Two months had passed since Leroy and Starmist began their circuit across the All Realm.

  The eastern territories were behind them. So were the central and the southern. Experience accumulated not only in memory but in ink. Leroy now carried a small satchel heavy with notes, its seams strained by pages that no longer fit within his coat pockets.

  Their journey had brought them north.

  The Kingdom of Alvoria stood modest against the harsh winds that drifted from the Abyssal frontier. Once ruled by King Dayrand, the realm still lived beneath the shadow of his final act. His death had been ruled suicide, discovered within the colosseum after evidence surfaced of a planned rebellion against the council. The last person to speak with him before that end was none other than the Sorcerer Supreme, Cygnus Spellbane.

  Now the throne belonged to Dayrand’s son.

  Leroy and Starmist sat across from King Durnell and Queen Helen within a chamber that carried more restraint than ceremony. Both monarchs remained quiet unless addressed directly, their posture shaped by lingering fear of the council and quiet remorse for the actions of the previous reign.

  Starmist had already explained the ambiguity of Dayrand’s death more than once. There had been no poison. No spell. Cygnus had presented truth, and Dayrand had chosen his own end.

  But the era had changed. Fear endured even where certainty existed.

  “So,” Leroy began, tone gentle yet precise, “what difficulties remain here concerning superhumans?”

  Durnell offered a restrained smile without lifting his gaze.

  “None, Chairman Leroy,” he replied. “If conflict existed, it was we who created it.”

  Starmist leaned forward slightly.

  “Do any superhumans visit your territory regularly? Perhaps in ways that make your people uncomfortable?”

  The kingdom’s proximity to the northern Abyss shaped daily life. Mega simians wandered near settlements. Needlefeet tribes occasionally descended from the frontier and mingled with villagers in quiet coexistence that had grown almost routine.

  Queen Helen spoke when the questions persisted.

  “We have seen individuals who appear to be superhuman,” she said cautiously. “Their outfit suggests affiliations with the Sorcerers, Abyssal, Weapon Masters, and Cogworks. Yet none are prominent figures whose names we recognize.”

  She hesitated before continuing.

  “One presence troubles our woodcutters. A member of the Regal Vanguard… Ender Dryskull.”

  Her voice lowered.

  “He does not speak, harms no one. He usually appears among the trees without sound, only watching. Then he vanishes again.”

  Starmist nodded with quiet familiarity.

  “Dryskull has always been this way, Your Majesty. There is no cause for fear. He acts only under command.”

  “And this region lies along his patrol boundary,” Leroy added. “Woodcutters venturing too close to the Northen Abyss will inevitably meet him.”

  Queen Helen’s unease remained.

  “With respect, Chairman Leroy, even among the needlefeet and other abyssal races, his presence feels… different.”

  “We will raise the matter with Lucretius,” Starmist said. “You need not worry.”

  The reassurance settled over the room, though not entirely dispelling the subtle tension that lingered in Alvoria’s air. Beyond the palace walls, northern winds carried whispers from the Abyss, and with them the quiet reminder that some guardians protected not through comfort, but through the fear they inspired.

  King Durnell and Queen Helen nodded, their relief restrained yet visible.

  “S since…” Durnell began, then stopped. His hand trembled slightly as he reached for his glass, drinking to delay the words that refused to settle on his tongue.

  He swallowed, lips pressing shut again as if speech itself carried danger.

  “Please continue, Your Majesty,” Leroy said.

  Durnell hesitated once more before forcing the thought into sound.

  “Since my father’s death, some guards have reported unfamiliar figures within the kingdom. Suspicious individuals.” His gaze remained lowered. “It troubles me.”

  “Do your citizens know?” Starmist asked, fingers folded neatly in her lap.

  The king and queen shook their heads.

  Silence followed. Not tense, but cold. A quiet acknowledgment that some fears were better left unnamed until necessity demanded otherwise.

  The meeting ended soon after.

  Leroy and Starmist departed Alvoria without ceremony. This time they did not take to the sky. Instead, they boarded a steam carriage bound for the Kingdom of Prisian. Not far from that realm stood the opulent estate of House Canis, the eighth wealthiest Extraterrestrial noble house.

  Lady Canya had extended an invitation.

  A monthly gathering, paired with the return of her son Canyio, who had taken a bride from their home world and brought her to the All Realm ahead of their wedding in two months.

  “So House Canis has secured its future,” Leroy said as the carriage began its slow ascent along frost lined roads.

  “They differ physically from native races,” Starmist replied while reading the invitation. “Interbreeding with most of the All Realm is impossible.”

  “Besides House Star, which others share compatibility?” Leroy asked.

  “Quasar, Phorist, Solivara, and Pulsara,” she answered. “Their physiology closely resembles humanity.”

