Strax kept his gaze fixed on hers—steady, penetrating, as if he could pierce through all the layers of ice she wore as armor. The Monarch held the bluish glint in her eyes, but a tiny tremor—subtle, almost invisible—ran through her gloved fingers.

And Strax saw.

He always saw.

"I won't deceive you," he repeated, lower, his deep voice vibrating like heated metal. "But you're trying to deceive yourself."

Her expression didn't change—at least, not enough for any normal person to notice. But Strax wasn't just anyone. He had lived among monsters, read the language of predators, faced creatures whose slightest gesture betrayed deadly intentions.

The Ice Monarch was cold, calculating, impeccably composed. But not unshakable.

"What are you talking about?" she asked, her voice impeccably controlled.

Strax took a slow, measured step, drawing closer until only a hand's breadth of air separated them. The thermal shock between them made the atmosphere hazy, a thin mist that formed and vanished in seconds. He raised one hand—not to touch her, but to bring it close enough for her to feel the heat radiating from his skin.

"I'm talking about this," he said, tilting his head. "This mask of yours cracking."

Her eyes narrowed, visibly irritated—but not enough to hide the tension that rose in her shoulders.

"Explain yourself," she ordered.

"You want honesty?" Strax asked. "Then I'll give it to you."

She remained silent—not out of superiority, but out of caution.

Strax took a deep breath, and when he spoke, his voice carried the same quiet firmness of someone already accustomed to dealing with uncomfortable truths.

"Ever since I entered your hall, you've been trying to give the impression that the fate of this kingdom doesn't matter. That it was always doomed to die. That you're just… 'waiting,' watching, planning."

The echo of her voice seemed to blend with the distant crackling of the ice, as if the palace itself could hear it.

"But every time you say that, your hand trembles."

The Monarch froze in place—ironically—and Strax slowly pointed to her hand.

"There. You're doing it again."

She clenched her hand, hiding the tremor, but Strax had already seen it. It was too late to deny it.

"I don't—"

"—Don't lie," he interrupted, his voice deep and sharp, yet without aggression. "I hate lies. I hate tests. I hate unnecessary games."

She clenched her jaw, but didn't interrupt him.

"You said you don't care about this kingdom," Strax continued. "But I can sense the opposite. In every word you say. In every silence. In every glance you give. You're worried—very worried."

The corridor seemed to grow even colder, but this time it wasn't magic. It was tension.

"You feign detachment because you think that's how a ruler should act. That if you show concern, the Celestial Emperor will have already won. You think showing fear is a weakness."

She inhaled slowly, her chest rising and falling with extreme discipline—but her breath came out slightly shaky.

Strax leaned slightly to bring his face closer to hers. His golden eyes burned like intense embers in a frozen world.

"But the truth, Monarch… is that you're terrified."

She opened her mouth to reply, but Strax raised a finger, asking for silence—a bold gesture, unthinkable for anyone else who dared to enter that glacial realm.

"The temperature is dropping too fast to be natural," he explained, his voice lower, yet incisive. "You say you're waiting for the kingdom to die, but this fall in the weather isn't something you control. It's something that's slipping away from you. I saw the sky changing even before I set foot on Cristhalis. The cold is more aggressive than any controlled magic should be."

He gestured around.

"The ice is expanding erratically. The weather is unstable. People are freezing in the streets, but you maintain this rehearsed speech of purification, balance, destiny."

She stared at him for a long, deep moment. There was coldness there, yes—but also something Strax hadn't seen before:

Vulnerability.

A tiny crack in a sea of ​​eternal ice.

"You think you understand everything," she said finally, her voice low but firm. "You think you can see through me simply because you see signs that others ignore?"

Strax shrugged. "I don't think so. I see them."

She laughed—a short, joyless sound. "And what else do you think you see in me, Strax? What do you think I'm hiding?"

He smiled—a confident smile, but not arrogant. A smile of someone who knew exactly what he was saying.

"I see a queen who is trying to save her own people, but who no longer knows if she can."

Her eyes trembled.

"I see someone who's afraid of what the Emperor will do when he realizes her emotions aren't as… dead as they should be."

She looked away for the first time—and that's when Strax was certain.

"And I see a woman who's so used to ruling through coldness and distance that she doesn't know how to ask for help."

The Monarch closed her eyes, as if she'd finally been hit hard.

Strax continued:

"You brought me here to test my strength, my character, my intentions. But you didn't need to. You just had to tell the truth."

She opened her eyes slowly, the blue shining with a different intensity—a mixture of wounded pride, understanding, and a tiny glimmer of hope.

