In the grand tapestry of Arian's landscape, one figure remains ever-present—
VlastMoroz, the Leviathan Sovereign of Cryo, coiled around the entire nation like a divine guardian.
She has not stirred since the day she wrapped herself around Arian, her vast body now as much a part of the land as the mountains and rivers. Entire regions have begun to use her features as landmarks.
Near the Head of VlastMoroz—
Her jaw, lined with ancient icicle fangs, opened slowly—just enough to resemble the yawning gate of a crystal citadel.
A figure emerged.
"I have to leave, Mother," said Yandelf, stepping from between her sovereign's fangs like a knight leaving the inner sanctum of a dragon goddess.
"There are echoes of old enemies stirring within our home."
Her silhouette gleamed against the pale light—leather-wrapped limbs, armor laced with fur, a long lance strapped across her back. Each layer of her clothing looked like a compromise between function and history—armor made not just for war, but to carry the weight of heritage.
Then, in the stillness, a voice curled into her mind like snowfall:
"They aren't enemies anymore," whispered Mother Rosen.
Yandelf paused, her breath visible in the cold air.
"I know."
And with that, she vanished—her form disappearing into the wind, leaving only silence between the Leviathan's teeth.
High above the skies of Arian—
Yandelf rode the storm.
Seated atop a Frost Dragon so massive it seemed stitched from the bones of glaciers, she gazed down upon the land like a sovereign inspecting her kingdom. The dragon beneath her was a force of ancient majesty—fifteen feet tall at the shoulder, twenty feet in length, its wingspan stretching like the ribs of a cathedral across fifty feet of sky.
Its scales were blinding white, refracting sunlight into a thousand dancing spectrums, as though the very heavens bowed before it. Crowned in feathered frost, the creature moved not with flaps, but with silent authority, as if the clouds themselves parted in deference.
"Why are we going so slow?" the dragon rumbled—its voice deep, frostbitten, and laced with the fatigue of long-held patience.
Yandelf's lips curled slightly, glistening against the cold wind.
"Because I want them to see us."
She sat high on the beast's head, legs firm, posture regal—her muscular form wrapped in leather and fur, catching every glint of sunlight like war-born royalty.
Her voice carried effortlessly, like a general who needed no shouting to command armies.
"They need to witness who guards them. Let faith rise again—stronger than fear. Do you understand, Frost Lieutenant Noctharn?"
The dragon did not answer immediately.
But the skies did.
One. Then another. Then another—
With every exhale of cold breath, the clouds split open. Frost Dragons emerged like living titans carved from blizzards. Some bore scars older than the nation they flew over; others were young, their wings still clumsy but eager. Yet all shared the same pristine armor of white, and the same burning core beneath—a loyalty to something ancient, and a promise of war if needed.
Within moments, the sky itself became a procession of legends.
An entire armada of Frost Dragons—a cathedral choir in flight.
Some villagers below dropped to their knees. Some merely stared, mouths open, hearts swelling. Faith, once fractured, began to freeze back into unity.
Noctharn's voice whispered, barely audible beneath the howl of wind:
"Looks like we're leaving only the hatchlings in the nest."
Inside the Core of Arian…
Highfall sighed as he let the Royal Knights escort him and Dorores—tail swaying lazily behind them—through the alabaster corridors after landing.
"I liked the Castle of No Structure better," Highfall snarled, wings twitching uncomfortably as they walked. "This place feels... claustrophobic. I can barely move."
"Don't be disrespectful," Dorores snapped, flicking his tail against Highfall's flank like a reprimand. "You'll spook the soldiers."
One of the Royal Knights—tall but visibly tense—stopped in his tracks and bowed deeply. "We apologize for the discomfort, Great Ones. We didn't realize the space would be insufficient for your majesty."
"There's no need to fret," Dorores said, voice calmer now. "We'll shift into humanoid forms once we reach our chambers. No need to panic."
Highfall rolled his eyes, but didn't argue. Yet.
---
At the Arian Core Market Square…
Neuvillette and Morax strolled through the lively bazaar, robes flowing, eyes surveying the stalls stacked with spices, rare herbs, and fruits glowing with faint elemental hues.
"This place holds a respectable variety of delicacies…" Morax mused. "Though I find the absence of tea a bit... disheartening."
Neuvillette chuckled softly. "Perhaps, but the spring water here is exceptional. Every fountain tastes like it was drawn straight from Fontaine's core."
