The Monarch let out a small laugh—soft, yet sharp, like the sound of clinking crystals. Her blue eyes gleamed with a light that oscillated between interest and challenge.

"You are audacious, Strax of Asgard," she said, resting her chin on her hand as she looked down at him. "So accustomed to reigning among beasts and flames that you forget what it's like to tread on foreign territory. I like that."

Strax arched an eyebrow, the corner of his mouth curving into a restrained smile. "So that's what you think of me? A conqueror without limits?"

"No," she replied calmly, rising from her throne. Her voice was almost a whisper, but it carried the same force as an avalanche. "I find you… interesting."

The echo of her words lingered in the air, and even the icy wind that swept through the hall seemed to hesitate. Scarlet raised an eyebrow, exchanging a glance with Shura—the kind of look that said this is going to be trouble.

Strax, however, merely held her gaze, his smile becoming firmer. "The feeling is mutual. It's rare to find someone so… calm, even with a kingdom crumbling around them."

The Monarch stopped before him, her eyes flashing like blades in the bluish light. "You see ruin. I see purification."

"Purification?" Strax chuckled softly, tilting his head slightly. "Call it what you will, but what I saw out there was hunger, weakness, and despair. There's no glory in that. Anyway, it doesn't matter, I have nothing to do with it."

She took another step closer. The air between them vibrated—not with heat, but with an almost spiritual coldness, which seemed to try to extinguish the flame emanating from him. "You don't understand what true control is, Strax. Everything has a price. Including strength."

"And is your kingdom paying yours?"

For a moment, the gleam in her eyes dimmed—an almost imperceptible flicker of something that could be anger, weariness, or… sadness. But as soon as it appeared, it vanished.

"That doesn't matter," she replied with absolute calm, taking a step back and returning to her distant, monarchical tone. "Things always find their balance, sooner or later. I just… accelerate the process."

Strax crossed his arms, observing her as if studying a rare creature. "You speak of balance while your people die in the streets. That sounds more like denial than leadership."

She stared at him serenely, the ice in her voice intact. "And you speak as if the flame you carry has burned nothing but enemies. Tell me, Lord of Asgard… how many lives were lost to raise your throne?"

Strax looked at his hands and began to count, "Hm…" he finished and turned his hand to her. "Here, 7," he said.

The silence between them grew again, heavier than before. Scarlet looked away to avoid laughing, and Shura merely sighed, murmuring something that faded into the air.

Finally, the Monarch raised her hand and sighed, without even turning around. One of the guards at the door straightened up immediately.

"Prepare a chamber for our guests," she ordered, her voice echoing through the hall. "I want them to be treated with… hospitality."

The guard nodded, striking his chest with his fist before hurrying out.

Strax watched in silence, his gaze still fixed on her. "Hospitality. What a… curious word, coming from someone who thinks about freezing people she doesn't like."

"You're still alive, aren't you?" she said, without even looking at him, descending the steps from the throne.

"For now," he replied with a half-smile.

She stopped before him again, so close that the icy breath escaping her lips made the air around them blur. "Come with me, Strax. I'd like to… talk alone."

Scarlet stepped forward. "Alone?" she asked, her voice thick with suspicion.

The Monarch turned to her, and a single glance was enough to make the warrior take an involuntary step back. "Just business," she said with feigned sweetness. "I promise I won't turn your lord into a sculpture… yet."

Shura let out a sound that resembled a muffled laugh. "She has a sense of humor. That's dangerous."

Strax placed a hand on the tiger's head in a brief gesture. "Keep an eye on the quarters. And don't eat anyone."

"No promises," the feline replied, showing a wisp of a tooth.

The Monarch smiled slightly and turned, walking towards one of the side corridors. "This way."

Strax followed her.

The corridor that opened up after the hall was silent, illuminated only by suspended crystals that emitted a pulsating, bluish light. The sound of his footsteps echoed as if each one were absorbed by the walls. The temperature there seemed even lower, but Strax walked without showing any discomfort—the natural warmth of his body countered the deadly cold of the place.

