The throne room of Sarion shimmered briefly as the portal unraveled with a breath of divine magic. No guard saw it open—no one expected her return through such a celestial gateway.
The chamber, grand and adorned with silken banners bearing the royal crest, lit with surprise as Queen Elmesia stepped forth. Her white gown fluttered faintly as the portal faded behind her like mist.
"Your Majesty?!"
The first voice was Erald's. He was already kneeling before the throne in preparation for the daily court meeting, but upon sensing the magic and seeing her form, he stood abruptly, stunned.
"Elmesia-sama...! You've returned?" His eyes scanned her, registering that she was unharmed—and yet different. Serene. Almost radiant.
Behind him, a few generals, high elves, and ministers all turned toward her, startled and then quickly bowing low in reverence.
"Raise your heads," Elmesia said gently, her voice even more composed than usual. "There's no need for ceremony today. I've only just arrived."
"Just… arrived?" murmured one of her ministers, an older elf named Minister Al'thirel. "That portal—it wasn't Sarion's magic. Where… did you come from, Your Majesty?"
Erald stepped forward slightly, eyes sharp. "Did Varvatos send you back directly?"
Elmesia smiled—soft and mysterious. "Yes. He opened the gate himself. Straight into this room. I must say… it was impressive."
A quiet murmur rolled through the chamber like ripples in water.
"Forgive our curiosity, but… what did you learn in Nyvaris?" asked General Valdrien, a seasoned war-commander and close aide. "How was the realm? The people? The elves there…?"
Elmesia slowly walked toward her throne, not sitting yet, but pausing with her back to the ornate chair.
She turned toward her people, regal yet intimate.
"Nyvaris… is unlike any land I've seen. It is peaceful and yet powerful. It does not flaunt its strength, but the air itself hums with magic older than the continents."
Her words captured the court's attention instantly.
She looked to Erald, who still watched her intently. "And Lord Varvatos… is enigmatic. Unshakable. Kind, in his own way. But… there's something ancient about him. Something even I cannot quite touch."
Erald bowed his head, though his jaw clenched faintly.
"And the elves?" Minister Al'thirel asked with barely contained urgency. "Our kin who fled centuries ago… did you see them? Speak with them?"
Elmesia's expression softened.
"I did. They are thriving."
She paused, her voice dipping into reverence.
"They walk alongside dragons, demons, fae, and even beasts of legend. Not as prey, not as inferiors—but equals. There's unity in Nyvaris. Not through law… but through mutual respect."
One of the generals muttered, "How is that possible? Dragons and demons… peaceably with elves?"
Elmesia chuckled softly. "That was my first question as well. But it's true. The barrier of Nyvaris doesn't just shield the land—it judges the hearts of those who seek to enter. Malice cannot pass through."
A young elven noble stepped forward nervously. "Y-Your Majesty, is it true that some nobles… were turned away?"
Her gaze met his. "It is. I saw it with my own eyes. Nobles, warriors, even sorcerers of great renown. If your heart is impure or if your intentions are selfish… the barrier does not allow you to enter."
Gasps echoed softly. One of the older councilors leaned over and whispered, "That's more than magic. That's judgment…"
Erald stepped forward again. "And you were accepted, without hesitation?"
Elmesia hesitated… then nodded slowly. "There was a moment—when I reached out to the barrier—it felt like it saw into me. Every flaw, every thought, every regret. I thought I might be turned away. But… it accepted me."
Silence fell for a moment.
"And Varvatos himself?" Erald continued. "You spent time with him?"
A flicker passed through Elmesia's eyes—playful, enigmatic. "Yes. We spoke often. He… indulged my curiosity. Answered my questions. He treated me not as a monarch, but as an equal."
"That's rare," General Valdrien muttered.
"And troubling," another courtier whispered under their breath.
"And… if I may ask, Your Majesty," said Minister Al'thirel cautiously, "did he say anything about Sarion? Or… make any requests?"
Elmesia shook her head. "He asked for nothing. Offered much. And told me one thing: that I was welcome to return. Anytime."
Erald's brow furrowed. "Even with the barrier?"
At that, Elmesia raised her hand and tapped gently over her chest. "He cast a spell upon me. One that allows me to pass freely."
Murmurs of astonishment rose again.
Minister Al'thirel stepped back, his mind racing. "That spell… that's a level of trust not even our oldest allies receive."
