The micro-sun's glow still burned on the horizon like an open wound in the sky when Strax turned to her. The Ice Monarch remained motionless, her mouth slightly open, her breath shallow—as if she had just witnessed a god tearing reality apart with his bare hands.
The newly arrived heat caused the ice friezes on the walls to trickle in thin threads, forming small droplets that dripped onto the ground with an irregular, almost nervous rhythm.
Strax raised his chin, observing the golden sky he himself had created. For a moment, he seemed to revel in it—not out of pride, but out of pure naturalness, as if it were as simple as breathing.
"This," he said, pointing to the light above, "is just a sample."
The Monarch blinked slowly, as if trying to absorb it all.
"A…" she tried to say, but her voice failed before the sentence was complete.
Strax stared at her, and the heat in his gaze was as overwhelming as the sun shining in the sky.
