We had finally crossed the main gates of the city.
Thank god, we're out. That was the only thought I kept repeating to myself.
Arin — just get used to it.
As Rowan had explained earlier, the journey to Tula Forest would take three days. Our procession moved steadily along the road, the city gradually shrinking behind us. Small villages began appearing along the outskirts, framed by farmland that stretched further than I could see.
The difference was immediate.
The air outside the city felt nothing like the air inside Antelia. Out here, nothing confined it — the breeze carried the scent of soil, grass, growing things. After so long surrounded by stone walls and crowded streets, the open fields felt like breathing for the first time in weeks.
As we passed, the people working the fields noticed the procession. The moment they recognized us, they lowered their heads respectfully.
At first, I just watched them. Then a strange thought crossed my mind.
I really am a king.
I'd known that ever since the crown was placed on my head, of course — but there was something different about watching ordinary people pause their work, just because their king happened to be riding past. It made the reality land in a way it hadn't before.
The longer I watched, the more something else caught my attention.
Everyone seemed simply... occupied. Living. Some were ploughing the fields. Others carried bundles of cut grass on their backs. Children ran between the rows, laughing, chasing each other while a few farmers guided animals along the furrows.
It all looked peaceful.
But then something bothered me. Some of these people's clothes were worn thin — torn in places, patched and mended so many times the repairs had become part of the fabric.
And yet they were smiling. They looked genuinely happy.
Why?
I turned the thought over. Even in the capital, people had been happy to see us. But if a kingdom's people were struggling this visibly, shouldn't there be some anger underneath it? That was how it had worked in my old world, at least — struggle without solutions eventually curdled into resentment. Sooner or later, people got angry at whoever was supposed to be fixing things.
But here, it felt different. I couldn't quite place why yet.
I was still turning it over when a familiar voice broke through.
"Sire, are you all right?"
I looked up. Pristin had slowed his horse to fall back beside me.
"I'm fine. Completely fine."
"If you say so." He studied me a moment longer before seeming satisfied, and turned his attention back to the road.
We continued on, and I went back to watching the fields — until something else caught my eye.
"Hey, Pristin."
"Yes, Sire?"
I pointed toward a nearby field. "That man over there, on the large animal, with something attached behind it — what is that?"
Pristin followed my gaze. "Ah, that? That's for ploughing, Sire."
"Ploughing..." I stared at it a moment. In my old world, ploughing usually meant a farmer walking behind an ox or bull, guiding it by hand. This looked different — the animal doing far more of the work on its own.
"Isn't that animal a bit large for this? It looks dangerous."
Pristin smiled faintly. "It only looks that way while working, Sire. Ordinarily they're quite calm. It's only when they're put to task that they get serious."
"Ah. I see."
I turned my attention back to the fields — until Pristin pointed toward something else entirely.
"Sire, look over there. Flower farming."
I followed where he pointed, and for a moment I simply forgot how to speak.
Flowers stretched across the fields as far as I could see — rows upon rows of them, turning the distant farmland into something that barely looked real.
"...Beautiful." The word escaped before I'd even decided to say it. "This is incredibly beautiful."
I couldn't look away. Part of me genuinely wanted the whole procession to stop, just so I could stand there and take it in properly.
"The world outside the city really is different," I said quietly, taking a slow breath. "It looks like heaven."
Then another thought crept in, quieter and colder than the rest.
And there are people who want to destroy this.
My expression sobered.
Well. As long as I'm here, I won't let that happen.
"Pristin."
"Hmm?"
I looked over at him. "It feels like coming on this journey was the right decision." I glanced back toward the fields, toward the flowers already beginning to fall behind us. "If I hadn't come to Tula, who knows when I'd have ever gotten the chance to see any of this."
Pristin didn't answer right away. He only smiled faintly and looked ahead at the road, and I had the sense he understood exactly what I meant.
I turned forward again. The flowers slowly disappeared behind us as the procession pressed on.
And so, our journey toward Tula Forest continued.
[ Somewhere in the Wyvern Spine Mountains
Lunaris Western Front Alliance Meeting Place
One Day Ago
Snow stretched endlessly across the mountains.
A bitter wind swept through the narrow pass, dragging fine snowflakes sideways through the air. Against the white landscape, a royal procession crept along the frozen mountain road — horses struggling for footing on the ice, guards huddled beneath cloaks pulled tight against the cold.
The destination was known only to those within the procession.
Inside one of the carriages sat the King of Velkyria, Dolion Varentis, alongside his Prime Minister, Seravin Draxil. Draxil glanced through the frosted window at the unending mountains before turning to his king.
"Your Majesty, don't you think the Lord called this meeting rather suddenly? The last one was only two months ago."
Dolion said nothing at first, his eyes fixed on the white expanse outside. "You're right, Draxil. But who are we to question him? If the Lord has summoned us, we go."
Draxil frowned. "You're right, of course, Sire. But six days of travel for a single meeting... it's a great deal to ask. The Lord should understand what kind of distance we cover to reach him."
"Draxil. Enough." A hint of irritation crept into Dolion's voice. "If he's called us, then it matters. He wouldn't have summoned us otherwise."
"Yes, Sire."
The carriage fell silent again, nothing but the muffled crunch of wheels over frozen ground.
Then, a shout from outside cut through the wind.
"We have arrived!"
Dolion leaned back. "Finally."
The procession came to a halt. After six days on the road, they'd reached the meeting place of the Lunaris Western Front Alliance — a small stone castle built directly into the mountainside, its dark walls half-buried in snow, guards posted stiffly at the entrance despite the cold.
Dolion stepped out of the carriage. The wind struck his face immediately, sharp enough to sting. He pulled his cloak tighter and made his way toward the castle with Draxil beside him.