"Spoken like a true Hydro Dragon," Morax said, his amber eyes twinkling. "If water is your delicacy, perhaps I'll prepare a cask from Mount Aocang as a gift next time."
Neuvillette gave a rare, quiet smile. "I'd treasure it more than jade."
---
Meanwhile, on the Eastern Edge of the City…
Three figures walked with elegance and thunder in their steps.
Their skin was sun-bronzed, their violet hair trailing behind them like bolts of lightning frozen mid-strike. Robes of magenta and storm-purple draped their frames—something between a kimono and a ceremonial bathrobe—subtle line patterns glinting in the lamplight. Wooden geta clacked against the stone with every step.
Raimei, Raigeku, and Raijin, the Thunder Siblings, made their way toward the Aethercastle.
Trailing beside them was Izel, still in the same form he wore since their first appearance.
He tilted his head, eyeing their feminine humanoid appearances. "I have a question," he said plainly. "Why do you appear as human women if you refer to each other as brothers? Weren't you all... male?"
Raigeku laughed, her lips shimmering under the flickering streetlights.
"We never actually talked about it, did we?" she said, her voice like a spark ready to catch fire. "Thunder Dragons are genderless, Izel. The forms we take are just reflections—of comfort, mood, chaos. Sovereign Raiclaus herself is... everything. Both and neither."
"We call each other 'brother' or 'sister' just for fun," Raimei added. "Sometimes we're 'they.' Sometimes 'that bastard.' It doesn't matter."
Izel blinked. "Sounds confusing."
"It's not," Raijin smirked, eyes crackling with electric humor. "It's freedom."
In the Aethercastle
The gates groaned softly, then clicked shut as both Anemo Dragons entered their room. A tense silence broke like a snapped string.
The Royal Knight exhaled, his armor rattling with the release. He wiped the sweat from his brow, the polished surface of his gauntlet briefly catching the moonlight.
"Finally… a moment of relief," Sirus muttered, tugging off his helmet. His silver hair was damp at the roots.
He walked through the torchlit corridor, his boots echoing softly against the marble as he made his way toward the courtyard—a sacred resting ground where knights shed their burdens like old armor.
Melus waved him over from beneath a gnarled moonblossom tree, its pale violet flowers glowing faintly under the soft light.
"Hey, Sirus. Here."
They sat side by side on the cool stone bench. The moon was high, full, and swollen with light, casting silver pools across the grass. Wind rustled the petals in a slow dance.
"I'm so tired," Sirus sighed, rubbing his temple. "I hope I can go back home to Lina... The break'll be over soon... Ugh."
Melus leaned back, arms crossed behind his head. "Yeah, I get that... You two are still trying, right? I bet you just wanna curl up next to her and never leave the bed."
Sirus turned crimson, scooting half a foot away. "Don't make it weird, man!"
Melus chuckled, his voice as warm as the soft breeze. "What? I only said it 'cause I've been thinking about settling down myself. It's about time, don't you think?"
But then—
A shadow fell across the courtyard.
Not a passing cloud. Not a flock of birds.
But a vast silhouette that eclipsed the moon itself.
Both knights froze. Slowly, they looked up.
From beyond the mountaintops and over the glittering spires of Arian Core, an impossible shape glided in silence. The night sky filled with an otherworldly glow—like the aurora had been dipped in blue fire.
Then came the sound.
A low, haunting melody—like the mournful song of a mother whale echoing across the stars, soft and somber. The music wrapped around them like mist. Every torch flickered. Every leaf stilled.
The Frost Dragons had arrived.
Wings that stretched across miles. Bodies carved from ice so ancient it glimmered with runes of forgotten ages. Their breath left frost trails in the sky like celestial scars.
Even in the bustling market, all came to a halt.
Neuvillette paused mid-step, his cane tapping gently against the stone as he looked up.
Morax's golden eyes reflected the dragons above. "It seems," he said softly, "that our receiver has arrived."
Neuvillette gave a single, elegant nod.
Across the city's edge, four figures stood bathed in moonlight.
Raimei, Raigeku, Raijin—and Izel—watched in silence, faces tilted toward the heavens.
Raigeku's violet hair shimmered as she whispered, "What a beautiful moonlight..."
Her voice trembled, not from fear, but reverence.
"It seems like good fortune tonight."
The sky was a canvas of frost and song, painted with divine shadows and stars that dared not twinkle too brightly in their presence.
Arian did not sleep that night.
It listened.