The war had ended—but peace, as always, came at a cost.
Within the royal citadel of Vastelune, a different kind of battlefield was being prepared. No clash of spells, no echoes of blades—only diplomacy, veiled threats behind polite smiles, and words sharper than any dagger.
A royal summit was called under the golden banners of Vastelune, held in the Hall of Prism Unity, a throne room engraved with history and hollow oaths. Both kings arrived—King Vastelune, silent and commanding as always, and across from him, King Altheor of Aurelion, older, gaunter now, with war etched into his gaze.
The negotiation table was long, carved from spiritwood older than both nations. Every clause was a dagger disguised as parchment. Advisors, generals, nobles, and arcane scribes stood in silent rows behind both rulers. Ari Solen, now robed in muted Compiler black with obsidian glyphs dancing behind his eyes, stood to the side—silent, watching everything.
Cerys stood tall behind her father, the Head of House Aetherrose. Primira, dignified and glowing, was close by. Eluin whispered to no one, but her eyes scanned timelines. Lysira leaned against a pillar, arms crossed, brow twitching.
The air was tense until the declaration came.
King Vastelune laid out his terms—clear, unrelenting.
Full reparations to the lands razed during the second and third campaigns.
Transfer of magical documents and records hidden by Aurelion scholars regarding forbidden spells.
Surrender of the Azure Skyhold borderland to Vastelune for future neutral ground.
And lastly... a royal guest from Aurelion.
A sharp murmur ran through the Aurelion side.
Then, the king of Aurelion—his voice thin, but clear—spoke:
"To prove our sincerity, and to seal this treaty not with ink but with flesh and consequence… I present my only child, my daughter… Princess Saphielle Aurelion."
Gasps echoed as the heavy doors of the throne hall opened.
A figure stepped into the light—Princess Saphielle. Golden-gray hair braided in elegant knots, her eyes glimmering like a twilight sun. Her ceremonial robe trailed behind her, embroidered with the Crownfire Sigils of Aurelion. She did not look like a prisoner, nor entirely a guest. She walked with pride—but you could see the way her jaw tensed, her gloved hands trembling just slightly.
"As daughter of Aurelion, I will stand here in goodwill or in chains. For the dead who cannot speak—for a future that cannot bleed."
Ari watched her—an echo in her eyes. A different kind of fire than Lysira. Sharper than Cerys. She held grace under grief.
"...She's serious," Eluin murmured from Ari's side. "She volunteered."
The Hall was silent. Cerys narrowed her eyes. Primira's expression was unreadable. Lysira scoffed softly but didn't speak.
Ari stepped forward.
"Is she a guest… or a prisoner?"
King Altheor turned, lips a line of ash. "Let her choose."
Everyone turned to her. Saphielle raised her chin.
"Then I choose… to remain in Vastelune. Under your laws, your eyes… and yours, Ari Solen."
That last part echoed strangely. Not fear. Fascination.
Later that night, Ari sat beneath the mirrorlights of the Great Archive. The treaty was signed. Peace—if it could be called that—had begun.
But a fragment stirred in his system.A deep line in the Compiler's Accord glowed faintly.
"A union not forged by bloodlines, but by history's correction… shall give rise to the System's second rebirth."
Ari stared long into the code. Saphielle's presence was no accident. And perhaps… not her decision alone.