The road to Moonhundred City stretched like a silver ribbon under the cold sky; aside from that earlier farce, nothing else snagged our journey. Lanxia, being Dragon Kin, drew eyes like moths to a torch—people on the ground and figures drifting in the air, the bolder ones even tried to chat.

She let her Dragon Aura roll out like thunder pressing on the sea, and the world went quiet, a lake sealed under ice. The weak onlookers and a few civilians crumpled like wheat in a sudden squall. Lanxia only tossed out a chilled “Serves them right,” a frostbitten quip that made me sigh—those folks working below were innocent cogs in the winter machine.

...

“Amamiya, see that tall spire ahead?” Nalu pointed, her finger slicing the pale light like a reed. “That’s the emblem of Moonhundred City—Moonhundred Tower. It stood before the Ice Rock Empire was even born. No one knows its true history; we only glean a sliver from old records. Its defenses and offensive might shocked the world.”

“The Ice Rock Empire became one of the three great empires of the Northern Abyss Continent thanks to Moonhundred Tower. No one dares deny that. The records say, at its founding, the Empire clashed hard with the other two empires over bitter interests, and a full-scale war erupted.”

“The Empire was fresh and its army strong, but the other two were stronger—four hands beating two fists. In less than three days, the whole realm fell like frost-bitten leaves. At the brink of annihilation, the Emperor accidentally entered Moonhundred Tower and triggered its magic systems. Borrowing the tower’s power, he turned the heavens and swept the battlefield clean, crushing both enemy armies like dry twigs.”

“That battle crowned the Ice Rock Empire as one of the three powers. They signed an eternal nonaggression pact with the other two. From then on, the Empire climbed its peak, and Moonhundred Tower naturally became its cornerstone—the most vital place in the nation.”

Nalu’s hand traced the horizon as she narrated, each word a breath of winter lore. We followed her gesture, and even from afar we saw it—an arrow of stone spearing the clouds, glowing with a soft white like a calm full moon.

“So tall! I’ve never seen a building reach the sky like that,” Lingxiao gasped, her awe rising like mist.

“It’s massive,” Lingsaki murmured, her eyes catching the shimmer. “And that magic wave around it—so intense, even from here it hums like a storm in our bones.”

The tower’s grandeur stunned the sisters; their voices felt small under its night-sky weight.

“Same here,” I said, the shock settling in my chest like falling snow. “Moonhundred Tower hits you hard… huh?”

Lanxia’s flight stayed steady, a smooth glide through thin air, drawing us closer to the shining pillar. Thanks to that, I could take in the details—its style echoes the Palace of Ice Crystal, like cousins carved by the same chisel.

Countless motifs and ancient glyphs coil up the tower’s skin, nearly identical to those on the Palace of Ice Crystal, as if the same hand etched their veins.

“Lixue, do you know anything about Moonhundred Tower?” I asked, emotion first, curiosity curling like smoke, then met her gaze. She lay warm in my arms, eyes fixed on the moonlit spire.

“I don’t know much,” she said, voice a soft bell in winter air. “Teacher rarely speaks of herself. But I’m certain Moonhundred Tower is her work. And for some reason, it feels older than the Palace of Ice Crystal.”

“Moonhundred Tower was made by your teacher?!” I felt my thoughts scatter like startled birds.

“Really? Miss Lixue, may we ask who your teacher is?” Nalu and Yafina blurted together, shock sparking like flint.

“My teacher’s matters aren’t for you,” Lixue said, calm as snow piling on a silent roof. “Don’t ask about that again.” She exhaled, a faint note of wistfulness threading her words. “I didn’t expect to see my teacher’s work here in the Ice Rock Empire. That’s rare.”

“FrostyLily Dream’s work? Does she love architecture?” Yafina tilted her head, the idea as odd as roses blooming on ice.

It didn’t fit the image in my mind either; the thought felt like a mismatched mask. Strange.

“No.” Lixue shook her head, a ripple across still water. “Strictly speaking, Teacher loves art, and architecture is only one branch of that tree.”

“Art? So FrostyLily Dream can paint, play music, carve—skills like those?” Lingsaki blinked, her surprise bright as sparks.

“Hard to picture FrostyLily Dream loving art,” Lingxiao added, the disbelief clinging like frost.

Their astonishment mirrored my own; FrostyLily Dream and art felt like stars and stone—hard to tie together.

“It’s not a big deal,” Lixue said evenly. “How long do you think Teacher has existed?”

“Uh… many years?” Lingxiao’s voice drifted, fog over a river. “I can’t pin it down.”

“Same as dear big brother,” Lingsaki chimed, carefree as wind. “No idea.”