  Starmist laughed quietly.

  “You know House Pulsara recently proposed their daughter, Lady Putla, to six Silver Chair kingdoms. Two accepted the offer. The rest did not respond.”

  Her laughter faded into a small sigh.

  “People consider alliances with faction leaders the highest honor.”

  “I can imagine,” Leroy said.

  Before he could continue, the invitation tapped sharply against his knee.

  The carriage rolled onward through landscapes swallowed by winter. Snow blanketed forests and hills alike, turning the world outside the window into a silent tapestry of white and shadow.

  For a while, they simply watched.

  “S sometimes,” Starmist said softly, “I wonder what it would be like to rest from the council.”

  Leroy’s expression shifted with quiet surprise.

  “To live closer to commonfolk,” she continued. “I have always been curious.”

  “When you wish to live as commonfolk,” Leroy said before catching himself, “imagine how many would abandon their lives for a place in Stargate with-.”

  He paused, regret touching his voice.

  “I am sorry. That came out wrong.”

  Starmist did not react with offense.

  “I once read,” she said, “that we often desire what we have never possessed.”

  She turned toward him.

  “And you?”

  Leroy rested his chin against his hand, eyes tracing the snow laden mountains sliding past the window.

  “I rarely want much,” he said. “Yet when I do, it tends to fracture the council.”

  Starmist shifted closer, placing a gentle hand upon his shoulder.

  “Do not sink into melancholy,” she said. “At least we are trying to act. That matters.”

  Leroy looked at her, meeting the quiet reassurance carried in her smile. His gaze lingered on her hand before he carefully removed it, not out of rejection but caution, as if wary of misunderstanding what kindness sometimes concealed.

  This tale has been pilfered from Royal Road. If found on Amazon, kindly file a report.

  “Thank you, Starmist,” he said. “You have always supported me.”

  Outside, the steam carriage pressed onward through the frozen expanse, carrying two travelers toward a gathering where diplomacy, celebration, and unseen tensions would soon converge beneath the lights of House Canis.

  Starmist laughed softly and leaned back against the cushioned seat, letting the carriage sway beneath her.

  “I wonder how the others are doing,” she murmured.

  “Right,” Leroy replied, rubbing his chin in thought. “No one has contacted us for nearly a month. Even Elysius, who usually contact us, has gone silent.”

  “Perhaps we should conclude this journey after the House Canis gathering,” Starmist said. “We can resume it in a few months.”

  She glanced toward him.

  “You worry when silence lingers like this, do you not?”

  The steam carriage rolled past the Kingdom of Prisian, its gates busy with trade. Long convoys of timber wagons emerged from the city, stacked high with freshly cut logs. The air carried the scent of resin and frost as the procession passed alongside their carriage.

  “We will arrive at the Canis estate soon,” Starmist said, raising her voice over the rumble of wheels.

  Leroy answered with a simple thumbs up.

  The estate stood beyond Prisian, separated by two kilometers of snow covered road. A path connected the palace directly to the kingdom, yet Leroy and Starmist chose the outer route, quieter and faster beneath the open sky.

  “Will Lord Star attend?” Leroy asked.

  “No,” Starmist replied. “He will appear only for the wedding. Tonight is merely a gathering of noble houses.”

  The carriage slowed as the estate emerged from drifting snowfall.

  House Canis rose from the landscape in gray stone, stark against the white expanse. Unlike the luminous gardens of Stargate, the estate held no vibrant greenery. Its brilliance came from snow layered across rooftops and courtyards, transforming the fortress into a pale monument shaped by winter itself.

  The moment Leroy stepped outside, cold bit through his coat.

  The estate lay closer to the mountains, and beyond those peaks stretched the northern Abyss.

  “Leroy,” Starmist said, “House Canis maintains a tradition. Their gatherings last an entire day.”

  “The entire day?” Leroy asked, startled. “Do they never sleep?”

  “It is conversation rather than celebration,” she answered. “An opportunity for nobles to exchange interests and alliances.”

  Music drifted through the halls as they entered. String instruments hummed with gentle melancholy, their melody closer to drowsiness than festivity. Breath hung in faint mist before every guest, visible proof that winter never fully surrendered its claim over this place.

  Inside, Leroy’s composure faltered.

  Rows of crystal bottles gleamed beneath lantern light, filled with liquids of every shade and intensity. Alcohol dominated the tables with quiet authority.

  "An entire day… and every drink is alcohol," he thought grimly.

  While he stood frozen in quiet dread, Starmist moved easily among the guests, greeting Extraterrestrial nobles and commonfolk alike with practiced grace.

  A towering figure approached Leroy soon after.

