Chapter 9

Before the Reunion

Geddeon’s POV

“Tío, do we… have to wear the whole regalia?” Geddeon questioned, frowning at his reflection against a wall of mirrors. Standing on a pedestal of obsidian, he glared at the layers of luxurious fabrics and skull ornaments.

Gods, how he hated fine fabrics.

He preferred rugged leathers, steel, and a thicker wool, though only on cooler occasions. Anything with definitive structure that could handle the wear and tear of a general. The heavier the piece, the more respect he bestowed it.

But silks? Fine cottons? Whatever the fuck a chiffon was? All of it was far too delicate and so damn fragile that a fingernail could easily rip it to shreds.

He loathed royal regalia and its finicky bullshit.

Yet here he stood; T-posing decorated layers of glittering gold and charcoal silks, being poked and prodded with needles and pins, much to his chagrin. 

He felt like a child wearing his father’s oversized clothes, remembering his days as a private back in formation again.

The only differences were the exact fitting of his garments and his arms outstretched for the attendants to work.

If the prince shifted himself even a tenth of a millimeter out of place, the regional disaster it would cause would only cause more problems for the source.

’Quell the rage…quell the rage…’

“You know as well as I, niño. Centuries of Los Muertos Royalty have diligently donned Ruin Regalia during special events. It's our standard formal dress.” Xibalba reiterated from his own adjacent pedestal, his arms lifted straight as a young lady hastily backstitched the hem of the man’s muted purple cuff.

“I understand that, but does it have to be so…” The prince paused momentarily, choosing his next words carefully as the Royal Seamstresses shuffled around the room, “Extravagant?”

The black fur lapel on his waistcoat was suffocating, the ever glistening sheen from the gold jewelry was excessive, and the horn ornaments tickled the top of his forehead, creating an unbearable itch with his skull hair cuffs.

This was hardly how he wanted to spend his Saturni evening. 

“‘To stand out brighter the sun’ was the goal per centuries of tradition, so yes,” the Remisian King exhaled as he gently lowered his arms, eyeing his nephew slyly, “It could be worse, you know. Historical records indicate that our ancestors used to wear less clothing than we do now.”

A soft cacophony of giggles from the nearby seamstresses.

“A word of caution, Your Grace,” A warbled melodic tone echoed from behind them, startling the girls enough to swiftly scuttle away into different directions, “While my apprentices are highly killed, they are still impressionable. If you would be so kind, please refrain from distracting them.”

“My apologies, Madame Arachne. I meant no disrespect to you or your seasoned artists,” Xibalba chuckled weakly, turning his head to clear his throat.

Geddeon’s posture immediately stiffened upon hearing the voice, holding his head straight and unmoving. From the corner of his eye, he noticed a white line drop from the ceiling to the floor, followed by a figure in heels sharply clicking against the black marble floor behind him.

“Thank you kindly, Your Grace,” the woman affirmed as she strode in front of the men, scanning the men's wardrobe from head to toe. When she finally faced the prince, she tilted her head to the side, puzzled. “¿Pasa algo, joven amo?”

“No! Nothing!” Geddeon blurted out, eyes darting around to anything else but the woman. He would never try to intentionally upset her, as Madame Arachne and her daughters were world-renowned modistas assigned to the Los Muertos Family.

Hells, the woman, herself, was a cunning spider with a keen eye for talent and vicious in her craft.

She was also, unfortunately for him, unbelievably…

…Well endowed, to say it politely.

The prince was a consummate professional. A general of good standing. A man of strength and honor!

He was also shamefully aware of his eyes darting away from where they shouldn't have been roaming. Silently cursing his lack of self control, Geddeon tried to keep his gaze forward and far from the woman in question.

Madame Arachne stepped closer to the younger man, adjusting the face of his light orange lapels with a slight tilt of her head, her white hair falling down over her breast, “Are you certain? You seem tense.” 

“I'm fine!” The prince choked out, turning his head to the side quickly as the warmth in his cheeks burned to the tip of his nose. He couldn't tell if she was assessing his outfit or purposefully teasing him. 