The Monarch walked ahead, her translucent cloak trailing on the ground, leaving a faint trail of ice that formed and then vanished. When she finally spoke, her voice was lower, almost confidential.

"Do you know why I actually summoned you here, Strax?"

He crossed his arms, maintaining the same distance between them. "I imagine it's not out of courtesy."

"No," she replied, looking over her shoulder. "It's because Asgard is growing too fast. The fire is spreading, and I can't allow it to reach the northern mountains."

"Then it's fear," said Strax, his tone provocative.

"No." She turned to face him, her eyes flashing. "Prediction."

"I imagine it's the cold of this place," Strax said, and she shook her head.

"In truth, this place was always destined to die; I'm just waiting for it to disappear so I can leave and escape the clutches of the Celestial Emperor," she admitted as she continued walking. "What I want to know is what kind of person you are, and why you attacked and dominated the Beast Monarch."

"I understand, you want to switch sides instead of fighting and losing miserably," Strax said.

The Monarch didn't respond immediately. She continued walking ahead, her cloak shimmering in the bluish light, and when she spoke, her voice carried a dangerous tone—the kind of calm that precedes the collapse of a glacier.

"You speak with great confidence, Strax," she said, without turning around. "But I don't fight battles that are already lost. I only choose when to let them die."

Strax gave a slight, provocative laugh. "A… convenient philosophy. So your loyalty changes with the wind—or, in this case, with the temperature."

She stopped abruptly, turning to face him. The movement was so sudden that tiny flakes of ice detached from the walls and floated in the air. Her sapphire eyes gleamed with icy intensity.

"Careful. You speak as if you understand what it's like to live under the gaze of the Celestial Emperor. But you have no idea what he's capable of."

Strax stared at her without blinking. "Oh, I do." He took a step forward, drawing closer until the heat emanating from him met her cold in the middle of the corridor—and for an instant, the air between them rippled, creating a thick mist. "And I know fear when I see it."

The Monarch's lips curved into a half-smile—beautiful, but lifeless. "It's not fear, Strax. It's strategy. Fear paralyzes. I just… wait for the right moment to cut the chains."

"Chains?" he repeated, tilting his head. "Or a crown?"

She took a deep breath—a rare gesture—and resumed walking, slower now, as if her words weighed heavily on her. "You think power is freedom. But power is a prison with golden walls. The Emperor gave me this kingdom, granted me control over the cold and eternity… and, in return, took away my right to choose what I love, what I destroy, what I save."

There was something in her voice that sounded true, almost human—a subtle crack beneath all the arrogance and coldness.

Strax followed her in silence for a few seconds, until he spoke in a less provocative, but still firm tone: "And is that why you summoned the enemy to your house? To measure if I can break your chains?"

She stopped again, this time before a large window of translucent ice. On the other side, the city stretched out under the blue light of dawn—beautiful, but dead. No sound, no movement, only ghosts covered in snow.

"Perhaps," she replied, observing the landscape. "Or perhaps I just want to understand what drives someone who destroys to rebuild. The Beast Monarch served chaos for centuries. You defeated him—and he still lives. That tells me a lot about the kind of man you are."

Strax approached, stopping beside her. Their reflections blended in the icy glass—the golden fire of his eyes contrasting with the sharp blue of hers. "And what does that tell you, exactly?"

"That you're dangerous," she said simply. "But not for the obvious reasons."

He raised an eyebrow, curious. "And what would those… less obvious reasons be?"

"You don't thirst for destruction, Strax. You thirst for purpose. Men like that are unpredictable. And unpredictability… is power."

Strax chuckled softly, genuinely amused. "And you, Monarch? Did you call me here to try to understand this, or to use it?"

"Perhaps both," she admitted, turning to face him. "But make no mistake. I do not bow. Not even to fire."

Strax's golden eyes narrowed, and he took a step forward, closing the distance between them even further. The contrast of heat and cold was almost palpable—tiny droplets of vapor formed in the air between their faces.

"I don't want you to bow down," he said softly. "Just… let's say this cold will melt away in a few minutes and I'll let you live a more peaceful life without worrying about anything." Strax spoke and looked into her eyes.

"You can't fool me," he said.

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