Erald's expression remained unreadable.
"Did he… give you anything else?"
Elmesia chuckled softly, walking to her throne and finally lowering herself into it with graceful ease.
"Only memories, Erald. And perhaps… a little mystery."
The following days.....
It started with whispers—soft as a breath in the marble halls of the palace, weaving like smoke through the golden corridors of Sarion's court. Ministers, generals, nobles, and servants alike murmured of Elmesia's journey… but more specifically, her connection to the enigmatic Lord Varvatos of Nyvaris.
They remembered how she returned through a divine portal—a feat not even the Royal Archmages could replicate. And now, the news had spread that Varvatos himself had placed a spell upon the Queen, allowing her to pass Nyvaris's sacred barrier.
"He gave her unrestricted access."
"Do you realize what that means? He trusts her. The most feared lord in the world."
"If Sarion were to be invaded… would Nyvaris intervene?"
The court began to shift.
Erald stood beside Elmesia as she overlooked the landscape from her balcony. Behind them, General Valdrien, Minister Al'thirel, and a few noble envoys awaited the Queen's address.
The atmosphere was layered—respect, curiosity, and a thin veil of political tension.
"Your Majesty," began Valdrien carefully, "forgive me, but the court is… stirring. The nobles are speaking of Nyvaris as if it were our silent ally. Some are already redrafting defense plans under the assumption that Varvatos will answer if we're attacked."
Elmesia didn't respond immediately. She watched the horizon—a long breath escaping her lips. Then, calmly:
"Varvatos does not play politics."
That statement brought the room to pause. Al'thirel raised an eyebrow. "Meaning…?"
"He is not a pawn. Nor a king on any board," she said, finally turning. "He did not grant me safe passage for Sarion's benefit. He did it for me—as an individual. Not as a queen."
Erald's jaw tightened. "But the others won't see it that way."
Another noble, Lord Faelen, stepped forward. "With all due respect, Your Majesty… whether he intended it or not, this connection changes everything. The other kingdoms—especially Ruberios and the Eastern Trade League—they will take this as a message. A warning. That if they cross Sarion… they may invoke the ire of Nyvaris."
Elmesia studied him quietly. "And would that truly be so terrible?"
They blinked in surprise.
She rose, walking toward them slowly, her tone clear, precise.
"If the illusion of an alliance is enough to deter war, then let them believe what they will. But I will not lie. I will not manipulate Varvatos' name for gain."
"But others will," Erald said quietly. "Even within this court."
Her eyes narrowed.
"I know," she said. "Which is why I'm telling you now—should any among us attempt to provoke Varvatos' goodwill for political leverage, or try to manipulate Nyvaris into conflict, you will do so without my sanction—and suffer the consequences."
There was a long silence. Minister Al'thirel bowed slightly. "Understood, Your Majesty."
But behind bowed heads and respectful nods, minds raced. Not with fear—but with ambition.
By twilight, word of Elmesia's command had reached the rest of the aristocracy. Some obeyed it, others… whispered behind silk curtains and gilded doors.
"A connection that strong can't be ignored."
"The Queen may not want politics, but the world is politics."
"If we could secure trade routes through Nyvaris… gods, think of the wealth."
"Or protection. No army would march on us knowing the Silent Sovereign stands with her."
A few nobles from lesser houses even began preparing tokens—gifts to "accidentally" include in diplomatic letters to Elmesia, subtly inquiring about Nyvaris and its customs. One or two dared to suggest betrothal possibilities, should Varvatos ever consider formal ties.
She sat by the candlelight, brushing her silver-blonde hair, a slight frown resting on her lips.
"I knew they would twist it…" she murmured.
Erald stood in the doorway, arms crossed. "You gave them a miracle, Elmesia. A realm no one can enter, yet you walk through freely. And now they think you hold the key."
She sighed, placing the brush down. "I don't. Varvatos is his own force. If they think they can use him… they will learn how unmovable he is."
Erald approached her, slower now. "You… care for him."
Her eyes flicked to his.
"I admire him. And… I respect him. But that has nothing to do with Sarion."
Erald didn't press further. He only nodded slowly.
"Still… I worry, Elmesia. If word reaches the wrong ears—someone might try to test your connection. Or worse… target it."
She looked up at him, fire rekindling in her gaze.
"Then let them try. I have no fear of men who hide behind schemes. And Varvatos… needs no defending from me."