On the long table sat five individuals.
Three women and two men. Each was an important figure in their own right.
The Lion of Vandor, the future king of Vandor, Prince Alaric. A twenty-two-year-old golden boy, handsome, sharp, and as dangerous as a cornered lion.
The Solar Pontiff of Uriel, Solarius. A man in his sixties, with a cunning mind hidden behind a facade of piety. The true power behind the church.
The Elven Queen, Sylvana. A being of ancient wisdom and raw power, her beauty is as sharp as a newly forged blade. Once an enemy, now a fanatical follower of Morgana.
Victoria Nosferat. The dragon, the twin sister and the acting queen of Morgana's kingdom, was as cold and dangerous as a winter storm; her crimson eyes held a deep, unshakable loyalty to her sister.
She sat at the center, since she was the acting queen of the kingdom and the one who would lead this negotiation.
And finally, Morgana.
In her Valkyrie form, she was an impossible being, a paradox that defied all logic and doctrine. Holy yet demonic, radiant yet shadowed. A goddess born from the abyss, wearing the face of an angel.
She sat on the right side of her sister, her 18 wings folded behind her, her crimson eyes calm and composed, yet holding a power that made the very air around her hum.
The 'angels' formed a silent, immovable wall behind them, their helmets concealing their faces, their presence a constant, oppressive reminder of the power at play.
The elves and the human knights also took their positions, forming tense lines behind their respective leaders, their hands resting on their weapons, their eyes locked on the enemy.
"Now that the introductions are out of the way," Victoria began, her voice a cool, crisp melody that cut through the tense silence. She leaned forward slightly, her voice cool and measured as she opened the proceedings.
"The Kingdom of Vandor marched its armies into our territory under the banner of a 'holy crusade.' You sought to slaughter our people, burn our forests, and claim our land. You failed. Miserably."
"It was a defensive campaign to secure our borders against heretical encroachment—" Pontiff Solarius began, his voice dripping with practiced indignation.
"It was an invasion," Queen Sylvana interrupted, her emerald eyes flashing with cold fury. "Do not insult our intelligence with your temple lies, Pontiff. You wanted our resources, and you wanted to eradicate any voice that did not chant your goddess's name. But the winds have changed."
Prince Alaric kept his gaze fixed on Victoria, and then on Morgana, who sat in silent, terrifying majesty. He could feel the sweat pooling at his collar. The presence of the Elven Queen alongside these 'angels' confirmed his worst fear: the geopolitical chessboard of the continent had not just been rearranged; the board itself had been shattered.
But before he could say anything, Pontiff Solarius spoke again.
"Queen Victoria, though I hesitate to use such titles for one who serves a false idol. The Church of the Eternal Light does not negotiate with heretics. However, out of mercy and a desire for peace, we are willing to hear your… grievances."
The "Queen Victoria" title was a direct jab. The church refused to acknowledge Victoria's title as a queen or her rule over her people. To them, she was nothing more than a powerful heretic.
Prince Alaric placed a calming hand on the table, his gaze shifting between Victoria and Morgana. He had expected arrogance or demands. Instead, he sensed cold calculation.
"What the Pontiff means," he said smoothly, "is that we wish to avoid further unnecessary bloodshed. Your winged warriors and elven allies have proven… formidable. The Kingdom of Vandor is prepared to recognize certain territorial realities in exchange for a cessation of hostilities and the return of our captured forces."
The Holy Knight Grandmaster, Gideon, and thousands of soldiers were still prisoners. They were extremely important, both for the kingdom's morale and for its military strength.
The king and the prince planned to test the waters by offering to pay a 'ransom,' gold, jewels, and resources. They believed that every 'heretic' had a price.
However, the moment Alaric saw the elves and the 'angels' with his own two eyes, he knew that gold and jewels would not be enough.
So he decided to offer something else.
"Territorial realities?" Queen Sylvana let out a soft, mocking laugh. "How generous. You marched an army into sovereign lands, Prince Alaric, and now you wish to bargain as if you hold the upper hand."
Her eyes flicked toward Morgana with open reverence.
"The Goddess has shown us the future. Your false church's grip on this continent is ending. The question is whether you will accept it gracefully… or be swept aside."
"..."
Prince Alaric remained silent; he knew better than to argue with a fanatic.
The Solar Pontiff Solarius, however, was not so wise. He rose from his seat, his face red with indignation. His knuckles were white as he gripped the holy sun staff.
