Clang—clang—clang—. A bright bell cut the dawn like ice on stone, and Medith woke with a sleepy groan, a den-stirred animal dragged to daylight.

“Mmm…” She sat up, rubbing her phoenix eyes, the lids heavy as night dew, and yawned like a small fox.

“Huh? The welcome bell?” The peals kept rolling, pebbles racing a stream, before she even got her eyes open.

“Medith! Up! The Eastern Nation’s Dike Guard is here! They’re at the mountain’s foot—on their way!” Milia and the girls swarmed like sparrows, stripped her bare in a blink, then dressed her at whirlwind speed.

“Hey—why this outfit?” She eyed the two green circlets on her wrists and the knee socks under the short skirt, her voice sour as citrus.

“VIPs, you can’t dress like a brawler. Like this—you’re adorable.” Milia and the others dragged her along like a kite in a gust.

Annoyance pricked first, then she broke free and splashed through a quick wash, water slapping her face like river light. The girls squealed, then pounced again, pinning her for a fast touch-up.

Ten minutes, and her aura flipped like a page. A thin foundation lay like morning mist; cherry lipstick glowed like fruit at first bite; a scent curled like warm wine. Allure for allure, she could rival Sais, and her figure was a bow strung tight.

Yet she held a freshness Sais didn’t—pure as first snow. Medith at war and Medith at home were two moons in one sky. She glanced in the mirror, felt heat roll like summer wind, and nearly licked her own hand like a kitten.

“Commander—don’t lick. If we don’t move, we’ll be late!” Milia was dizzy at Medith being dizzy and yanked her hem like a lifeline.

Clang—clang—. The bell rolled closer, like a drum down a slope. They raced for the gate, feet quick as swallows. The streets bloomed with faces, a tide of Sprites pressing in. Work dropped, hearts lifted—outsiders, the first in decades, like comets finally returning.

Beside the gate, two ranks of Dusk Legion stood, white coats clean as frost, long trousers neat as drawn lines. Men wore black boots, women brown; backs straight as spears, aura sharp as a cliff edge. Their iron gazes could pin a beast mid-leap.

On their chests, the Dusk Legion’s black sun pressed like a thunderhead. Paired with those eyes, it seemed ready to burst and cut the dark like a blade.

The Queen had ordered Medith’s legion to show, to flaunt strength like a banner and test results like a whetstone. By the look of it, she needed no worries at all.

The Queen stepped forth with her personal guard and the Elders Council, a court like a fan unfolding. Inside heavy armor, Sais spotted Medith, awe rising like a tide at the Dusk Legion’s force, then shock like lightning at Milia and the others—one month gone, and she barely knew them. She’d stood watch with the Prophet Squad a month and change; the city’s facelift was a stranger’s face under fresh paint.

“Your Majesty.” Medith’s greeting was a quick bow, light as wind.

“Mm.” Closer now, public ceremony felt like old shoes. The Queen’s pretty eyes flowed over Medith, cool as water, and found new notes—more pure, more sweet. In that gaze, a fox-sly flicker flashed and was gone.

The outfit was a simple fairy set, airy as a cloud, but it fit Medith’s spirit. Lately she’d shown herself as an iron-blooded officer, a blade in a sheath; they’d almost forgotten the girl beneath.

“I— it’s these little brats.” Medith rapped Phiby and Milia on the head, a knuckle like a pebble tapping a drum.

“I didn’t— You slept like a hog, dead to the world…” Phiby’s protest came thin as a kitten’s mewl.

“Oh ho, Phiby, bold now? Chest got bigger and courage swelled with it?” Medith stared, disbelief bright as a spark.

“I didn’t…”

“Still denying? What did I tell you—never quibble. Forgot again?” Her words snapped like twigs.

“Enough. What are you two doing? Your subordinates are watching.” Euticles cut in, a fan-wave dousing sparks.

Medith blinked back to sense. Around her, Dusk Legion eyes were arrows stuck fast. The male Sprites’ straight backs bent like willows in a breeze; aura leaked like steam. Countless gazes slid to her neckline and the pale thighs under her skirt, quick as rain down glass.

“Milia!” Medith’s teeth ground like grit. The image she’d built like a tower toppled in one morning. These punks would be dreaming of licking honey off her boots.

“What are you staring at! Did I order you to move?” Her bark cracked like thunder. In a heartbeat, eyes snapped front like shutters; spines rose like drawn bows. Clothes could mislead; presence didn’t.

Sais nearly dropped her decorative sword; her heart lurched like a drum. “Holy—how is that girl so scary when she shouts?” Cold sweat sprouted across the crowd like dew; she felt like someone had yanked her braid and scolded her raw.

“Hmph.” Hands on hips like a small general, Medith fixed on the gate.

The Glimmering Green Forest wore scars like old burns after that war. The green at the mountain’s foot lay charred bare. They had tried to mend it, but some wounds refused, like scabs that wouldn’t take. The earth outside was pitted and uneven, war written in hard hand.

Da-da-da-da… Hoofbeats rolled from the forest’s edge, drums on a plain. Clank, clank, clank… Iron answered iron, a landslide’s growl that made the ground shiver.

Medith’s gaze held the treeline, sharp as a hawk’s. A rustle, then a black tide of barded horses burst free, their apocalyptic iron hooves hammering the earth like anvils. The riders wore white armor sealed like shells, helms tight, only eyes left to the sun. On each breastplate, a complex Sixpetal Rose bloomed, relief so deep it looked alive.

At their head rode a giant of a man, rein-hand hard as a vise that could crack stone. Only his helm bore a long white pheasant plume, streaming like a comet’s tail to his waist. Nearly a hundred in this Iron Cavalry Legion, yet they moved like a thousand, a river of steel.

Beside him rode a plain-faced man with hair a tangle like windblown grass, fine clothes rich as velvet. His features drooped with decadence, but his eyes shone like a galaxy, able to read a soul like an open book. He raised a blue war-banner, where a blazing Sixpetal Rose unfurled like a star.

“So this is…the Eastern Nation’s Dike Guard?” Medith met the lead warrior’s gaze. His eyes were sapphire under the sun, dream-blue like deep water. At first glance, abyssal; look again, and a petal of charm floated there.

Da-da-da… The Iron Cavalry Legion kept its pace, quick as wolves. In minutes they reached the gate. The general paced his horse around the perimeter, a circling wolf measuring a camp.

The Queen lifted her Scepter; gems flared like stars. The barrier opened like a curtain. The general nodded, then led his men through, order neat as threads on a loom.

He looked toward the Queen and her company, then vaulted down. Clank. His war-boot struck, and hairline cracks spread like frost. He lifted a hand; his riders dismounted in a ripple like falling dominoes, settled their mounts, then marched in step through the gate.

Clang—clang—clang… The welcome bell sang, spring water over stone. Sprites all around burst into cheers like surf.

The Queen stepped up. He inclined his head. “Haidra, Captain of the Dike Guard, of royal blood, greets Your Majesty.” From under the helm came a voice like a swallow’s song, dreamy and clear.

“No need for ceremony, envoy of your nation.” The Queen’s reply was a calm wind. Her title lay between them like a shield for pride; equal footing needed firm ground.

Her hands rose to her helmet. She unfastened it. For a breath, the air held still like frost. A flawless face appeared; golden hair spilled like silk to her shoulders. Phoenix eyes shone like sapphires; a high, straight nose stood like a ridge; full vermilion lips curved like ripe fruit; two small pink ears peeked like petals. She tossed her slightly messy hair, then tied it into a simple ponytail, a clean line that made her look even more crisp and capable.