The Cryo Sovereign's Secret

Where gold never tarnishes, and truths are rarely spoken plainly.

Asmoday emerged, her form trailing remnants of spatial burn.

In her arms—

Ronovoa.

Unconscious. Cracked. Still breathing.

Across the marble hall, beneath a halo of spiraling golden DNA, stood a blonde woman. A white cloak trimmed with embroidery draped over her shoulders. One eye glowed gold, the other an icy blue. And in her hands—

The soul core of the unborn Sovereign.

She studied it like one would a puzzle box that meowed.

"My, my…"

Rhinedottir tilted her head, amusement lacing her tone.

"No grand victory speeches this time? That's disappointing."

Asmoday didn't answer right away. She gently laid Ronovoa down, shadows peeling off her arms like tired sighs.

"She'll wake soon," Asmoday said, eyes narrowing. "The journey here in her condition drained her more than I expected."

She turned sharply.

"Enough pleasantries. Tell me—can the seal be undone?"

Rhinedottir's smirk deepened, almost fond.

"Ahh, now that's the question. The seal... is alive. Woven from elemental strands, but anchored by harmonious souls. Beautifully done, really. Normally trivial to undo—but this?"

She held up the core, letting it catch the golden Celestian light.

"This is a melody you don't unweave. It's like trying to separate a heartbeat from its rhythm."

Asmoday's expression darkened.

"I didn't ask you, Rhinedottir."

"What does Naberius think?"

For a beat—nothing.

Then, a shimmering panel formed mid-air. A perfect mirror of Rhinedottir appeared, haloed by coiling DNA strands. Naberius. The other half.

She blinked, then smiled, voice like a lullaby with scalpels in it:

"Asmoday… we are the same.

Rhinedottir is me.

I am her."

"We are the Shade of Life. Her answer is mine."

She paused, glancing at the core.

"But… if you insist on a second opinion—

I will tell you this:

The only way to separate what has harmonized…

...is to break one of the instruments."

Asmoday frowned.

"One of the instruments?"

The words echoed faintly in the golden chamber, like a riddle whispered to the air.

Rhinedottir stepped closer, holding the soul core delicately—like it might bite.

"It's a duet, isn't it?"

"Two souls, intertwined with perfect elemental balance. Not forced together. Not bound by runes. But willingly fused—an accord of essence."

She turned the core slowly, watching the energies swirl inside.

"To undo this harmony, one soul must be... removed."

She extended the core back to Asmoday, her expression unreadable.

"But you already knew that."

Asmoday took it, slower than usual. Her hands, steady as stone, trembled just slightly.

"And if I try to separate them without destroying one?"

Naberius' voice rang again from the spiral-lit panel, calm and cruel:

"Then you will fail.

Or worse—taint both.

It would be like pulling a heartbeat from a flame."

"You'd get ash. And silence."

Rhinedottir chuckled, light and dry as falling snow.

"You're looking for a clean answer in a world built on contradictions, Asmoday.

There is no surgical solution.

Only sacrifice."

Asmoday's eyes shimmered, faint golden cracks forming like veins along her irises.

She turned her back to the Shades of Life, voice low and brittle.

"Those ashes would be mine..."

"And that's the problem."

She opened a rift—clean, surgical, as if the air itself respected her grief—and without waiting for a reply, stepped through it.

The portal sealed behind her with a soundless ripple.

---

A beat passed.

Ronovoa stirred.

The cold marble beneath her palms felt too real—too solid. Her breath hitched. A cough tore through her lungs, the taste of ozone still clinging to her tongue.

"Hhh—… What happened…?"

She blinked once, then again.

The golden light of Celestia burned too bright above. Her body ached—some parts like they weren't entirely hers anymore.

Rhinedottir's voice returned, laced with detached amusement.

"Ah, the Warden of Death awakens.

You missed quite the conversation."

Ronovoa's eye narrowed. She sat up slowly, brushing starlight from her hair like dust.

"Where… is she?"

Naberius answered from her spiral.

"Gone.

But her burden lingers."

Ronova frowned, brushing dust from her pauldrons as she stood. The faint glow of cracked divine runes pulsed along her spine—residual damage from her clash with the Sovereigns.

"Sovereigns are not to be underestimated.

If it weren't for the illusion that they stood divided… I might've prepared for this battle much earlier."

Rhindotter chuckled, folding her arms beneath the swirl of her DNA halo.

"Mmm. Sounds like an excuse wrapped in hindsight.

All I see is the Warden of Death losing very, very badly."

Ronova sighed, not rising to the bait.

"Indeed.

If Asmoday hadn't intervened…

The Sovereigns might have already won the war they've quietly begun."

She stepped toward the golden platform where the Soul Core had rested moments ago, her steps slow but steady now. Her voice darkened as she stared at the empty pedestal.

Naberius's hologram flickered again.

A smirk just like Rhindotter's played on her lips.

"And you're afraid?"

Ronova's stare cut through her like a blade.

"No.

I'm annoyed."

A heavy silence.

Then she turned back toward Rhindotter.

"I assume you do have a plan.

Or are you just here to study failure again?"

Inside the Newborn Realm.

The sky was not blue.

It was a canvas of shifting color—sunlight bleeding into auroras, moonlight sharing breath with the dawn.

The realm, now formed, pulsed with divine signatures.