  Lord Pullior of House Pulsara stood nearly two and a half meters tall, his skin traced with pale blue lines resembling living veins or intricate tattoos, a hallmark of his species. His smile stretched wider than courtesy demanded as he placed a hand upon Leroy’s shoulder with the weight of a small shield.

  “Chairman Leroy Livingstone,” Pullior said warmly, “I did not expect to see you at such a gathering.”

  A servant passed with a tray of small cakes crowned by cherries. Leroy took one, using the gesture as brief refuge before replying.

  “I am traveling with Starmist on a matter of observation, Lord Pullior.”

  “I see,” Pullior said. “Yet from my understanding, this is not an official council assignment.”

  “Not every task requires announcement,” Leroy replied.

  He excused himself before further inquiry could follow, leaving Pullior to scratch his head in mild confusion.

  "I have little patience for noble games tonight, Leroy thought as he scanned the hall. But outside is colder still. Were it not for Starmist, I would have departed already."

  Around him, conversations blossomed in quiet clusters as more nobles arrived, each eager to greet the Chairman whose presence turned an ordinary gathering into something far more consequential.

  From the far corner of the hall, Leroy watched Starmist.

  Her soft laughter blended with the murmur of noble conversation while her blue gown caught the chandelier’s glow, reflecting light like fragments of night sky. She seemed entirely at ease among the aristocracy, moving through their circles with a grace that made diplomacy appear effortless.

  Leroy remained seated apart, content to observe from a distance.

  He did not notice when someone settled beside him.

  “Chairman Larry?” a voice wheezed.

  Leroy turned, startled.

  Lord Omrin of House Omirite sat there, his form compact and peculiar. Barely reaching an adult’s knee in height, his limbs were rounded and short, his torso almost spherical. Thick round spectacles magnified eyes that radiated earnest curiosity, while each breath escaped with the sound of quiet exertion.

  Leroy covered his mouth, fighting the reflexive smile that threatened to appear. Omrin’s gaze held no embarrassment, only innocent attentiveness.

  “My name Leroy,” he said gently. “A honor to meet you, Lord Omrin.”

  Omrin could not nod; his neck permitted little movement. Instead, his lips parted and closed as if the gesture alone conveyed acknowledgment.

  “Chairman Larry,” Omrin continued, “how the council condition?”

  Leroy let the mispronunciation pass.

  “The council stands well,” he replied. “And your trade?”

  “My son is ill,” Omrin said, voice softening. “He could not attend today. I had hoped to introduce him to Chairman Larry.”

  Leroy hesitated, uncertain how to respond. The remark carried sincerity that defied the oddness of the encounter.

  Before he could speak, Starmist approached their table.

  “Lord Omrin,” she greeted warmly, “how have you been?”

  Omrin’s expression brightened.

  “I am well, Lady Mist. Please extend my greetings to your brother.”

  Leroy watched the exchange in silent bewilderment. Their conversation flowed with ease, punctuated by laughter that Omrin produced in breathy bursts. Nothing about it seemed strained or unusual to Starmist, though to Leroy the interaction felt strangely surreal.

  "This faction never fail to surprise," he thought.

  After a moment, Starmist excused herself and gently took Leroy’s arm. Omrin raised his glass in farewell.

  “Thank you for your company, Chairman Larry.”

  They moved away, yet Leroy’s gaze lingered behind them.

  “Starmist,” he whispered once they were clear, “what wrong with his head? Has he suffered injury, or does he simply understand women better than men?”

  She pinched his arm in quiet reprimand.

  “Mind your tongue.”

  They reached the center of the hall.

  “I am grateful you rescued me,” Leroy said with a restrained laugh. “Another minute and I might have lost my sanity.”

  Soft music began to rise, delicate strings weaving through the room. Couples formed naturally, nobles drifting toward the center floor in practiced harmony.

  Leroy’s composure faltered as awareness dawned.

  “Starmist,” he asked cautiously, glancing around, “why are we standing here?”

  Her smile deepened as she stepped closer.

  “It is a dance,” she said. “It begins now.”

  Color rushed to Leroy’s face.

  “Dance…” he repeated, voice unsteady.

  The piano and cello intertwined, guiding movement as though the melody itself possessed gravity. Starmist placed one of Leroy’s hands against her waist while their other hands met between them, fingers aligning with quiet inevitability.

  “Wait,” Leroy began, tension tightening his voice.

  But the music had already claimed the moment.

  The dance began.

  Leroy moved as though unfamiliar with the language of rhythm, each step hesitant, his posture rigid like a Cogworks machine deprived of oil. Muscles that had endured battle and flight now betrayed him beneath the simplest choreography.

  Starmist, by contrast, moved with effortless grace.

  She guided the motion rather than resisted it, her laughter soft as she held his hand, steering their steps through the flow of music. The contrast between them was almost theatrical. Precision beside uncertainty. Light guiding weight.

