The northern winds howled across the crystalline towers of Myrr. Unlike the cities Zairon had conquered, Myrr was untouched by chaos. It stood tall with centuries of tradition, ruled by an elite order of cultivators who believed in order, hierarchy, and control.
But today, the halls of the Frost Empress trembled—not from battle, but from fear.
"He's already taken the eastern cities, the southern fields, even the rogue states… and now his gaze has turned northward," said one of the royal advisors, voice low.
The Frost Empress, Aeloria Vire, sat upon a throne carved from eternal ice. Her eyes, colder than winter itself, narrowed.
"Then let him come. Zairon is but a man… all men bleed."
A silence followed, tense and heavy.
One of her generals stepped forward. "My Empress, forgive my boldness, but… no man cultivates madness and lives. He does not lead an army—he breathes one. The cities he conquered are silent not out of peace, but awe. Even our spies say his own generals fear him—and adore him."
She stood. Power rippled around her, frost spreading from her feet like a wave.
"Then we meet madness with divinity. Summon the White Frost Legion. Prepare the city. Myrr does not kneel."
Meanwhile: In Sovereign Territory
Zairon sat under a tree, surrounded by a blizzard of floating sword shards and threads of chaotic energy. He was meditating—or so it appeared. In truth, he was conversing with madness itself.
"So they resist… Myrr, is it? Aeloria Vire…"
"She has quite the name. Wonder if she's pretty."
His eyes snapped open, glowing faintly. "No matter. If she resists, I will turn her palace into my winter resort."
Just then, one of his generals knelt before him.
"My Lord, the Kingdom of Myrr has officially declared its stance. They reject your sovereignty. They're rallying their elite sects and calling allies."
Zairon tilted his head, a grin forming. "Good. I was starting to get bored."
He rose slowly, dusting himself off.
"Dispatch scouts, not soldiers. Let's see what secrets they hold. I want to savor this one before I crush it."
Elsewhere: Whispers of a Bigger Storm
Unbeknownst to Zairon, far beyond Myrr, deep in a forbidden ruin, a portal shimmered faintly. Cultists that had survived Zairon's purge had fled here, their prophet gone, their power shattered.
But they weren't alone.
Standing before the portal, cloaked in black robes, a being chuckled.
"So the child from Earth has finally begun to dance. Let him dance. The real audience has yet to arrive…"