“General Medith, I’ve long admired your name,” he said, like a bell carried across a river at dusk.

On her aimless walk, Medith ran into a noble in a white-dragon mantle, twenty-something and bright as sunlit steel. His stubble added swagger, yet his eyes held the soft blush of a newcomer to the Royal Capital.

“And you are?” Medith kept her face composed, her smile warm as spring light, easy to approach like a garden gate ajar.

He lowered his raised hand, the gesture folding like a bird’s wing. “Hudson, the Fearless Duke, personally named by Emperor Paris. When the incident erupted, we were in the Royal Capital by invitation. I acted on the spot, fought beside His Majesty, and helped set things right, like drawing a blade in a storm.”

“Oh—so that’s how it went. You did great, huh,” Medith said with a half-smile, a cloud trailing the sun.

Hudson brightened, then waved his hands like reeds in a breeze. “No, no, General, you flatter me. It was luck. I barely helped. I only stand here by His Majesty’s favor, like a boat moored by another’s rope…”

“By the way, where are you headed? Would you grant me the honor—”

“I’m tired. I don’t do tribute tea.” Medith dropped the words like a pebble into a pond and walked off, her back a clean wind rolling off a ridge.

Hudson stood baffled, scratching his head as if combing tall grass, silence pooling around him.

“I thought you might get lost in this maze of gilded halls, General,” Velledo teased, legs crossed, already lounging in the ornate palace like a cat in a patch of sun.

Medith rubbed her hands, shed her corps coat, and tossed it onto the standing rack. It landed like a gull on a post. She stripped and sipped in one breath, tea flowing like a brook through stones. “What’s this? Vice-Commander Velledo so idle—did you figure out how to pierce a steel pike with a single finger?”

Velledo’s hair swayed like willow branches. “No, no. I could never be like you, breaking iron with flesh. They say you’re wit and valor in one, might like a mountain. His Majesty speaks of you again and again, like beads sliding in prayer, saying if you’d been there that day, even that Meteor might’ve shattered.”

“That’s right. If I’d been there, that Meteor wouldn’t have appeared at all. Do you believe it?” Medith lifted a brow, a hawk tilting its head.

Velledo smiled without a word, eyes fixed on the dark-red tea, a still pond hiding fish.

“Thanks to you, our city’s weapons gained stability and bite. Arrows especially—it’s night and day. With the Wind Magic inscription gifted by the Queen, speed and impact both leapt, like gusts carving through rain.

One day our infantry might fight around crossbows. What do you think?” Velledo let the topic turn like a whetstone on steel.

Medith took a small sip of black tea—silky bitter, then sweet and clear, dusk yielding to dawn. “If it were the old Dike Guard, I’d agree. But your Heavenly Dragon Corps…” She said no more, her gaze cold as frost on iron.

“Mm-hu-hu-hu…” Velledo’s laugh chimed thrice, her blossom face twisting curious. “I feel the General holds a few prejudices against us. Or… against His Majesty?”

Medith’s mouth hooked, fingers idly swaying like a reed. “Hey, I never said that. It’s true I’m closer to Elyu. But Emperor Paris favors me. I won’t fail his trust. I’ll carry our bond like an old pine—friendship that spans a thousand years.”

Velledo’s features bloomed, relief opening like petals in rain.

“Well then… since we’ve covered what matters, may I rest a while?” Medith’s tone settled, a hearth going quiet. “I need to gather strength and show well at the banquet.”

Velledo, rebuffed, offered a polite farewell, then eased the door shut, the click neat as a seal pressed in wax.

As the door closed, both their eyes turned blade-cold, sharp as winter on a ridge—dueling through wood, crossing swords without a sound.