The morning light filtered gently into the high-vaulted council chamber, the sun casting a pale glow over Athax's marbled floors. From the balcony, the southern capital looked as it always did — elegant and ordered. But beneath that calm exterior, the tides of politics stirred more restlessly by the day.
Killan stood with one hand resting lightly on the balustrade, watching the bustle below. Behind him, Elex of House Svedana remained still, arms crossed, eyes sharp.
The two men had exchanged few words since arriving. There was respect, but space, too — like soldiers measuring each other's weight in silence.
"Thank you for meeting with me, Captain Elex," Killan finally turned. "I wanted to speak with you before the next council."
Elex tilted his head, listening. "You're referring to the wedding?"
"I'd like to include something of the North in the wedding rites," Killan said. "Not just for show — something real."
Elex's gaze narrowed slightly, then nodded once. "We would appreciate that."
"What would be fitting?" Killan asked. "Something meaningful, but not something that'll startle half the court."
Elex chuckled under his breath. "No sword-duels or blood-oaths, then."
Killan smiled faintly. "Preferably not at the altar."
Elex paused, then reached into the folds of his coat. He withdrew a small pouch and untied the leather strings, revealing a smooth, frost-toned stone the size of a walnut, carved with faint sigils. The surface shimmered faintly under the light — blue-white with a hint of silver when tilted.
"This was meant for her," the Northern captain's tone softened. "It belonged to our mother. She was a Summoner too — the last before Aya. It's custom in our house for the stone to be passed to the daughter who is also a Summoner when she weds."
Killan stepped closer and took the stone carefully, as though he instinctively knew not to touch the markings. "It's beautiful."
"It grounds the wearer. Reminds them of their name, their people," Elex handed the pouch to him. "You may give this to her during the rite. It would be fitting."
Killan nodded, his fingers closing around the pouch. "Thank you."
A brief silence passed between them, and then Killan asked, "What else should I know about her?"
Elex lifted a brow. "Aside from the fact that she might gut you if you ever lie to her?"
Killan huffed a quiet laugh. "Aside from that."
Elex took a breath, thinking.
"I'm sure you also know, but my sister," Elex added after a pause. "...is too free-spirited for her own good."
Killan turned to him. "What do you mean?"
"She values her freedom too much and doesn't want to be constrained by convention, so..."
"She often sneaks out," Killan finished Elex's words.
"Yes," Elex smiled. " Mostly to walk the marketplaces, visit towns, to drink... or to go on adeventures with her close friends, Shin and Masa. She likes noise when her mind is too full, and silence when her heart is."
"She sounds…" Killan began, then hesitated.
Elex raised a brow. "Complicated?"
Killan smiled. "Alive."
Elex studied him, then gave a short nod. "Just don't try to tame her. She's not meant for gilded cages."
There was weight behind those words — not a warning, exactly, but something close to a plea.
Killan stepped back toward the balcony, the froststone in hand, and stared at the warm city that would soon be Aya's new home.
"I don't want her to become something she's not," he said quietly.
Elex answered simply, "Then you're already doing better than most men who've called themselves kings."
Killan nodded. "Anything else I should know?"
"She's very clever," Elex said. "Observant. She hears things people don't say. You'll need to listen the same way."
Killan nodded, quietly absorbing.
"She is loyal and she loves fiercely. More than I can say for all of us—not just me and Asta. Even our hundred half-siblings. Especially Juno."
"Juno," Killan repeated.
"He was born when she was near sixteen," Elex said. "Our mother's last true-born son."
He smiled faintly at the memory. "She used to sleep beside his crib, just to make sure he was breathing. Never let anyone else near him if he cried. Shielded him from our father."
Killan remained quiet, imagining it — Aya as a young girl with steel in her spine and a baby boy in her arms.
"She told me you know the truth about her," Elex continued, glancing at Killan.
"Yes, she was brave enough to tell me," Killan nodded.
Elex's smile faded a little, eyes going distant.
"There was a time," he said slowly, "when she thought it would be better to lose what made her... what she is. After our father's death and all treaties and trades with other Houses were scrubbed clean—she came to me one day and asked to go see the Maester at Savax."
Killan leaned forward. "A Maester?"
"A Maester is somewhat like a healer in the North. They are blessed with arcane knowledge and they keep the history of the North's Houses, including ours. The day she asked, I should have known better than to take her there. We crossed the ice-locked valley in secret, only the two of us. I thought she wanted answers, maybe guidance about her power. But when we stood before the Maester, she didn't ask questions."
He glanced at Killan.
"She begged him. To seal the gift."
Killan looked over, surprised. "To seal it?"
Elex nodded. "To lock away the summoner's blood, the legacy she carried from our mother. To make herself normal, safe from being used again."
He drew in a slow breath.
"The Maester warned her of the price — that sealing her blood would mean she would lose the ability to bear children. That the bloodlines within her would go cold. She didn't flinch."
Killan didn't speak. He could almost see it: Aya, proud and bruised by fate, standing tall before a power greater than even she could defy.
"She said, 'What use are children if they'll only be weapons? I was born for someone else's purpose. I won't pass that curse on.'"
Elex's voice was soft now, reverent. "But in the end, she won over all that was said. She said her piece, and her powers were sealed. It hurt her a lot, and it showed back then, through constant pain and nightmares. The Maester did say the blood in Aya ran too deep. That if pushed and prodded, the gift would only rise again in a different form — stronger, or darker."
There was a long pause between them.
"And that's what scares Aya the most," Elex added quietly. "Not herself. But what someone else might make her become."
Killan looked away, jaw tight with thought. The pieces of her — proud, wounded, and brave — settled deeper in his chest.
Killan was silent for a moment, his gaze distant, tracing the patterns of light on the stone floor. Then he looked back at Elex, something softer settling in his eyes. "You've stood beside her through everything, Captain Elex. I'd be honored," he said carefully, "if one day, I could call you family, too."
Elex didn't answer at once — but the slight nod he gave, the shift in his expression, was answer enough.
Outside, the bells in the city chimed the hour, echoing across the rooftops and down the valley. The wedding neared, and with it, the weight of two worlds slowly learning to how to accept each other.