Velzard had stayed in Nyvaris longer than she had anywhere outside the Ice Continent. She felt her once-frigid distance from the world beginning to thaw.
She wasn't here on any official mission. She hadn't come to form alliances or make declarations. Initially, curiosity had brought her. Now, something else kept her rooted.
Today, she stood in the central courtyard of Nyvaris—a wide circular plaza made of pale gray stone, polished and etched with sigils that regulated the natural flow of magicules in the air. A gentle hum of energy vibrated beneath her feet. The wind was warm, pleasant, and carried laughter and conversation through the bustling space.
Children dashed past her, giggling, some of them wearing enchanted wooden masks that puffed out colorful sparkles. Street performers stood near the fountains, casting harmless illusions of dragons and birds. Food stalls lined the plaza's edges, the scent of roasted meats, sweetbread, and spicy vegetables carried on the breeze.
Velzard stood quietly, arms behind her back, watching it all.
"…It's peaceful here," she murmured.
"Too peaceful for someone like you?" came a playful voice beside her.
It was Veldora.
He had taken a liking to following her around since she arrived—proudly showing off the city like a child bringing home good grades. Today, he wore a white high-collared tunic with deep navy trousers, a gold sash tied loosely around his waist. He looked more like a noble than a dragon.
Velzard didn't answer immediately. She observed a baker handing a free loaf of sweetbread to a barefoot girl, who thanked him with a bow. The crowd simply moved around them, no one complaining, no one rushing.
"It's strange," she finally said. "Even with all these magicules, there's no tension. No wild flares, no one drunk on power."
Veldora beamed. "That's because they're taught from childhood how to live with it. How to respect it."
"Hmm." Velzard tilted her head. "That's new. Most kingdoms try to suppress it, fearing accidents or uprisings."
"They don't need to suppress it here," Veldora replied, pride clear in his voice. "Varvatos showed them how to embrace their power without being consumed by it. And he's trained people to protect, not dominate."
They walked slowly past a group of teenage initiates practicing a controlled burst technique—gathering magicules in the palm, shaping it, and releasing it in a small arc. It reminded Velzard of her own training, centuries ago. Crude, brutal, and solitary.
One of the younger trainees looked over and froze when he recognized her. His hand sparked, and the spell fizzled awkwardly in the air.
"S-sorry, Lady Velzard!" he bowed stiffly. "I—I wasn't trying to—!"
Velzard raised a brow. "Relax. You're not offending me. Try again. But this time, slow your breathing. You're hoarding too much magicule in the palm without guiding it."
The boy blinked in surprise. Then he nodded. Focused. He tried again—this time the arc was stable, sharp, and clean.
She gave a small nod. "Much better."
The instructor nearby offered a deep bow. "Lady Velzard, your insight is most appreciated. Would you consider visiting the Academy sometime? I know the young ones would be honored."
Velzard looked to Veldora. "Your people are forward."
"They're not afraid to ask for help. That's one of their strengths," he said with a smirk.
She turned back to the instructor. "Perhaps. If time allows."
As they moved on, Veldora nudged her gently. "You're warmer than I remember."
"Careful. If you say that again, I might bury this plaza in snow."
"You wouldn't dare. The kids like the fountains."
She chuckled—a real one this time. "You've changed, Veldora."
He straightened proudly. "Want to see how much? We can spar again."
Velzard gave him a look. "You're sure you can handle that?"
"I've trained under Varvatos personally. I've refined my form, my magicule control, even my thought speed. I promise not to disappoint."
Her smirk widened. "Then I'll give you five minutes to prepare. You'll need it."
The arena was set on the outskirts of the capital—an immense coliseum made of blackstone and celestial steel. Protective barriers shimmered like heatwaves around its dome, ready to contain even the fiercest of magicule surges.
Word spread quickly: The White Ice Dragon and the Storm Dragon are about to spar.
Hundreds filled the stands, though the energy was reverent, not loud. These were not ordinary beasts. They were living calamities.
Veldora entered first, stretching his arms as he walked barefoot onto the stone floor.
Velzard arrived a moment later, calm, regal, eyes sharp. Her cloak billowed behind her, but her expression was composed—not arrogant, but focused.
The match was not for show. It was a true test.
As they faced each other, Veldora dipped his head respectfully. "Try not to hold back."
"I never do."
They launched at the same moment. The initial shockwave shook the barriers, sending pressure rippling through the air. Velzard's ice blossoms bloomed instantly around her like crystalline wings, while Veldora's storm essence howled to life, encircling him with razor winds.
She struck first, a lance of pure frost condensed from atmospheric magicules. He caught it with a barrier—a perfectly-tuned magicule shell, layered and rotating.
Velzard's eyes widened.
Veldora moved in, not recklessly, but with measured force. Each strike was deliberate. His physicality was faster, tighter. There were no wild flails, no bursts of unchecked magicule.
He spun low, creating a vortex to destabilize her footing, but she froze the air below and skated back, launching a wall of crystalline spikes that chased him mid-step.
The crowd gasped.
Veldora grinned, exhaled—and a condensed storm sphere imploded the spikes mid-air without losing form.
The battle continued for twenty full minutes—twenty intense, intricate minutes. Every step, every strike, every spell exchanged was calculated and refined.
And then finally, Velzard raised her hand.
"That's enough."
Veldora landed lightly, panting only slightly. "What? Done already?"
She walked toward him, examining him not with sibling judgment—but with genuine admiration.
"You've grown stronger," she said softly. "Far stronger. Not just in force… but in control. Precision."
He scratched his head. "You think so?"
"I know so. The Veldora I knew wouldn't last five minutes against me. This one… could hold his own for an hour."
He glowed with pride, beaming.
"Thank you, sister."
Velzard turned to the crowd, who slowly erupted into respectful applause.
"This kingdom has done something I never thought possible," she murmured. "It's helped a Storm Dragon become a knight."
And as she walked away, her heart warmed—just slightly.
She didn't say it aloud, but she would stay longer still.
This kingdom… was worth watching.