Chapter 22: Thrones of Iron and Ice
The gates of Drakenshold creaked open like the maw of a slumbering titan.
Jean rode through in silence, Solstice resting across her back, Whitney padding at her side. Towering walls lined with statues of past Empresses watched her with cold, iron eyes. Citizens and soldiers alike parted as she passed—some curious, others wary. None dared approach.
The Iron Empire did not welcome outsiders.
They endured them.
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The Imperial Court of Fire and Sovereignty was carved into the mountain's heart. Lava channels flowed beneath crystal floors, casting a blood-orange glow that painted the air with heat and power. In its center sat Valeria Durnstahl, the Iron Empress.
She wore a flowing mantle of black and red silk, her steel crown shaped like a broken blade reforged. On either side stood her four Ducal Lords, each cloaked in their house's colors: obsidian, bronze, ash-white, and crimson.
Jean entered, armor gleaming, gaze steady.
She knelt—not out of fealty, but formality.
"Empress," she said.
Valeria raised a hand. "Stand, Jean Luther. Emissary of Light. In this court, only the weak kneel."
Jean rose.
The Empress studied her. "You look like your mother."
Jean's breath caught.
Valeria's voice remained cool. "I knew her. Before the dragons tore through the Azure Front. She was a warrior. Not like your father. He was a sword. She was fire."
Jean didn't answer.
"I see both in you," the Empress added.
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After the formalities, Jean was led into the Hall of Concord, where political negotiations between world powers took place. Here, nobles, generals, and envoys of every major faction had gathered.
She spotted the crest of the Magistery—the starwoven robe of Erin Magus's son, Ryan, seated in quiet observation. His presence drew a flicker of surprise from Jean.
He simply nodded in greeting.
The Empress addressed the room:
"The Luther Clan fractures. The dragons stir. The time for isolation is over. The age of lone swords is dead. I propose a binding treaty—between empire, emissaries, and sovereign gods."
She turned her gaze to Jean.
"But treaties are only forged in fire. Jean Luther… what will you offer the world?"
Jean stepped forward.
"I offer the blade that once wounded the Dragon Lord. The light of Celeste. And a warning—"
She unsheathed Solstice, its aura casting golden radiance across the stone.
"—If unity is forged only in chains and threats, then I will break it. And if war comes, I will end it."
The room erupted in murmurs.
Valeria stood. "Spoken like a Luther. Let us test if your blade can hold against mine."
Jean narrowed her eyes.
"You wish to duel?"
"No," said the Empress. "I wish to know you. And in this empire… steel speaks truth."
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Later that night, in the Arena of Flame, the crowd roared.
Jean stepped into the circle.
Valeria Durnstahl—Empress, warlord, Transcendent Master—descended from her throne, blade in hand.
"Come, Emissary," she said with a smirk. "Let's see if Light can temper Iron."
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