“Hmm,” The woman sounded, giggling softly while tapping on his shoulder. “He's respectful, but surely not bashful. Hopefully, you'll learn to not be this reserved when choosing your queen.”

Right then, Geddeon’s face seared with the shame of a guilty man, swallowing hard.

Did she notice his wandering eyes?

“You tease him too harshly, Madamé! He is a right gentleman that any woman would be proud to have!” Xibalba argued lightheartedly.

The prince exhaled with relief, thankful for his uncle's interjection and a moment to compose himself.

‘Thank you, Tío.’

“Besides, he avoids marriage prospects like a plague. You'd never see the two in the same room.” The older man chuckled from his pedestal.

Geddeon sharply inhaled, the burning shame dampened by the waters of annoyance.

‘Dammit, Tío…’

Arachne and Xibalba gave hearty laughs as she sauntered over to the Remisian King. “If my clothing doesn't find him a queen, it will only be because he isn't looking.”

“I'm standing right here,” The prince announced, shifting his shoulders. “Also, a general has no time for marriage when his troops require a skilled leader.”

The woman turned towards the younger man, eyeing him from his horns to his feet. “That you are! A strong general is essential for the country, yes,” she smiled slyly, clapping once to alert her workers. “But as a prince, you must either leave behind a legacy or some fantastical feat. Your choices are quite limited, and with the assistance of fashion, it may help you fulfill a feasible task.”

Geddeon inwardly scoffed, though chose to remain silent. He knew Madame Arachne was right, but only partially.

‘I can't build a family in a broken country with sporadic Spawn Events. The peoples’ safety comes first.’

Ever since his Coming-of-Age Ceremony, there had been a myriad of concerns that plagued the prince's mind with alarming frequency. It may have been due to his eagerness to please his father or his anxiety of being next in line to the throne, but two thoughts, in particular, stood out.

Logically, he understood his duty to produce an heir and continue the bloodline, but then he gazed upon his kingdom. Its poor conditions, rampant famine, and perilous spawn events made him hesitant to bring a child into this world, only to plague said child with the same concerns he was experiencing now.

The other thought was a bit more harrowing, as honest and brutal as his ideals.

‘Should I even continue the royal line?’

As treasonous as the notion may have been, he still had his fears from his ancestors' past. 

Geddeon acknowledged that, for centuries, the Los Muertos Family had been the cause of numerous conflicts. To this day, it had seemed like the royal family’s efforts to restore balance weren’t enough, that they weren't enough.

It was true that he helped rebuild dilapidated structures wherever he could, and ensured the guards remained trained for any situation, but he couldn’t help but assume that his efforts to subvert that judgement weren’t enough.

The Autumnal Ruins should be revitalizing the land for farming, dealing with security concerns, or rebuilding infrastructure from centuries of dilapidation.

Yet, instead of actively ensuring the wellbeing of the people, Geddeon was here; being fitted for an extravagant dinner, where the average spoon costs more than denizens of the Ruins made in a year.

‘Quell the rage…quell the rage…’

The seamstresses all curtsied to the gentlemen before hastily lining up from shortest to tallest. Then, with light footsteps, they exited the room. Arachne waited for each of the girls to leave, but turned back towards the men, “Final alterations are complete, Your Highnesses. You are free to move about.”

The Remisian King bowed graciously to the lady, “Thank you for all your splendid work. We promise to keep the garments pristine.”

“With all due respect, Your Grace, you couldn’t pay me to believe you,” the woman giggled, strolling out of the room to leave the men to their own devices.

“Hopefully, our light banter wasn’t too upsetting.” Xibalba announced to his nephew, stepping down from his pedestal onto the marbled floor. When he turned to the man, he quickly noticed the sternness in his expression. “¿Qué te pasa en la cara?”

‘Now's a better time than any…’

“Tío…is now an appropriate time for a banquet, given the circumstances?” Geddeon asked honestly, dropping his arms to his sides. 

The older man tilted his head slightly. “¿Eh? Now is an excellent time for a banquet. Why wouldn’t it be?”