"Silence your insolent tongue, Elven witch! You have been bewitched by that demoness! There is only one goddess, and she will smite all of you for your blasphemy! Her light will cleanse this land—"
His tirade was cut short.
Not by a word, but by a shift in the air.
It was subtle at first, a sudden, chilling drop in temperature. The warm, golden light from Morgana's form seemed to retract, coiling inward like a spring. The very air grew heavy, thick with an ancient, terrifying presence that had nothing to do with Uriel's gentle warmth. It was the crushing pressure of the void, the suffocating silence before the storm.
Surprisingly, aside from the heavy pressure, there was no further reaction.
Victoria Nosferat held up a single, pale finger, her crimson eyes never leaving Alaric's face. She didn't even glance at the old fool. The gesture was minute, but it commanded absolute silence from everyone, including the fanatical Sylvana.
"The Prince is correct that we are here to discuss terms," she said, her voice now holding a glacial edge that could cut through steel. "My goddess's patience… is not infinite. And while I am content to let the pontiff continue to blather, the land itself grows restless with his noise."
She slowly turned her head, her gaze finally falling upon Solarius. Her lips curved into a smile that was all teeth and no warmth.
"Let us lay down the foundation of this negotiation, Prince Alaric," Victoria said, her voice smooth as silk but heavy as lead, completely ignoring the trembling Pontiff. "Since you are the only one at your end of the table who possesses a functioning brain."
Alaric took a slow, deep breath, maintaining his composure. Beside him, Solarius slowly sank back into his chair, his face a pale, mottled mess of fury and fear. The crushing pressure in the air had receded, but the message was clear: one more outburst, and the Pontiff's life would be forfeit, treaty be damned.
"I am listening, Queen Victoria," Alaric said, deliberately emphasizing her royal title to show he, at least, recognized her authority. "What are the terms of the Goddess?"
Victoria rested her elegant chin on her interlaced fingers, her crimson eyes gleaming.
"You speak of 'territorial realities' and the return of your captured forces," she began, her tone laced with amusement. "You came prepared to offer us gold, jewels, and resources to buy back Grandmaster Gideon and your defeated army. Am I correct?"
Alaric's silence was answer enough.
"How quaint," Queen Sylvana chimed in, her beautiful face twisted in a sneer. "To think the sovereign of the wild and the divine host of the Goddess could be bought with shiny pebbles dug from the dirt. Your gold cannot rebuild the ancient trees your soldiers burned, Prince. Your jewels cannot wash the blood of our kin from the soil."
"Gold and resources are the blood of any nation," Alaric countered, steering the conversation back to pragmatism. "With enough wealth, one can rebuild anything. But if currency does not interest you, name your price. We want our men back."
"Oh, they will be returned," Victoria said, a small, dangerous smile playing on her lips. "But not for gold. And not all at once."
She gestured slightly, and one of the fully armored 'angels' stepped forward, placing a thick, heavy parchment onto the stone table.
"These are our terms," Victoria stated, tapping the parchment.
"First. The Kingdom of Vandor will formally renounce all claims to the contested lands between the Greatwood and the Bloodfang Peaks. This territory will henceforth be recognized as the sovereign domain of the Elven Kingdom, under the divine protection of the Goddess."
The land between these two locations was a vast, resource-rich expanse, a buffer zone the humans had fought for centuries to control. To cede it entirely was a staggering loss, far more than they had ever anticipated paying.
Alaric's heart sank. He opened his mouth to argue, but Victoria held up her hand.
"Second. To ransom the main army and your Grandmaster," Victoria continued, ignoring his unspoken protest. "You will deliver a tribute to us. Not of gold, but of flesh and blood. But people, captured elven soldiers and non-human slaves currently held in your kingdom, the specific list will be provided to you."
Solarius looked like he was about to burst into flames.
"We will not! To release such... creatures... is to invite the taint of impurity back into the world! They are chattel. They are—"
He stopped as Victoria's crimson eyes fixed on him. The temperature plummeted again.
"Third," Victoria's voice was a silken whisper, yet it carried the weight of a tomb. "We plan to build a new city. A city of peace and acceptance for all races. A place where all beings can live without fear of persecution. The Kingdom of Vandor and especially the Church of Uriel will recognize its sovereign status and will not interfere in its affairs."
'Damn her...' Alaric's mind screamed. She was not just carving out territory; she was establishing a new, rival power center right on their border, a beacon for every dissident, every non-human, every 'heretic' on the continent.
'This is what I feared the most.'