Nyvaris stood tall beneath the morning sun—its towers pristine, its stone streets unmarred by time or war. No ash covered its walls, no ruin marked its borders. For all its grace and elegance, the capital of Varvatos had always been a mystery: untouched by chaos, sealed from greed, and ruled by a leader who rarely raised his voice yet carried the weight of kingdoms in his decisions.
The wave of people now coming to its gates wasn't from conquest. It was awe—and hope.
Whispers of how Varvatos handled Rudra and the Eastern Empire spread like wildfire. No armies marched. No cities fell. And yet the pressure he exerted shifted the balance of power. The Eastern Empire's ambitions, once fearsome, came to a quiet halt. Rudra's growing dominance was curbed not by bloodshed, but by sheer presence and unwavering logic.
And more than anything, it was the Barrier.
The legendary magical seal that enveloped all of Nyvaris—a vast, silent wall of spiritual resistance—was said to reject not just intrusion, but intent. Those with ambition, deceit, or greed in their hearts simply found themselves repelled. And many had tried—kings, emperors, and "friends" bearing gifts. None were allowed in.
But the people? The innocents? They were welcomed with open arms.
"Another hundred today," reported Harnen, walking beside Varvatos through the inner city. "Families, tradesmen, a few scholars from the western provinces. All respectful, and all grateful."
Varvatos gave a small nod. "We'll need more homes before the next wave."
As he raised a hand, stone and earth bent to his will. Walls rose effortlessly from the ground, shaped by magic as ancient as the city itself. Not destructive power—but creative, stable, enduring. His focus was precise, his magicule perfectly woven with the land's natural flow.
Benimaru emerged from a side street, still brushing flour from his arms. "We finished the third bakery. If we don't want a bread riot, we might need five more."
"I'll enchant the ovens," Varvatos said. "No use wasting wood if we can pull from the leyline."
Rigur, hauling planks across his shoulder, grinned as he passed. "Never thought I'd say this, but we might run out of bricks before we run out of people."
"You focus on building," Hakuro said from the training grounds, drilling the newer guards. "I'll make sure we don't run out of discipline."
From high above, Diablo leaned on the railing of a finished tower, watching the border seal shimmer like a second sky.
"No spies. No infiltrations. Not even a whisper from outside forces," Souei confirmed as he materialized beside him, his voice low and certain. "The barrier detects more than just mana. It reads the soul."
"And it doesn't like liars," Diablo replied with a knowing smirk. "I remember the last noble who tried to walk in thinking they could fool it. Sent flying twenty feet backward. Elegant."
Down below, the citizens moved calmly through wide, clean streets. The lanterns were fueled by pure energy drawn from the leyline—Varvatos' design—and even the water flowed from enchanted wells that never ran dry.
It wasn't just a city.
It was proof that peace could be powerful.
That night, by the Great Fountain at the center plaza, Velzard joined Varvatos in quiet reflection. The stars shimmered above them, and behind the curtain of Nyvaris' barrier, the outside world felt like another universe.
"Do you feel it?" she asked. "The shift? The way the world's looking at this place now?"
Varvatos kept his gaze steady. "They're not just watching. They're reconsidering everything."
"They've tried before," she continued, arching a brow. "Those rulers. Emissaries. Spies cloaked in good intentions. The barrier turned them away every time."
"Because they came wanting something," he said. "And Nyvaris was never built for want. It was built for balance."
Velzard looked at him carefully. "But things are changing. What happens now that they realize power doesn't lie in armies or fear—but in what you've built?"
Varvatos paused, then smiled faintly. "They'll come again. Maybe with clearer hearts this time."
"And if they don't?"
"They won't pass through."
She laughed, the sound light and cool. "You always were stubborn."
"And you always liked it."
The city of Nyvaris breathed.
It wasn't just the wind brushing through enchanted banners or the glow of lightstones embedded in the archways—it was something deeper. The magic of the land pulsed beneath cobblestones, whispered through trees, and danced in the air. People stepping through its gates for the first time didn't just see beauty—they felt it. Like stepping into a living world that saw them, heard them, and waited quietly for them to belong.
That morning, over three hundred new citizens had arrived. Families, elders, tradesmen, former warriors, orphans. The gates had opened with warmth, and within hours, the streets were buzzing with purpose.
Rigur stood near the South Plaza, clipboard in hand, flanked by a group of young goblin aides. His voice rang clearly as he addressed the long line of new arrivals.