  Leroy glanced around in mounting discomfort.

  Eyes followed them from every corner of the hall. Smiles, applause, and quiet amusement accompanied the melody as nobles watched the unlikely pair at the center of the floor.

  The moment worsened when the dance shifted.

  Partners exchanged in practiced sequence, and Leroy’s composure unraveled entirely. He moved mechanically from one unfamiliar face to another, searching for Starmist amid shifting circles while struggling to maintain the illusion of participation.

  When the music finally ended, relief arrived with it.

  He found her again as applause filled the chamber.

  “Not terrible,” Starmist said with a teasing laugh.

  Leroy offered only a strained smile, breath uneven from effort that felt far more exhausting than battle. Sweat gathered at his brow despite the estate’s cold air.

  He retreated to a seat, taking a drink and wiping his forehead while watching Starmist reenter noble conversation with effortless ease. Laughter surrounded her once more, and Leroy suspected she could dance again without hesitation.

  “You are not a romantic man, are you, Chairman Larry?”

  Leroy jolted, clutching his chest as Lord Omrin appeared across from him with quiet persistence, sipping from a glass that seemed oversized in his small hands.

  “Lord Omrin,” Leroy said, recovering with a faint exhale, “your ability to appear unannounced is remarkable.”

  Leroy poured himself a drink and rose slowly, intending escape while Omrin’s gaze drifted elsewhere.

  “Of the many men who have sought her hand,” Omrin said calmly, “have you never wondered why she chose to dance with you?”

  The question halted Leroy mid step.

  He sat again.

  “This is simply a dance gathering, my lord,” Leroy replied. “Surely she will share the floor with others as the night continues.”

  Omrin laughed, a peculiar sound accompanied by trembling lips and small bubbles escaping his breath.

  “You are correct,” he said. “Yet I have never seen Lady Mist laugh while dancing as she did tonight.”

  Leroy poured another drink, listening despite himself.

  Omrin spoke of past gatherings where Starmist declined invitations with polite certainty. Of nobles whose disappointment could not be voiced because she remained seated beside Lord Star, shielded by rank and respect. Even suitors from her own faction had been refused without hesitation.

  “She often declines men,” Leroy said. “You know this well, Lord Omrin.”

  “And have you ever been declined?” Omrin asked.

  The question struck with unexpected force.

  Leroy choked on his drink, pouring another in hurried reflex as though liquid might dissolve the sudden dryness in his throat.

  He raised a trembling finger toward Omrin, eyes watering from the cough, but the small noble dismissed the gesture with quiet certainty.

  “You were not declined,” Omrin said.

  A pause followed.

  “You were accepted.”

  Leroy fell silent again at that, especially puzzled by how Lord Omrin could suddenly speak coherently with him unlike before.

  “Sooner or later, Starmist will marry, Chairman Larry.”

  “Yes, that is certain,” Leroy said, taking another drink, his gaze drifting blankly toward Starmist from afar.

  “And what about you?” Omrin asked.

  Leroy lifted the large bottle of alcohol and poured another glass. “I will be happy with whoever her partner is. She has been my friend for a long time.”

  “And what about yourself, Chairman Larry?” Omrin pressed again.

  Leroy shook his head, picked up the bottle, and stood.

  “We in the council must set aside personal feelings and desires for the All Realm,” he said.

  Omrin nodded faintly. “I understand.”

  Outside, light snow began to fall. Leroy no longer felt the cold; he had drunk too much. He leaned against the balcony, gazing at the fortress of the Kingdom of Prisian.

  Footsteps echoed below. A king arrived with his young heir, a boy perhaps slightly older than Elysius. Leroy glanced at them from a distance.

  The king adjusted the boy’s insignia, cloak, and crown, brushing snow from their garments.

  “Listen,” the king said, “Lady Starmist is inside. Fortunate that Lord Star is absent. This is our moment to do what must be done.”

  “I would be deeply honored to take you as my bride. I will protect you for the rest of my life, Lady Starmist,” the crown prince recited stiffly.

  Leroy chuckled softly and shook his head, turning his gaze away.

  “That was rigid. Come, let us move inside and practice again. You will only embarrass me otherwise,” the king said.

  As they moved to enter with attendants carrying countless jewels, the king suddenly noticed Leroy.

  “Chairman Leroy Livingstone, the Green Wraith. I did not realize you were here,” the king said, bowing alongside the prince and their servants.

  Leroy continued drinking and gestured toward the interior. “Starmist is inside.”

  The royal entourage nodded in gratitude and hurried indoors, leaving the Green Wraith alone on the balcony, accompanied only by the bottle in his hand and the slow fall of snow.