"And what would the truth be… Strax of Asgard?"

He smiled, this time without irony.

"The truth is, I can help you."

The silence that followed seemed to freeze the air between them.

The Monarch kept her gaze on him, but now there was something more—an unspoken question, an honest hesitation.

"But only if you stop pretending you don't need to."

Her hand trembled again.

The Monarch opened her mouth, finally willing to say something—perhaps a denial, perhaps another phrase constructed to hide the truth. The air around her trembled, as if the words forming were ice breaking.

But Strax raised his hand, blocking her before the sound could escape.

"No," he said, with unwavering composure, his deep voice cutting through the hallway. "Enough excuses. Enough masking what's happening."

She frowned, annoyed by his audacity—but not enough to push him away.

"Strax, you don't—"

"I'll sort this out," he interrupted, with the firmness of someone who would leave no room for debate. "At least temporarily. Until you can tell me what's really going on."

The Monarch's eyes narrowed, but the trembling of her fingers—and the slightly accelerated rhythm of her breathing—betrayed that she was more nervous than she would ever admit.

"You don't understand the nature of this weather curse—"

"I don't need to understand," Strax snapped, already passing her toward the icy balcony that opened onto the entire city. "I just need to break it."

She took two steps behind him, alarmed. "You can't just—"

"—I can," he replied, stopping in the center of the balcony. "And I will."

The Monarch opened her mouth to protest again, but Strax ignored her. He raised his arm, and the air around them immediately changed. The temperature rose—not much, but enough for the ice beneath their feet to crackle, as if sensing fear.

The city's bluish aura began to flicker, unstable.

The Monarch took an involuntary step back, surprised. The heat emanating from him at that moment wasn't just natural—it was an ancient, visceral heat. Something that seemed to belong to the heart of a star.

"Strax…" she whispered, for the first time without arrogance, without a mask, without royalty—just… frightened.

He closed his fingers slowly, as if gathering the very essence of fire between his hands. Golden sparks shimmered between his fingers. The air rippled, distorting his vision as if about to crack.

"I told you I would help," he murmured.

The mana in the air vibrated, creating visible waves that spread across the balcony.

And then—

SHRRUUUUUM—!!

A muffled roar echoed, deep as thunder, as the energy condensed in the palm of his hand, swirling, pulsing, growing like a heart of incandescent light.

The Monarch brought her hand to her face, shielding herself from the glare that was beginning to fill the corridor.

Strax raised his arm—and the small, flaming orb grew, expanding until it took the form of a micro-sun, a core of white and gold fire that burned too intensely to be natural.

The light reflected off the ice walls, creating thousands of shadows and reflections. The memories trapped in the ice—figures, faces, moments—seemed to scream silently before disappearing under the onslaught of heat.

"Strax! This is madness!" she finally cried, her voice echoing like icy thunder.

He looked over his shoulder, with that arrogant, calm smile.

"Perhaps," he said. "But it works."

And then—

He threw the sun into the sky.

The orb soared like an inverted meteor, cutting through the gray sky. A trail of fire ripped through the frozen atmosphere. The micro-sun pierced the thick clouds and…

BOOOOOMMM!!

…exploded in a blinding flash, creating a ring of golden light that spread throughout Cristhalis.

The impact was so intense that the snow on the palace roof evaporated instantly.

The entire city shone.

The sky, previously gray and heavy with ice, violently opened, revealing a deep, almost forgotten blue. The golden light flooded the streets, the alleys, the towers.

The ancient ice began to melt—not in torrents, but in warm mists, as if a giant breath were dispersing centuries of frost.

The magical barriers that enveloped the kingdom trembled and crumbled into shimmering fragments.

The dormant runes on the palace walls shone brightly for the first time in generations, awakened by the heat.

The Monarch took another step back, her face illuminated by a color she hadn't seen in years—the golden light of the sun.

Her cloak billowed in a warm gust, and her eyes widened.

"You…" she whispered, unable to look directly at the sky. "…melted the sky."

Strax watched everything calmly, as if he were simply taking a stroll in the afternoon light.

"I told you I was going to melt this ice," he replied, crossing his arms.

The Monarch turned slowly to him, her face an impossible mixture of shock, fear, and fascination. The entire palace seemed to breathe—as if part of it were awakening from a long coma. The cursed cold that had suffocated the region had been undone, broken, banished.

"How long…?" she asked, her voice still unsteady.

"A few hours," Strax replied. "Perhaps a whole day, if you can maintain your focus. After that, the cold returns."

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