The young man paused and after a beat of silence, the younger man sighed, steeling his nerves.

“Tío, our people are… they're suffering. Some are liable to go to bed with nothing but dreams for nourishment. We, just recently, had a cataclysmic attack on one of our most populated cities! It hasn’t even been a week since!” Geddeon’s voice wavered as he tried to keep his tone civil, yet resolute enough for the task at hand.

Xibalba listened silently, his gaze too still for the prince to decipher. Calmly, the elder gestured to his nephew to continue his thoughts.

“I know Tía has her heart set on this banquet to bring us all together, but is a party the most productive use of our time when we are still trying to rebuild so much of our home?” The Prince urged. 

Xibalba’s face was as still as the marbled floor; not a single emotion was revealed when the Remisian King spoke up.

“I fear I have done you a disservice,” he began, his eyes now focused entirely on his nephew, “You are no longer a youngling, and I have been disrespectful to treat you as if you still were.”

Geddeon’s brows furrowed puzzled by the man’s words, and before he could respond or question it, Xibalba gently lifted his hand to halt his thoughts.

“For much of your life, or rather, since you scared off your political tutor,” the prince grimaced, recalling his time with the pompous helsprit. The Remisian King continued, “You've operated with the information only given to a young prince of your age. By tradition, you would be too young for the political machinations necessary for ruling.”

The Prince stepped down from his pedestal, lowering himself to sit on the edge. He knew he was in for an earful, but this conversation felt different. 

Perhaps, it was what he needed to hear.

“Of course, your father and I should have also taken into account that you are not only the heir apparent of our line, but also an exceptional general. Thus, I hope my apology, accompanied with the information that had been withheld from you, should quell your worries and spirit.”

Geddeon nodded slowly as he carefully listened to his uncle’s words.

All of his concerns regarding the success of his country, years of entrapped emotions towards the royal family’s failings.

Maybe, he would finally get the answers that his father refused to relay to him.

“Currently, you are correct to believe that there are more pressing and important concerns that require attention, however, that is a more ‘shallow’ understanding of our issues,” Xibalba acknowledged, moving over to the young man, and plopping down on the adjacent side of his nephew’s pedestal.

“What do you mean?” The Prince questioned.

“Despite what you have been told, our most ‘pressing concern’ is our economy. Our strongest trading partner before the Fallen Leaves Incident was Mt. Wynter, and in just about every regard, excluding agriculture, we have relied heavily on the commerce between both countries to sustain our economy,” the older man frowned as he lent forward, gripping his gloved hands together, “With the Mountain recused from the treaty and halting trade, we've had to increase the prices of exports to our other allies to compensate.”

“But Tío, aren’t you friends with the Realm Elders? And shouldn't the fact that the Ruins are a part of the treaty grant us some leniency and assistance?” The younger man questioned.

“Regardless of our familiarity, your father and I are not in the business of creating enemies from friends,” Xibalba explained, “Do not forget we are merely pieces on a world board; the other Realm Elders have their own interests to fulfill and their own denizens to provide for. Regarding our status in the treaty, the Ruins are currently on a suspension.”

Geddeon's face contorted, wholly perplexed, “Suspension?”

“Correct, there is a specific clause within the treaty that states ‘any and all disputes between any countries of New Temperantia must be resolved, in full, prior to the execution of the Equinox Treaty’”, the King recited, “Which means that we have not renewed, nor can we continue trade without all countries in agreement. We hardly have enough exports to provide as is, and it is only a matter of time until we lose everything.”

Geddeon sat quietly, stunned by his uncle’s direct bluntness. In truth, he had always wondered about the levels of the royal family’s coffers. From his knowledge, during the 2nd Equinox War, the late Reina de Los Muertos had nearly emptied it, resulting in extremely high taxes and food costs.

Then, to add insult to injury, the repercussions of the Fallen Leaves Incident sent the country into debt.

He didn’t account for the trade deficit nor did he know about the treaty's caveat, but the fact that it had such a substantial effect on the Ruins’ economy only left him to believe the worst.

