The great hall of the Royal Castle of Drachenhalm was not yet filled with the clinking of goblets or the weight of feast-laden tables. The long marble chamber stood open and austere, with banners of Drakensport's noble houses fluttering in the faint breeze that slipped through the arched windows. A low hum of conversation swelled as nobles took their seats along the sides, each watching the center of the hall where two worlds were about to speak as one—if only for a moment.
Foreign Minister Elena Choi walked with even, deliberate steps toward the elevated dais where King Aldred IV sat, his posture regal but eyes sharp with cautious curiosity. Behind Choi, members of the Aurion delegation moved into position—Secret Service agents in black suits forming a discrete perimeter, their eyes scanning the crowd without betraying a flicker of tension.
King Aldred did not rise, but he inclined his head slightly, a gesture of both welcome and power.
"You stand now before the throne of Drakensport," he said, his voice carrying across the hall. "You come bearing the name of a nation unknown to our forebears, yet one whose steel beasts and thundering birds we have seen with our own eyes. State your purpose."
Choi stopped a respectful distance from the dais. Her expression was calm, diplomatic, but there was a firmness in her tone that carried across the chamber without need for volume.
"Your Majesty, I bring greetings from the Aurion Republic, from President Edrian Velez, and from our people. We come not as conquerors, but as envoys—to understand, to exchange, and to seek terms of peaceful coexistence."
Some nobles shifted in their seats. Lord Brenwick muttered something under his breath about "steel beasts without conquest being a waste," while Lady Arlenne silenced him with a sharp glance. Princess Elenora, seated to the King's right, leaned forward slightly, her eyes fixed on Choi as if studying every word for hidden meaning.
King Aldred's fingers tapped the armrest of his throne.
"Peaceful coexistence… and yet your machines carry enough fire to turn cities to ash, if what I am told is true. Why should Drakensport trust that your purpose is not to prepare the ground for such fire?"
Choi did not flinch.
"Because, Your Majesty, if that were our intent, we would not be standing here now." Her gaze swept briefly over the gathered court before returning to the King. "Our power is not a threat if there is no reason to use it. The President believes that reason will never exist—so long as trust can be built between our nations."
There was a murmur from the nobles. Chamberlain Hadrien raised an eyebrow, clearly weighing her words. Lord Halvar Greystead seemed more cautious than skeptical, while Father Alric, standing beside Sir Edric Varlen, whispered something that made the young knight nod slowly.
King Aldred leaned forward.
"Then tell me, Minister Choi—what is it that your Aurion seeks from Drakensport? What does a land of steel and thunder desire from a kingdom of stone and sword?"
Choi's answer was measured, but deliberate.
"Trade. Understanding. A bridge between two worlds. Your resources and craftsmanship hold value to us, as our technology and knowledge may to you. We seek not to erase your ways, but to share what can make both our peoples stronger."
It was Princess Elenora who spoke next, her voice carrying a note of curiosity rather than challenge.
"And if strength is shared, Minister… who will hold the greater power—your Republic, or my father's kingdom?"
For the briefest moment, the hall held its breath.
Choi's lips curved into a faint, diplomatic smile.
"That, Your Highness, will depend on how wisely both sides use what is given."
The King's eyes narrowed slightly—not in anger, but in thought. Around the hall, whispers began anew, the air thick with both intrigue and unease. Somewhere near the rear, a Secret Service agent's gaze swept over a shadow moving behind one of the great pillars, subtle but noted.
The opening words had been spoken. Now the true negotiation would begin.
The King had barely leaned back into his throne when Lord Brenwick of Veyrmarch stood, his heavy cloak shifting across the marble floor.
"Minister Choi," he began, voice steeped in a confidence that bordered on arrogance, "you speak of bridges and friendship. Bridges are strongest when guarded, are they not? Surely you can see the wisdom in allowing Drakensport the means to defend itself against… less civil neighbors."
A few nobles nodded in agreement. Lord Halvar Greystead added, "We've heard your Republic commands legions of steel beasts and flying metal dragons that breathe fire without magic. If we are to stand as equals, surely such gifts could be… shared."
Choi's gaze moved between them, unreadable. "Gifts," she repeated softly, almost as if tasting the word. "Weapons are not gifts, my lords. They are responsibilities—and burdens."
Brenwick pressed on, emboldened.
"A burden we are more than capable of bearing. Imagine—our knights riding beside your steel beasts, our banners flying alongside your thundering birds. Who would dare threaten this alliance?"
It was then that Choi's tone shifted—not raised, but sharper, with an edge that cut through the hall's murmurs.
"No."
The single word hung in the air, heavy and unyielding. A few nobles shifted uncomfortably; others stiffened at the bluntness.
King Aldred's eyes narrowed. "You refuse outright?"
"Yes, Your Majesty," Choi replied evenly. "The Republic of Aurion will not provide advanced weapons or machines of war to any kingdom in this world. Not to Drakensport, not to your rivals, not to anyone."
Lord Greystead frowned. "Is that distrust I hear?"
"It is caution," Choi answered without hesitation. "We know history—our own, and now yours. Expansionist kingdoms rarely keep their blades sheathed. They use them to settle old grudges, to take more land, to impose their will on those weaker. And when they have no enemies left to conquer…" She let her eyes sweep slowly across the chamber. "…they turn those blades inward, or toward those who once called them allies."
The hall grew tense. Brenwick's jaw tightened, but he did not speak again.
Choi continued, her voice measured but final.
"We will not unbalance the order of this world by handing its most destructive power to those who might abuse it. We guard this knowledge not out of greed, but out of necessity. What we build, we control. And what we control, we use only when there is no other choice."