I tried to think—my thoughts creaked like old hinges—but Lingsaki and Lingxiao gave up without a glance. Too lazy, honestly, though chewing on it wouldn’t yield an answer anyway.

FrostyLily Dream and Xinuo are Sword Spirits, like living starlight. Their existence likely spans countless years, a night sky without end.

“Don’t mind it; I’m not sure either.” Lixue adjusted in my arms, settling like a cat into warmth. “Teacher once said—if you live too long, you naturally look for things to pass the time. Otherwise, it gets unbearably dull.”

“I see.” Understanding opened like a window in my chest. “Art devours hours gently; it makes sense she’d love it.”

Beings like Xinuo and FrostyLily Dream are eternal flames—true immortality. Their power was born at the world’s peak; they don’t need to grind or claw upward.

So boredom stalks them like a pale wolf, and they chase pastimes to fill the endless night. In their eyes, time isn’t a river; it’s a frozen sea. They’ve grown numb to infinity.

Well, that’s just my guess. If I get the chance, I’ll—no. I absolutely won’t ask. A sideways question about age would get me skewered by a single glance from Xinuo. Annoying her is a game with teeth.

“...”

“...”

Nalu and Yafina watched us, baffled, their looks bobbing like driftwood in a strange current. Makes sense—they don’t know FrostyLily Dream, and Lixue had just set a boundary. They dropped the subject without pressing.

...

“Amamiya, we’ve reached Moonhundred City! Nalu, where should this dragon descend?” Lanxia’s voice rolled, proud as a mountain.

They say talk is the best way to pass time on a road; while we chatted, Lanxia had already swept into the skies above Moonhundred City, her wings slicing the air like polished blades.

“Huh? We’re here?” Lingsaki leaned forward, eyes sparkling. “Lanxia, drop lower and let us see!”

“As you command!” Lanxia dipped, the wind singing around us like taut strings.

“So prosperous! This outshines all the cities we’ve seen—by a lot!” Lingxiao’s exclamation burst like fireworks.

“The population, the buildings, the sheer sprawl—none of the previous cities compare,” Lingsaki said, nodding in rhythm with the pulse below.

“Same label, ‘city,’ but the gap feels like earth and sky,” I breathed, the sight washing over me like a tide.

The differences leaped out like carvings in frost. Architecture first: instead of the uniform ice-rock stone everywhere else, Moonhundred City flaunted varied styles and precious materials, a tapestry of wealth. The workmanship rose above the rest—distance blurred edges, but the stout, weighty feel was obvious, like granite hearts under snow.

Then population: nobles and magic-warriors dominated, their silhouettes cutting sharp lines; civilians and merchants were fewer, like scattered lanterns.

Lastly, defense: beyond the mass of magic-warriors, powerful arcane weapons studded every gate and wall, each corner bristling like a hedgehog of steel. And at the center stood Moonhundred Tower. Moonhundred City’s defenses were, without doubt, the strongest in the Ice Rock Empire—and likely across the Northern Abyss Continent.

“As the capital, Moonhundred City gathers the nation’s resources,” Nalu explained, her voice steady as a ledger. “That’s why its development pulled so far ahead of other cities.”

“So most people in the Empire chase the dream of settling here,” Yafina added, her tone a cool blade. “Some pay heavy prices to earn a place. The result is a capital towering alone, a single city holding the crown. Most empires face the same imbalance.”

“Got it,” I said, nodding, the logic clicking like gears in frost.

“Lady Lanxia, my home’s in the western outskirts of Moonhundred City...” Nalu began, then gave Lanxia the precise address, each detail neat as a map etched on ice.

“Ho-ho! This dragon knows,” Lanxia rumbled with a playful growl, a plume of pride. “But why so far out, in that lonely corner?”

Lanxia banked smoothly, arrowing toward the west, the landscape sliding beneath us like a long scroll.

“Uh.” Nalu’s voice dipped, a shadow crossing her face. “We used to live in the city center. But as the family weakened, hostile forces nearby swallowed our assets with flimsy excuses—our residence included.”

“In the end, the struggling Geyas family had to move to the outskirts. Thankfully, the warehouse residence out there wasn’t targeted. Otherwise, we’d have been sleeping in the streets, our breath turning to frost.”

Her expression dimmed, like a candle under a glass. I leaned in, warmth first, words second. “Don’t be sad. Things will turn around.”

“I’ll take your blessing, Amamiya,” she said, rallying, her smile thin but real.

By then Lanxia had reached the western outskirts. Bare giant trees clawed at the sky like skeletal sentinels, and glacial mountains loomed like frozen waves. Buildings broke the emptiness only here and there, stones huddled against the cold.

“We’re here!” Nalu suddenly called as Lanxia was about to slip past the district. “See that compound wrapped in glaciers? That’s my home!”