swallowed, keeping her composure.
"Yes, Your Majesty. I am Queen of North Varos and Luna of Shadowclaw," Nova replied.
She paused for a moment, eyes not leaving Nova. Then she spoke, "Tell me, what purpose brings you to Aevamorra Vyracarum?"
Nova inclined her head. "I have come to alter the fate of another who is worthy of life."
The queen's voice grew colder still. "And what is it you seek?"
"We seek passage to the Temple of Vyramar," Nova replied.
A refined, cutting laugh slipped from the queen — elegant, yet sharp as fractured glass. "That is not a passage. It is a death sentence. Surely you do not presume to enter that place."
Nova offered her a small, sorrow-laced smile, composed and unwavering, devoid of any hint of bravado.
"If death is the cost of her life, Your Majesty… then it is a cost I am prepared to bear."
The queen's gaze slid toward her king, her expression unchanged, but the shift in the air made it clear they were mindlinking. A moment later, the king spoke.
"It would appear my queen is fond of you. Consider yourself fortunate. She is not easily impressed."
His voice was smooth, deep, carrying the weight of old authority.
"We will grant you passage," he continued, "under a blood oath that the location of our city remains unspoken beyond this chamber."
Nova inclined her head in a respectful nod. Before anyone else could move, the king rose from his throne. His presence filled the room like a shift in gravity.
He lifted one hand. "Just her."
Fin stiffened at Nova's side. Nova kept her expression calm despite the spike of adrenaline.
She stepped forward, following the king.
Fin followed immediately.
The king did not bother to hide his amusement as he turned toward a long crystal corridor. "It would seem your companion does not trust me."
Fin answered before Nova could. His tone was smooth and controlled — the tone of a king addressing another king.
"My duty is to her safety, Your Majesty. Trust is earned, not assumed."
The king paused mid-stride and looked at him with a new appraisal. "You must be the King of North Varos, then. I presume."
Fin bowed his head with impeccable civility. "I am Finric, Alpha of Shadowclaw and King of North Varos. And she is my queen. Where she walks, I walk."
The king gave a low hum of approval and continued forward.
They entered a vast chamber carved entirely of ice — walls glittering with ancient sigils, the air bright with suspended shards of crystal light. A mage stepped forward and spoke in Morbian Vellum. Fin recognized the cadence now — the same dialect Nova had spoken earlier.
The king withdrew a ceremonial dagger of translucent crystal. With practiced precision, he sliced his palm. Blood ran down his hand, falling into the basin's blue-white flame.
He offered the dagger to Nova.
She took it without hesitation and cut her palm. Silver blood welled instantly. She did not flinch. She simply tilted her hand so the shimmering liquid fell into the fire.
The king watched her with open expectation, but received nothing but poise.
The flame roared upward, igniting into gold so bright the walls refracted light in a thousand directions. A surge of magic burst outward — and shot straight into Nova. Her eyes held green. No silver.
The king let out a slow exhale, equal parts impressed and wary.
"It would seem," he said, "that I have been proven incorrect yet again today."
The king watched the golden flame settle, the last ripples of ancestral power fading into the ice-lit chamber. His gaze rested on Nova — slow, deliberate, weighing her as one weighs a prophecy spoken aloud.
He stepped closer, voice dropping into something quieter and far more pointed.
"Tell me, why is a queen as beautiful as yourself unafraid of her own death?"
Nova's lips curved in a gentle, almost resigned smile.
"One does not fear what she has already accepted." Nova said.
The king's expression shifted — the smallest flicker of understanding cutting through his stoicism. Recognition.
"It would appear my ancestors have accepted your request."
His gaze deepened, ancient and assessing.
"You are granted passage to the Temple of Vyramar."
He turned and led them back toward the throne room, his footsteps echoing with ancient authority. When they reentered the hall, a young man stepped from a side corridor — tall, regal, wearing a gold crown.
"My son shall show you the way," the king said. "We do not cross onto the path, but he will take you as far as the gods allow."
As the prince approached the group, the king stepped toward Nova once more, stopping only a breath away.
"My ancestors spoke their final words to me. We shall meet again. And when you call upon my army, I shall not refuse you." His gaze sharpened. "Today is not your day to die."
Nova bowed her head with composed, diplomatic grace.
"Then I am in your debt, Your Majesty. And when that day comes, I will honor the faith your ancestors have placed in me."
The king inclined his head — the rarest acknowledgement from a ruler of his age.