The great doors of the meeting hall swung open as they approached. The guards flanking the entrance straightened at once, and one called out:
"King Dolion Varentis of Velkyria and Prime Minister Seravin Draxil have arrived!"
They stepped inside. Several figures already sat around the long stone table, and the moment Dolion crossed the threshold, one voice cut through the quiet.
"You're awfully late, Dolion. As expected."
Dolion's eyes narrowed. At the far end of the table sat Ivan Ranoval, King of Noctenvale.
"Ivan."
Dolion took his seat slowly. "You still haven't learned to speak respectfully to your elders."
Ivan smirked. "And you still haven't learned to travel faster."
Dolion's expression hardened. "We were late because six days of travel for a single meeting is no small matter. You know exactly how far Velkyria sits from here."
"Yes, yes, I know." Ivan waved a hand, dismissive. "You say the same thing every time." His smile widened. "Just accept it, Dolion — you're getting old. You can't cover ground the way you used to."
"I may be old," Dolion said, eyes sharpening, "but I am not weak." He leaned forward. "If I wanted to, I could still put you on your back."
Ivan laughed outright. "Don't bother." He leaned back into his chair. "What exactly could a king like you do against me? You couldn't even take a tiny kingdom without losing." His smile vanished. "And you brought shame on the entire alliance doing it."
The words landed like a blade. Dolion's fist came down against the table.
BANG.
The hall went silent.
"Enough." Dolion's breathing had gone ragged. "I'm frustrated enough about that matter without you throwing it in my face." He pointed across the table. "And as for the defeat — the blame belongs to you as much as it does to us."
Draxil stepped forward at once. "Please, Your Majesty. Remain calm."
Dolion ignored him. "That was supposed to be a joint invasion. You withdrew at the last moment." His voice went colder. "You abandoned your half of the operation. Don't pretend the failure was ours alone."
Ivan shrugged. "Who cares." He rested his arms on the table, leaning in. "When my neighbor's house is burning, why should I run toward it?" A mocking smile crept back onto his face. "Besides — I found something far more interesting inside the Empire while you were busy." He glanced at Dolion. "You were supposed to be strong enough to handle one little kingdom on your own, weren't you?"
Silence again, heavier this time.
Before Dolion could answer, another voice broke the tension.
"Now, now — calm yourselves, both of you. You are kings. This kind of squabbling doesn't suit either of you."
The speaker was Prime Minister Wan Navare, representative of Dravenmark. Dolion's expression eased as he turned toward him.
"Wan. You are here too." A faint smile. "How's the boy handling things? Still quite young, isn't he?"
"Yes, Sire. Still young — but he works hard to become the king his father was. I believe he'll grow into it well."
Dolion's smile faded slightly. "Just make sure he doesn't die before then."
Wan's composure held, but before he could respond, Ivan cut back in.
"Ehh — what could possibly be worse than handing a child that kind of weight?" He leaned back again. "But what's to be done. He's royal blood, so he carries it whether he's ready or not." A faint shrug. "Pity, really."
Then his attention shifted fully to Wan.
"Just make sure Dravenmark doesn't fall easy, if we ever come knocking." A low chuckle. "Keep it strong, the way it always was. The Western Front would be dreadfully boring without you in it."
For half a second, the practiced calm slipped from Wan's face — something colder, sharper, flickering underneath. It was gone before it fully surfaced.
"Of course, King Ivan. Dravenmark will manage that just fine."
Dolion, however, had already caught the thread of what Ivan was really saying. He rounded on him.
"Ivan. What exactly are you implying? That Velkyria is weak?"
Ivan raised an eyebrow, all innocence. "When did I say that?" His smile returned, easy and amused. "You're the one saying it. I'm just sitting here."
Dolion's patience snapped entirely. "Enough of this. If you're so confident, meet me on the battlefield and prove it."
Ivan sighed, long and theatrical. "Please. Not this challenge again." Then, all at once, the amusement drained from his face, leaving something flatter and colder behind it. "You know as well as I do that Velkyria is no match for Noctenvale." A beat. "If I truly wanted to, I could wipe Velkyria off the map of Terra Chronica entirely."
The air in the hall shifted instantly. Whatever playfulness had been in Ivan's voice a moment ago was gone — what remained didn't sound like a threat so much as a verdict already delivered.
He looked at Dolion, unblinking. "So stay where you belong. Understood?"
Dolion opened his mouth. Nothing came out.
"...Err — err—"
Draxil moved in fast. "My King, please. This is neither the time nor the place."
Dolion's jaw tightened, fists clenched beneath the table, but he said nothing further.
Outside, the wind kept howling against the stone walls of the isolated castle.
The meeting had barely begun.
And already, the balance of power between the three kingdoms was making itself painfully, unmistakably clear.
Ivan's words had already left the room unbearably heavy.
Draxil and Wan sat visibly tense, sweat beading on their foreheads despite the freezing air seeping through the stone walls. Even Dolion had gone quiet, his earlier fire smothered by something colder.
Then, an announcement cut through the stillness.
"His Lordship is here. I repeat — the King of the Lunaris Dominion has arrived."
The voice belonged to the Lord's aide, Miss Solfia Valona.
The moment those words landed, the entire room fell silent. No one moved. No one spoke.
Then came footsteps, echoing from beyond the hall.
Step.
Step.
Step.
Each one seemed to press the silence down harder than the last, until the tension that had filled the room only moments ago had curdled into something else entirely — something closer to dread.
Even Ivan's smile was gone.
Every eye in the hall turned toward the entrance.
The King of the Lunaris Dominion had arrived.