He knew it was bad, but just not this dire. And with each passing sentence, he gained full comprehension of its severity.

‘We haven't been a part of the treaty for ten years…’

‘We haven't had a functioning economy for ten years…’

‘We've been SUSPENDED from assistance for TEN YEARS…’

‘Why wouldn’t father tell me?’

“You might wonder why I bring this up, and I do this to explain that the fastest way to staunch the bleeding of our country is to try to break bread and commune with our current allies. That way, we could focus on the mounting issues,” Xibalba explained, his frown deepening.

‘But if we're left adrift because Mt. Wynter is refusing to communicate, how wo-’

“By applying political pressure to those who still have sway with Mt. Wynter, we are hoping to make contact and possibly resume diplomatic relations,” Xibalba responded quickly, almost reading his mind, “Currently, our regime is persona non grata, but we are still allies with Verne valley, Midsummer Cape and Bordeaux; three countries that have also seen diminished trade with Mt. Wynter. They still have a foot in the door in regards to communication.”

“Forgive me Tío, but a denizen of Mt. Wynter hasn’t attended a banquet in ten years. What chance do we have to make amends when they won’t accept our invitations?” The prince inquired earnestly.

Xibalba smiled slightly as though proud, “A good question, and one that had plagued your father and I throughout our fervent discussions. Our key to solving the issue is someone who we believe up until now has been blinded to the world outside their kingdom. I trust you remember Commander Frost?”

“The heiress to the late Claus?” Geddeon’s brows furrowed, speaking slowly.

‘What the fuck does Frost have to do with all this?’

“The very same. Truly, we were all fooled, civilian and Elder alike,” the older man shook his head, “We were all under the same impression that all of Mt. Wynter were personally refusing our invitations to communicate. Newly retained information, however, states otherwise.”

“What do you mean?”

“We have reason to believe that Mrs. Claus has been intercepting our attempts to reach the young lady, and as a result, preventing her from truly learning of the world outside the mountain.”

“But, how does that help our issues?” The prince tilted his head. 

“Your aunt had received a confirmation of attendance from a Mt. Wynter denizen. Father Wynter told us personally that he could not attend this year, and Rowena is currently on a sabbatical. Which means, for the first time since the Fallen Leaves Incident, we have a chance to rebuild what was once broken.”

“Forgive me but, isn’t this a bit too optimistic?” Geddeon sighed, “Mrs. Claus is still the leader of Mt. Wynter. Even if we impart a positive experience for the commander, aren’t we still in the same position?”

“On a larger scale, yes. However, there are still more independent businesses and barons that operate in mountain territory, but not necessarily for them. Should positive word reach patronizing ears, it could reopen diplomatic doors. And if our economic issues are no longer a gushing wound…” The Remisian king trailed off, finally standing up from his corner of the pedestal.

“We can begin to truly heal.” Geddeon nodded slowly, lining up all the proverbial pieces in place.

‘I understand it now.’

Xibalba placed a reassuming hand upon the younger man’s shoulder, “That is the long game, sobrino. Do not misunderstand; the game of politics is at times distasteful, and visible results tend to limp forward at a snail's pace, but it is something we must abide by to further the necessary and mandatory reconstruction of our country.”

“I understand,” the younger man responded back.

“In the event that the young lady does attend, please conduct yourself accordingly and provide her with the best hospitality the Ruins could provide. After all, we don’t know if we’re dealing with a free spirit or a byproduct of Rowena’s ideals.”

And there it was. That inward grimace and annoyed grumble in his throat.

Be hospitable. To Frost? The elf that literally dropped feet of snow onto his struggling city?

It somewhat baffled him to see his uncle be so gentle with a woman he had met maybe twice. 

But then, he recalled how their previous conversation went. The commander did say that she was just doing her job, and she didn’t seem excited to do it.

Smug, sure, but he spotted the facade through the bags under her eyes.

He knew it well; he wore the same facade.

‘Even commanders have to answer to a higher brass, right? Maybe she wouldn’t have done it if she wasn’t ordered to…’

‘If she was willing to compromise on Día de Los Muertos, maybe she’s more reasonable than the Witch.’