"Alright, let's get this straight: here in Nyvaris, no one goes hungry, and no one sits idle! All adults will be registered for work. You'll choose a profession based on your skills—or train in a new one. We have mentors, teachers, and craftsmasters waiting."
A middle-aged man raised a hand. "What if we've never used magic?"
"You'll still work," Rigur said, not unkindly. "This city runs on harmony. Farmers, builders, scribes, tailors, cooks—we need them all. And don't worry, we'll pair you with a guide to help you settle in."
The man nodded, visibly relieved.
Just beside the plaza, Gobta was standing on a crate, flailing his arms in all directions.
"Kids! This way! Anyone under sixteen—head over to the schooling district!" he called out, only to trip over his own feet seconds later.
Several children giggled, and one girl helped him up.
"You're the teacher?" she asked skeptically.
Gobta coughed, brushing dust off his tunic. "Well, technically no. But I help guide you to the teachers! I'm like... the hero who knows where the real heroes are."
A blonde-haired boy blinked. "That makes no sense."
"Exactly!" Gobta grinned, wagging his finger. "Welcome to Nyvaris!"
The children were soon led through wide paths lined with ivy and crystal lanterns. Veldora, in a light blue robe (and somehow managing to not be too dramatic), stood beside the education district's entrance. He looked particularly proud of the three sprawling towers that made up the city's school system—each built for different age groups.
"Here, knowledge is everything!" Veldora declared, voice booming across the courtyard. "You will learn math, history, ethics, elemental flow, literature, swordplay—oh, and how to deal with annoying older dragons!"
The kids stared, slack-jawed.
"He's serious," whispered Gobta. "He tried to duel a library once."
Inside the housing district, Benimaru walked between rows of newly constructed homes—each one grown from living stone and wood enchanted by Varvatos himself. The buildings were warm even in the cool breeze, their windows letting in golden sunlight from every angle.
Benimaru stopped to speak with a young mother cradling a baby. She looked nervous.
"Is there really enough for all of us?" she asked, watching her older son explore the backyard garden behind the house.
"There is," Benimaru answered gently. "We don't build fast. We build right. Lord Varvatos believes homes should feel like homes. And this one," he said, placing a hand against the wall, "was grown for your family specifically. It will adjust to your needs."
"Grown?" she echoed.
Benimaru nodded. "The leyline breathes through the city. These aren't just walls. They're shaped by will and heart. If you treat your home kindly, it'll keep you warm, whisper when something's wrong, and even shift slightly to suit your rhythm."
She looked stunned—but then, slowly, smiled. "It already feels... safe."
A few streets down, Diablo wore his usual calm, dark attire. Despite his elegant demeanor, he stood in the center of a crowded square filled with confused newcomers.
"Welcome to the Orientation Circle," he said. "I'll be overseeing the integration process for those with prior skills—soldiers, mages, scribes, clerks. Our society does not reward dominance—it rewards contribution. You may have been a general before. That's good. But here, even generals wash their dishes."
A tall man from a former eastern outpost frowned. "And what if we refuse?"
Diablo's eyes narrowed—just enough to shift the air.
"Then the city will refuse you."
The silence was palpable. And then, the man bowed his head.
Underneath all this, the people began to settle. By evening, the streets were glowing with a soft, magical hue. The magic of Nyvaris wasn't harsh or overwhelming—it was gentle, like an old song. It lifted spirits, soothed fear, and gave clarity to thought.
Children found themselves humming tunes they didn't know. Elders who had traveled for days felt their fatigue vanish overnight. Every new family—without exception—said the same thing in their first whispered conversations:
"It feels like the city is alive."
A blacksmith who'd lost his forge found that the tools he needed were already waiting in his new workshop—laid out as if someone knew him personally.
A teacher, once hunted for protecting refugee children, walked into the school district and cried silently at the sight of classrooms already prepared.
And a young boy, mute since the day he watched his parents die, reached out to touch the roots of a tree at the city center—and laughed for the first time.
That night, Varvatos stood at the outer ring of the city, watching the barrier gently ripple against the stars.
Benimaru joined him, arms crossed. "They're adapting faster than we thought."
"It's not them," Varvatos replied quietly. "It's the city. Nyvaris accepts them."
"Even after all the leaders it turned away?"
Varvatos closed his eyes, sensing the leyline pulse beneath his feet. "Intent is everything. These people don't come to take. They come to build."
From behind them, Velzard added, "And maybe the world will learn. That true power isn't in dominion—but in the sanctuary you create."
Varvatos said nothing—but the faint smile that touched his lips was answer enough.
To be continued…