The micro-sun's glow still burned on the horizon like an open wound in the sky when Strax turned to her. The Ice Monarch remained motionless, her mouth slightly open, her breath shallow—as if she had just witnessed a god tearing reality apart with his bare hands.

The newly arrived heat caused the ice friezes on the walls to trickle in thin threads, forming small droplets that dripped onto the ground with an irregular, almost nervous rhythm.

Strax raised his chin, observing the golden sky he himself had created. For a moment, he seemed to revel in it—not out of pride, but out of pure naturalness, as if it were as simple as breathing.

"This," he said, pointing to the light above, "is just a sample."

The Monarch blinked slowly, as if trying to absorb it all.

"A…" she tried to say, but her voice failed before the sentence was complete.

Strax stared at her, and the heat in his gaze was as overwhelming as the sun shining in the sky.

"A sample," he repeated, with absolute calm. "Just that. I can create something much bigger…" He raised his hand, opening and closing his fingers as if holding an invisible star. "...much stronger. But if I do that…"

He tilted his head, a smile slowly spreading across his lips.

"...your palace melts. All that beautiful fortress of yours, every tower, every corridor, every memory buried in ice… turns to water."

The Monarch's gaze trembled—just for a second, but enough for him to see. Enough for her to know he saw.

"I don't want that," Strax continued, taking a step toward her. "Not yet."

His voice sounded like fire coursing through metal. Neither loud nor aggressive. But firm enough to make the air vibrate.

He then turned to the city, observing the warm mist that was beginning to rise from the rooftops. People were out into the streets, dazed, throwing off thick blankets, touching the damp ground as if it were gold.

"For now, the ordinary sun will do," he explained. "It will thaw the fields, it will allow your people to breathe without fear. It will give them time to eat, to rebuild… to survive. That's all they need right now."

The Monarch remained silent, feeling the warmth touch her face for the first time in decades. The ice on her cloak melted into small crystalline droplets. Her silvery locks gleamed in the golden light like warm blades.

She seemed… human.

Fragile.

And Strax saw that too.

He chuckled softly, crossing his arms behind his back, with the relaxed posture of someone who has just overturned and rebuilt the climate of an entire region.

"No need to be so shocked," he teased. "I thought you called me here precisely because of that."

She finally managed to speak, but her voice came out low and hoarse.

"I… didn't know you were capable of such a thing."

He curved his mouth into a smile that didn't make it clear whether it was pride or a threat.

"Most people don't know what I'm capable of." He moved closer, until she had to lift her face to keep him in her field of vision. "And honestly? I prefer it that way."

She breathed harder, feeling his warmth reach her even before he touched her. Any normal person would have recoiled—but she was the Ice Monarch, and recoil wasn't in her nature.

Even so… she was uneasy.

Strax noticed. And that's exactly why he continued.

"And before you ask," he said, seeing the questioning in her eyes, "no, that's not my limit."

Her heart, almost frozen by nature, seemed to skip a beat.

Strax smiled.

"Want to know what my limit is?" he asked, leaning in until his mouth almost touched her ear. "I'm curious too."

She stepped back just enough to look him directly in the eye.

"Who… who are you really?"

The question came out as a whisper.

The answer came as a sentence.

"Me?" Strax ran a hand through his hair, glancing at the golden sun above. "Ah… I'm just someone warming up before the real work."

The Monarch frowned.

"And what would that 'real work' be?"

His smile vanished—not from irritation, but because the mask of provocation had given way to something much deeper. Something darker.

He turned his back to her and walked to the edge of the balcony, gazing at the horizon with an overly serene expression.

"I'm going to tell you a story," he began, in an almost casual tone, as if he were starting a trivial conversation. "It's about a dragon."

The Monarch immediately went on alert.

Strax continued:

"An ancient dragon. Ancient enough to be forgotten by the gods, feared by kings, and ignored by mortals because…" He chuckled slightly. "...mortals never believe in what can devour them."

The Monarch, for some reason, couldn't intervene. She only listened.