Geddeon considered everything, from the possibility of rebuilding his country through trade to the diplomatic relations of his peers. A few of his closest friends were protégés of Realm Elders already, with one of them actively ruling her own country of Bordeaux.

They had all practically grown up together, but Commander Frost was a later addition to New Temperantia.

The prince distinctly remembered her first appearance at the Fall Banquet; noting her earnest curiosity to learn about their world, and how oddly shy she was to speak.

The woman he saw at the beginning of Novembris was probably running on fumes and more than likely ordered to do it, because Mrs. Claus was truly spiteful like that. 

Salí did say that “everyone deserves a bit of grace”, and in truth, he didn’t know the Commander of Mt. Wynter. 

With a resolute sigh, he chose then to withhold all previous assumptions about Commander Frost, until he could build his own opinion.

“Sí, Tío. I will do my best.” The prince responded, standing from his pedestal and slightly tugging on his lapels.

Nyxis’ POV

“Roza, please slow down,” Nyxis frowned, glaring down the staircase of the East Wing. On the landing below stood Rozaliya, grinning ear to ear and jumping in place like a child. The woman’s pink and white dress flowed like silk with her movements, but her ruby heels glistened under the fading sun.

How the hell did she not fucking break her ankles?

“I'm sorry!” The water nymph extolled, practically jumping down the next set of stairs. “This is just a fucking dream come true for me right now! It's been so long since I've seen everyone in one room!”

“Listen, I’m glad you’re excited and all, but I'm not fast in these shoes.” The elf complained, gripping the silver marble banister with dear life as she descended, sapphire blue heels tapping against the carpeted stairs.

“You should’ve practiced like I suggested. Heels aren't hard to conquer; you already have the balance,” Rozaliya smirked, folding her arms under her chest.

‘Bitch, I'm trying not to fall…’

“I have balance on flat surfaces, not stilts!” Nyxis argued, pulling her snow white fur shrug closer.

“If it’s really a problem, then float. Just know that you will have to walk when we arrive.” The 

“I know…” the younger woman groaned. She wasn’t expecting her deep cobalt evening gown to cover her feet, but it was the only dress that wasn’t some variant of red.

Gods, how she hated the color red.

She had come from a country of colorful fabrics and vibrant textiles, but oddly enough, the coldest country in the world had a terrifying admiration for the color. The darker the hue, the closer one was to the Claus line, be it financially or socially.

She wanted zero affiliation to her boss or the Claus Family. 

Attending the banquet was her decision, and hers alone, regardless of the Witch’s orders.

Could she even call it ‘insubordination’ if Father Wynter was on her side?

“You both are ‘fashionably late’ as one would say,” Bast’s voice echoed as he stood at the base of the grand staircase, holding iridescent cloaks in each of his arms. “You might want to get going.”

Rozaliya smiled as she grabbed her pearl pink cloak from the elf, throwing it over her shoulders, “Thank you, sir. We would have left sooner if her hair didn't take so long.”

“What can I say? Peonía curls are a different beast.” Nyxis shrugged, finally reaching the ground floor of the castle. When she approached her advisor, the man passed off a glacier blue cloak to her, with a sure nod.

“Try not to break too many hearts with that hair,” Bast teased with a sly smirk. Nyxis rolled her eyes, purely unamused.

“No promises, but I'm not looking for love.” the commander responded, resolute in her thoughts.

‘Tonight, I will get answers from someone.’

“I’m kidding. Go be the commander the mountain would be proud of,” the man encouraged quietly, nodding over towards the castle entrance, with the elf following his gaze.

Through the icicle ceilings, the sun was setting quickly, its orange light dazzling the room.

The calming twilight soothed her nerves as she hastily put on her cloak, nodding back to her advisor, “Will do.”

She floated forward, but stopped short.

‘Almost forgot.’

“Do me a favor while I'm out? Can you ‘check the furnace’?” Nyxis inquired, feeling the stare on the back of her head, but she waited.

Bast nodded and bowed, tapping his foot on the ground three consecutive times as he spoke, “Of course.”