Floating high above, Zephyr's Castle flickered like a mirage—its walls breathing, its shape changing with the wind's will. Around it, the Skyborne Revenants chanted in voiceless hymns.

Raiclaus's Chaoscitadel drifted nearby, jagged and coiled like a hallucination, trailing thunder and molten circuitry through the sky, held aloft by disobedient gravity.

In the center, like a sun forged from thought, Xiuhcoatl's Flameheart roared. A solar bloom of flame and purpose, within which danced a lone child—his Firstborne—laughing within a home carved into pure starlight.

On the land below, VlastMoroz had wrapped her titanic serpentine form around the Kingdom of Arian, guarding it like it was her final egg. The capital shimmered beneath her breath, snow falling in reverse, cradled in her warmth.

At the edges, Apep, the coil of infinity, slithered unseen, her long body threading the fabric of space-time to keep this new world tethered close to Teyvat—yet hidden.

The oceans whispered with judgment, Neuvillette's essence rippling through the deepest lakes and falling rain, present in every reflection.

A solitary mountain rose in the far distance—Varnak'Thul, unmoving and eternal, his slumber forming the very bones of this reality.

Then—

A sound.

Like all winds. Like a soul remembering its name.

Each Sovereign spoke—some through breath, others through storm, some through flame, some through silence.

Their voices did not echo.

They rooted themselves into the realm.

---

"From fragments of divinity and memory—

From exile, love, and war reborn—

We name this realm..."

"Nyxhara."

Roselight Hollow

The sun was warm—not harsh, but the kind of soft, honeyed light that made the wheat fields glow like spun gold. Birds chirped somewhere among the trees, and wind chimes tinkled lazily from cottage porches. The smell of fresh pie and firewood wafted through the sleepy village, where stone paths were half-eaten by moss and love.

Children's laughter echoed as they darted between wildflower patches and fluttering laundry lines. A few older folk sat on benches, arguing softly over how much sugar to use in the festival cider. Somewhere, a dog barked at absolutely nothing like his life depended on it.

On a grassy hill just above the village center, two children sprawled out under the shade of a cherry blossom tree—its petals drifting lazily onto their heads like forgotten wishes.

Tera, with a mop of messy black hair and vibrant green eyes, chewed on a blade of grass. His shirt was untucked, and his shorts had at least three different types of stains.

He looked up at the clouds and asked casually,

"What do you wanna be when you grow up?"

Beside him, Merry sat with her arms crossed, glaring sideways. Her snow-white hair shimmered faintly under the sun, and her violet eyes narrowed with practiced offense.

"Tera, you know I don't like that question," she huffed, puffing out her cheeks slightly. Her lilac dress, ruffled and clean, gave her the air of someone who shouldn't be crawling around in the grass—but absolutely was.

Tera grinned like a devil who had just found a new button to press.

"Well you're the one who decided to become something unrealistic like a Royal Knight," he teased, tossing a tiny flower onto her lap like it was some kind of medal.

Merry snapped a twig and gave him the coldest glare a seven-year-old could possibly muster.

"It's not unrealistic. I will be one. You'll see. And when I'm guarding the Royal Aethercastle, I won't let you in when you come begging for protection."

Tera chuckled, arms behind his head.

"You'd still let me in. You like me too much."

Merry turned bright red.

"…Shut up."

A long silence followed. Birds chirped. Petals fell. Somewhere, a cow mooed like it was trying to interrupt something.

Then Tera whispered, "...I'd be your squire."

Merry blinked.

He wasn't smiling now. Just staring at the clouds again.

"I don't wanna be a farmer. I wanna go wherever you go."

Merry blinked a few more times. She didn't speak. Not at first.

Then she turned away, face redder than a beet that just lost a fight, and muttered,

"D-Don't say dumb things, idiot…"

And the wind rolled across the fields, as if carrying that childish oath gently to the skies above Nyxhara.

The wind hushed, just for a second.

Like the world held its breath.

And then—

THUMP!

A sharp crack split the sky. A rift tore through the air above the cherry blossom tree—a jagged, glowing scar of pale light that buzzed like a dying star.

Tera yelped, falling backward.

"WHAT THE—"

Out of the rift, like a feather cast from the heavens themselves,

a girl fell.

No sound.

No scream.

Just a whisper of air displacement before she hit the grass with a soft thud, limp and unconscious.

The rift sealed shut behind her, silent as it came.

Merry bolted upright, already halfway to her before her brain caught up.

Elynas, Young, maybe no older than them, but her clothes were foreign. A soft white blouse, a light blue coat that fluttered slightly in the breeze, and knee-length boots like she'd walked here from the pages of some other story. Her brown hair was tousled from the fall, strands stuck to her forehead. Her skin was pale, too pale. Her black eyes were closed—her breathing shallow but steady.

She wasn't just asleep.

She was hurt in ways the body didn't show.

Tera knelt down, inspecting her cautiously, his voice suddenly serious.

"She's real. She's… not from here, is she?"

Merry shook her head, reaching out to gently brush a leaf from the girl's hair.

"Do you think she's a Sovereign?"

"She looks like a kid, Merry. Not a chaos-wielding dragon goddess."

The girl stirred, ever so slightly. A tiny whimper escaped her lips—like the dream she was trapped in was drowning her.

Merry looked around.

They were alone on this hill.

"We have to take her to the village. Grandma Suri might know what to do."