A long silence followed. Even the banners seemed to hang heavier in the still air. Somewhere in the far corner, a noble muttered about "hoarding power," but the words died quickly under the weight of the moment.
Princess Elenora leaned toward her father, whispering something that drew only a slight, thoughtful nod from the King. The refusal had been made, but the matter was far from closed.
The heavy silence after Choi's last words threatened to crush the air in the throne room. Then, almost deliberately, Princess Elenora straightened in her seat, her voice cutting through the tension like sunlight through fog.
"Perhaps," she said warmly, "we should speak of matters where our interests align. The realm thrives not only on swords and shields, but on the prosperity of its people."
The King leaned back slightly, catching her meaning. "Yes… trade," he said slowly, then turned to Choi. "Minister, your Republic must possess many crafts and goods unfamiliar to our markets. We would welcome an exchange—items that both our peoples may use without… unsettling the balance you speak of."
Choi's posture eased, the edges of her voice softening. "That is far more agreeable. Aurion is prepared to share many of our everyday goods—mirrors, combs, fine furniture, cookware, fabrics, writing tools—items that require no magic, no electricity, but may still improve daily life."
Lord Greystead, though still bristling from the earlier refusal, could not hide his interest. "Mirrors, you say? Not polished bronze or silver, but glass clear enough to see one's own face as if in still water?"
Choi nodded. "Glasswork is one of our crafts. Along with ceramics, printed books, paper—these are things we can trade without risk."
Elenora smiled faintly. "And perhaps… an exchange of minds as well? Our young scholars could learn in your academies, and your people could study here. Such bonds last longer than treaties."
Choi inclined her head. "An exchange program between our students and educators would be most welcome. It fosters understanding, not dependency."
The King seemed satisfied. "Then let this be the first step. Not weapons, not machines of destruction, but goods and knowledge that uplift both peoples. May our hands meet in commerce rather than war."
Several nobles murmured in agreement, their thoughts already wandering toward the profits to be made from exotic Aurion goods. The sharp tension that had hung in the room minutes earlier began to dissolve, replaced by the quiet hum of opportunity.
Yet in the shadows of the hall, more than one set of eyes still held the glint of unspoken ambitions.
Though the meeting had shifted from the topic of war to the promise of commerce, the tension in the great chamber had not eased. The nobles of Drakensport, seated in their long rows of carved oaken chairs, still wore expressions that ranged from thin politeness to smoldering discontent. Minister Choi could sense the weight of their unspoken frustrations, the air between them charged with questions that had not found satisfying answers.
Lord Merrow, who had been nursing his disapproval since the earlier refusal, finally let his voice carry across the hall. "Minister Choi, I cannot pretend to understand the wisdom in this decision. You speak of caution and balance, yet you withhold from us the very means to safeguard our borders. In your own land, you have such machines — beasts of metal, dragons of the air — yet you would see us rely on combs and mirrors while our enemies sharpen their blades at our gates."
Choi kept her composure, folding her hands upon the table before her. "My lord, what I withhold is not for want of goodwill but for the sake of what both our peoples may yet build. The tools you request have the power to reshape not only battles, but kingdoms themselves. In the wrong hands — or even in hands that mean well but are pressed by desperation — they could turn the balance of this world into chaos. Aurion will not risk becoming the spark that ignites such a fire."
Her measured words did little to soothe Lord Halbrecht von Rehn, who straightened in his seat, his eyes narrowing. "You speak as though we are children unable to bear responsibility. Is our honor worth so little in your eyes that you would think us unfit to wield what you yourselves command?"
Choi's gaze remained steady, though there was a faint firmness in her tone now, as if to remind the room that Aurion's stance was not to be bent. "This is not a question of honor, my lord. It is a question of restraint. Power does not change the hearts of the good — but it does test them, and tests grow harder with each victory won. Today I speak for my nation, and my nation has decided that we will share what brings prosperity without granting what may bring devastation."
For a moment, silence held sway over the chamber, save for the faint creak of wood as nobles shifted in their seats. Some glanced at one another as if weighing whether to press the matter further, while others, like Lady Arlenne Ventross, seemed content to let the issue rest.
At last, Duke Reynard, who presided over the meeting as mediator, spoke with a voice meant to cut through the quiet. "The matter is closed. We will not turn this gathering into a quarrel over what cannot be changed. The Aurions offer trade — and trade shall be the course we take." His tone was even, though his eyes betrayed a certain weariness at having to rein in the room.
Lord Merrow leaned back with a slow exhale, conceding the point with the stiffness of a man whose pride had been wounded. "If it is trade, then let it be trade," he said, though his voice carried the weight of a man already planning his next argument for another day.
With the threat of open disagreement set aside, Minister Choi redirected the discussion with practiced diplomacy. "Then let us speak plainly of what may be shared. We offer fine glass mirrors, steelwork of unmatched polish, and furniture built to last generations. We can provide learning materials and accept scholars from your lands, while sending our own to learn from you in turn. These are beginnings, small perhaps, but they are steady — and in steady steps, trust is built."
Quills scratched upon parchment as scribes began noting the terms. The exchange moved forward — goods cataloged, seasonal shipments proposed, the number of exchange students discussed. Yet even as the agreements took shape, Choi could feel the lingering eyes of those who had not been satisfied, men and women whose silence was less a sign of peace than of patience. The question of weapons, though buried for now beneath talk of trade and learning, was not gone. It had simply been set aside, like a blade sheathed until a more opportune moment.