Rozaliya, who had already opened and stepped through the gated door of the castle, yelled back to the commander, waving at her impatiently, “Can we go now?”

With a deep sigh, Nyxis levitated away from her advisor and ice prison, and into the early evening of Chakram.  

The nymph turned towards her friend, her smile brighter than the rising moon. She grabbed onto the commander’s arm, pulling her away from the entrance. “There’s a realm gate behind the castle that we can use. Let’s go.”

The elf blinked, quickly trying to process this newly learned information, “Wait, there a what?”

“Yeah. How do you think I make the commute to Mt. Wynter?”

“Sarcastic answer; I thought you were a machination of my madness, just appearing at will. Honest answer; the Weiss Gate?”

The nymph shook her head, floating around the stone walls towards a stone archway, hidden in layers of snow, “Ma’am, fuck no! Time is of the essence, and I don't waste time.”

The gate looked clear enough for a person to pass through at a time, but there were visible enhancement spells sealing it away from the general public. When the nymph passed through, the glyphs shattered into light, leaving the way clear.

The commander flew under the arched gate, lifting her gaze towards the Capricornous Mountain base. Light winds blew flakes of snow down from the summit, but there were heavy clouds cresting over the range, sure to cover Archonia to the northwest well into the evening.

The first time Nyxis came near the mountain range was in her youth, new to the world outside of Peonía. Her task was to climb it and reach the peak, a thoroughly terrifying ordeal that every heir of the Claus Family had to take, though she didn’t have to go alone. 

The expedition took six weeks, and Nicholas personally guided her there, much to Rowena’s chagrin. She remembered learning more about the mountain than the man as they scaled it. Though summiting the beast was an experience she would never forget, to stand upon the highest peak in Aeon, the apex of New Temperantia, there was an essence of pain and regret.

She even recalled asking the man which way was south, just so she could look for Peonía and wave at it. The girl didn't know if any person could see them from where they were, but she waved, nonetheless.

She waved as proof to her mother that she climbed the mountain of her dreams, praying that the woman would look out of her bedroom window and wave back.

After that day, she never climbed the Capricornous Mountains again.

But little did she know; there was a Realm Gate that sat at its base, set in a cave and built into the mountain itself.

“Little known fact; this is the only Realm Gate on Aeon that was built into stone, and one of its oldest, to boot. Current maps don’t list this gate, so as to close off the possibility for an invasion, due to proximity,” Rozaliya quickly rattled off as she lowered herself onto the stone ground.

The elf gazed around the spacious cave; perfectly chiseled stone, layered with more decorative rocks and minerals on its ceiling.

Further in sat the Realm Gate, standing grand over them both, a glowing blue light permeating through the darkness of the cave, almost inviting them to disappear from the cold. 

“The more you learn, I suppose…” Nyxis muttered, pulling her attention towards the gate. 

“With all the time you spend in your library, I'm more surprised you didn't know,” Rozaliya responded.

“Well, just recently, I learned about a lot of things I should have known before,” the elf sighed, “I can add this to the list, I guess.”

“Wait, do you seriously go all the way to Weiss, just for a Realm Gate?”

“No, I usually fly to Valkyrie since the fields are on the way. It's the only time I can visit Rudolph and the Herd.” the commander answered, shrugging underneath her cloak.

“That's… Huh…,” the water nymph fell silent, turning around towards her friend, her face contemplative. After a moment, Rozaliya stared at the elf, earnestly, “You know, I wanted to ask you this earlier, but I wasn't sure about how you would react.”

Nyxis offered her own head tilt of confusion, “What do you mean?”

“Why would you attend a banquet, hosted by the family of your father's murderer?”

The blunt question stunned Nyxis in silence. It was a one the commander surely wasn't expecting, especially from someone who was both her friend and an acquaintance of the Los Muertos Royal Family, but she understood the hidden message. 

Rozaliya could play coy when she felt like it, but her directness came in clusters; most times as a test, other times for her own knowledge. As the Leader of her own country, these were the questions that would arise in the field, questions Rozaliya could not answer for her.