"That dragon awoke one day," Strax continued. "And realized he was alone. Not for lack of company, of course… but because everything that existed was too small for him. Too small for his appetite. He looked at the gods—those arrogant, bored ones—and felt hungry."

The Monarch's breathing quickened.

Strax tilted his head, as if he were seeing the scene before him.

"But even for a dragon, devouring gods requires preparation. He needed strength. Dominion. An army that marched of its own accord, not out of fear. And for that…" He turned slowly to her, his eyes gleaming with intense gold. "...he needed to conquer every stone, every tree, every creature between the world and the sky."

The Monarch felt her body heat up—not from the sun, but from his presence.

"Then," Strax said, "the dragon descended from his mountain and walked to the humblest land he could find. A cold, forgotten land… ruled by a queen who believed she had nothing left to lose."

Her eyes widened.

Strax took another step.

"He began there. Conquering the most remote, the weakest, the most dying piece… because he knew that if he could turn that place into living fire… then he could set anything ablaze."

The Monarch felt her heart clench.

Strax smiled—slow, sharp, inevitable.

"And when he finished taking that land, when he conquered the cold, the ice, the winds… and even the queen's pride…" He raised his chin. "…then he would devour the Celestial Emperor."

The Monarch took an involuntary step back.

"And after that," Strax continued, in an almost soft tone, "he would become the absolute being. The supreme deity of the northern lands. And of everything else."

Silence.

A silence that seemed to weigh tons.

The Monarch opened her mouth—not to question, but to breathe, because even that she found difficult to do.

Strax then took the final step, placing himself before her, so close that his warmth seemed to pierce her skin like a living pulse.

"Now tell me, Monarch…" His voice dropped an octave, deep, irresistible. "...would you rather freeze to death?"

He leaned in until his lips almost touched hers—not in promise, but in threat.

"Or would you rather join the dragon?"

The Monarch felt a shiver run down her spine.

Strax smiled slowly.

"And before you answer," he said, "remember: I just changed the climate of your kingdom with one hand." A chilling glint crossed her irises, but it wasn't just fear.

It was desire.

A desire for survival.

A desire for power.

And perhaps… something more.

Strax waited.

Quietly.

Warm as the sun.

"So? What is your choice?"

…

Cristine had been sitting at the table for so long that the tea beside her had cooled and acquired that thin film on its surface. The room was small, cramped, but welcoming—a lamp hanging from the ceiling cast a yellowish glow on the wood, illuminating folded maps, symbols circled in red ink, and more papers than any human mind should handle at once.

The records about the Ice Monarch were scattered like a jigsaw puzzle from different eras. Some were so old they seemed about to turn to dust. Others had been written hastily, like notes left by people who knew they wouldn't live long enough to finish them.

Cristine took a deep breath, brushing away a strand of hair that kept falling into her eyes. Her fingers slid across the rough paper as she turned another page, reading in absolute silence. With each line, her expression shifted—sometimes curious, sometimes frustrated, sometimes incredulous. The Monarch seemed less a person and more a figure molded by the very stories told about her.

In the center of the table, like a beating heart, lay the official file: the Monarch's coat of arms emblazoned on the cover, a spiral of ice intertwined with a white eye. Ancient. Menacing. Beautiful.

Cristine carefully opened the file, feeling the cover creak beneath her fingers. The smell of old ink and dried parchment escaped like a frozen breath.

"Alright… let's see what you're hiding," she murmured, adjusting her glasses.

The first pages spoke of genealogy, battles, fragile alliances, treaties the Monarch had broken and others she had fiercely honored. Christine read quickly, absorbing every detail like someone piecing together a profile of someone who had never been present at an interrogation, but whose shadow loomed over every crime scene.

Then she found the passage that made time in the room seem to stand still.

A paragraph, short, almost discreet, marked by a margin stained with icy blue.

She frowned.

She read it once.

Then again.

And then she raised an eyebrow slowly, as if observing something that refused to make sense.

"Devoted to a religion of an Ice Dragon?..." She tilted her head, her voice almost escaping in a disbelieving laugh. "How curious..."

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