Chapter 58: Steel and Sovereignty
The winds howled over the snow-crusted spires of Ironhold, the capital of the Iron Empire. It was a city built on the bones of mountains, its towers shaped from obsidian and dragon-tempered steel. Here, diplomacy was carved from blade and fire.
Jean rode through its gates under a white banner, Whitney at her side, her Envoy guard trailing in silence. Her arrival did not go unnoticed. Ironclad soldiers watched from battlements. Crossbows followed every step.
And atop the throne of iron and ice sat Valeria Durnstahl—the Iron Empress herself.
Clad in crimson warplate, her eyes were colder than the north. She didn't rise to greet Jean. She simply spoke.
> "So. The girl who would be king walks into my keep."
Jean stepped forward.
> "I am not here to posture."
Valeria leaned back on her throne, expression unreadable.
> "Then speak."
---
The room emptied.
Only the two women remained—light and steel, destiny and defiance.
Jean stood tall, her voice steady.
> "Your armies move against our borders. I've come to ask why. And to ask that they stop."
Valeria studied her.
> "Because peace has become weakness, Lightbringer. And because your rise threatens balance."
Jean frowned.
> "You fear a war I do not want."
> "No," Valeria said coolly. "I fear the gods' war. And what it makes mortals become."
For a moment, silence lingered—thick with memory and unspoken truths. Then the Empress rose. Her presence was immense, her aura a slow-burning furnace.
> "But I will not be the spark. Yet."
Jean's eyes narrowed.
> "What do you mean?"
Valeria stepped down from her throne, standing face-to-face with the heir of Luther.
> "There is something stirring in the western dark. My spies vanished near the mountains. And then… came dreams. Of ash. Of wings. Of a voice like thunder."
Jean's breath caught.
> "Antares."
Valeria nodded.
> "The dragons move. My blade is mine. For now. But if you fall… know this, Jean Luther."
She turned.
> "I will survive. Even if the world burns."
---
As Jean left Ironhold, snow fell in silence.
Whitney brushed against her side.
> "She won't strike yet," Jean said. "But we walk on ice… and it's cracking."
---