She needed to have her answers before she stepped through that Realm Gate, but there were too many to count.

She couldn’t besmirch her boss, but she also wanted to test the waters regarding how tolerated she was.

She wanted to build the bridge of diplomacy that her boss refused to.

She wanted answers about her father’s death from the people who knew the truth.

She wanted to leave the confines of her mountain and be around new people.

There were so many reasons, but the leading reason was…

“I’ll be honest with you, Roza; my soul is tired,” the elf explained, her voice unwavering, “I’m tired of the Witch’s shortcomings and her disdain towards her own people. I’m tired of watching the servants and guards be abused for no other reason than being in her space. I’m tired of her fucking mouth. She’s not trying to help me; She’s purposefully hindering me, and at some point when the bitch no longer has use for me, she’ll find some way to eliminate me.”

“How do you know that?” Rozaliya inquired.

“I know that she sabotaged my studies through sketchy tutors and faulty material, and now I find out that she had intentionally been keeping me away from the world. The Witch has been withholding information about what happened to my father, and I need to know what happened during the Fallen Leaves Incident, from the mouths of those involved. Who knows, I may learn more about her.” Nyxis explained.

The nymph’s smile faded slightly, but she remained silent to listen.

“I need to know the truth from the Reyes, themselves, and while I recognize that I’m a few years late, I’m now certain that if Father Wynter can’t count on Rowena just to teach me the basics, then I can’t rely on her, for anything,” the elf shook her head, “I have to show people that she doesn’t speak for me and unlike her, I'm willing to communicate to resolve an issue.”

Rozaliya nodded softly as she listened to her friend’s plight.

“She’s fucking up the country and I have to fix this now before the citizens revolt when they eventually find out that she’s, essentially, a fraud.”

“I thought you said the Witch’s order felt more like a punishment,” the water nymph repeated back to the elf.

“Knowing what I know now, this is more of a punishment for her. She would hate to see me in the public eye, and Father Wynter allowed me the choice. I have to show New Temperantia that even if I am a Claus, I am not like her.” 

The water nymph’s signature sly smile curling on her face, “You’re ‘getting curious’, huh?”

“I don't have much of a choice,” Nyxis began, holding her arms close, “Something about the Witch is throwing me the fuck off, and now that I know I can't trust her as far as I can throw her, I want to know what she's hiding, not just from me, but from Father Wynter. I am the heiress of the Claus Family, so I’d best start acting like it, and step one is to represent Mt. Wynter.”

Underneath, the commander’s chest was pounding. She wasn’t familiar with anyone past her advisor and Rozaliya, and while she was prepared for the eventual conversation, she wasn’t sure of how she would react. Regardless, she had to know.

She could only pray her friend wouldn’t put her in a precarious situation.

The nymph floated towards the gate, tapping on her mirrored reflection, “That’s a big step for an introvert; I’m very proud of you. But, the more you grow and learn about Aeon, the more you will understand how things actually work around in New Temperantia.” Rozaliya tapped the elf’s nose with her finger, “But, don’t forget your roots or your manners. I’ll tell you everything about everyone as they appear, and after the banquet, I’ll bring you to the Reyes.”

Nyxis nodded softly, floating towards the gate. As Rozaliya passed through, the elf took a moment to look at herself through the mirror face, from the softly displayed makeup to the dress under her cloak.

Surely not what a commander of an army would wear, in her humble opinion, but she did clean up nicely. Her deep cobalt gown was of a heavier velvet fabric, tight like a deep hug, and detailed with a simple lilac halter neckline. She personally requested sleeves, much to Rozaliya’s chagrin.

However, in a devious exchange to include a fur shrug, the elf was forced to wear a chiffon lilac train attached to a diamond choker. It did layer together nicely, but the soft fabrics made her worry about its fragility.

If it wasn’t the dress, it was her viciously pinned curls near the top of her head. If she moved too fast, she would get stabbed by a carefully placed clip or pin. 

‘Inner peace…be calm…’

With a deep breath, Nyxis passed through the Realm Gate to the Equinox Court.