​Dawn in Iron Hearth broke with a streak of orange slowly creeping from behind the ridges of the eastern mountains. Its light reflected off the oily surface of the river, lending color to the plumes of factory smoke that never slept.

​Roland Sudrath stood tall at the city gates even before the sun had a chance to bathe the tin roofs with its light. He wore his finest diplomatic attire—deep blue with silver embroidery on the collar, crisp without a single wrinkle. His hair was meticulously slicked back. There was nothing flawed about his appearance, yet his fingers constantly kneaded the cuffs of his own jacket. It was cold. And he knew it wasn’t because of the morning dew.

​Beside him, Grimm stood like a statue, his posture still as hard as a rock even as age began to pull his shoulders downward. Two Nightshade personnel stood guard in silence, their black uniforms seemingly absorbing the brightening dawn.

​"Hmm, you’ve been here since the dawn bell tolled, Master," Grimm’s flat voice broke the silence.

​Roland did not reply. He simply took a deep breath, letting the cold air fill his lungs.

​"If I may comment," Grimm glanced slightly toward his master, "you look like you are heading to an execution stage, not welcoming a guest."

​The corner of Roland’s lips twitched upward, almost imperceptible. "Tsk. Thank you, Grimm."

​"For what, Master?"

​"For not changing one bit."

​Grimm simply stared straight ahead, but there was a small glint in his wrinkled eyes—something akin to pride—before he returned to his expressionless face.

​Citizens began to swarm in the distance. News of the Dragon Princess’s arrival had spread like wildfire, carried by the whispers of kitchen maids and the seasoned tales of market traders. They stood behind the guard barricades—factory workers with hands stained pitch black by oil, mothers holding their children’s shoulders to keep them from running into the middle of the street.

​"Eh, is that the Dragon Princess who came here before?" a young woman whispered.

​"They say she has a special relationship with Sir Roland."

​"What kind of relationship? Don’t speak so carelessly."

​"Well... you know. They’re close."

​"Hah, impossible. A Dragon would never stoop to stand beside an ordinary human."

​Roland closed his ears to the noise. His eyes were fixed solely on a single point in the eastern sky. There, a small speck appeared. One. Then two.

​Boom... Boom... Boom...

​The sound of flapping wings began to resonate—heavy, rhythmic, and vibrating through the chest like the distant beat of war drums. The crowd suddenly grew rowdy. Children pointed at the sky with sparkling eyes. The speck grew larger, transforming into the silhouette of a majestic dragon with wide wings that cleaved through the morning light.

​Roland clenched his fists at his sides. He inhaled, exhaled, then clenched again. Gulp. He swallowed with great difficulty.

​The first dragon dived down—her scales were pearl white with silver wings that shimmered blindingly in the sunlight. Seraphina. Whoosh! A powerful gust of wind struck as her feet touched the ground right in front of the gate, kicking up dust and forcing the citizens to shield their eyes. Behind her, the second, smaller dragon with dark gray scales landed at a respectful distance. Her guard.

​Then, Seraphina transformed.

​There was no explosive light. Only a subtle shift—the dragon’s body shrank, her wings folded into her back, and the pearl scales faded into soft, pale skin. Within seconds, she stood there as a human. Her dress was simple, light gray without intricate decorations. Her white hair was tousled by the wind, without a crown, without gold. It was just her.

​Her eyes moved quickly, searching for something among the crowd.

​And she found Roland.

​For a few seconds, time seemed to freeze. For Roland, the world stopped spinning. He wanted to speak—to utter the formal sentences he had memorized last night. But his throat suddenly constricted.

​Seraphina stepped forward. Not a run, but her pace was fast and urgent. Like someone who had carried a burden for far too long and finally collapsed right at the finish line. Roland stood frozen. His hands felt stiff, unsure of where to be placed.

​Then, without warning, Seraphina hugged him.

​Tight. Extremely tight. Seraphina’s arms wrapped firmly around Roland’s shoulders, her face buried in the crook of his neck. Roland felt his body stiffen—not out of discomfort, but because his heart suddenly hammered wildly as if it were about to leap out. Slowly, with hands that trembled slightly, Roland returned the embrace. He could feel a faint tremor in Seraphina’s body. Not a sob, just the vibration of an exhausted frame.

​When Seraphina pulled her face away, Roland could finally see her clearly. And his heart sank. That face... there was no trace of happiness there. Her eyes were dull, with faint dark circles beneath them. She smiled, but the smile only reached her lips; it did not touch her weary eyes.

​"Welcome back to Northreach, Your Highness Princess Seraphina," Roland’s voice came out steady—perhaps too steady to hide the turmoil in his chest.

​"Thank you, Sir Roland," Seraphina replied softly. But her eyes said something else. Her eyes said: I am not okay.

​The citizens watched with bated breath. Whispers began to spread again. "Why does she look like that?" — "Look, she looks like she’s in mourning." — "This doesn’t seem like a sweet reunion."

​Roland cleared his throat softly, then gestured toward the castle. "Come. I will escort you."

​They walked side by side toward the castle. Not too close, but not at a distance either. An awkward position for two people whose status floated somewhere between political allies and something deeper. Roland stole a side glance. Seraphina simply stared straight ahead with a hollow expression. Later, Roland thought. I will ask once we are inside.

​Before the castle gates, Seraphina paused for a moment. She looked up at the gray stone structure before her—the high towers and the Sudrath Wolf flag fluttering proudly at the peak.

​"So... this is your home," she murmured, more to herself.

​"This is our home," Roland replied. There was a fraction of a second’s pause before the word "our"—a small emphasis that made Seraphina look at him briefly. She didn’t ask, but Roland knew she noticed.

​Room number two was fully ready. Soft cream silk sheets were spread flawlessly. On the table near the open window, a glass vase containing Snow Seruni flowers greeted them. The white petals, tinged with blue, looked fresh.

​Seraphina approached the vase. Her fingertips touched the flower petals with extreme care, as if fearing the bloom would shatter if pressed. "These flowers... they don’t grow in Draconia."

​"I know."

​Only two words, but Seraphina understood their meaning. This wasn’t just a room ornament. Roland wanted to give her something that only existed here, in this land, near him.

​Roland sat in a wooden chair by the window, while Seraphina sat on the edge of the bed. The morning light streamed in from behind Roland, creating a silhouette that separated them in the shadows. Silence descended once more. Not a peaceful silence, but a suffocating one, filled with sentences held back at the tip of the tongue.

​"You want to talk," Roland said finally. It wasn’t a question, but a certainty.

​Seraphina nodded. Her hands crumpled the fabric of her gown in her lap—a micro-movement that revealed her anxiety. "I... I apologize, Roland."

​Roland’s heart seemed to skip a beat. "For what?"

​Seraphina raised her face, looking directly into Roland’s eyes. And for the first time, Roland saw total resignation there. Like a soldier dropping their weapon because there was nothing left to fight for.

​"We cannot be together."

​Roland did not respond. The words hung in the air, cold and sharp like a freshly whetted blade.

​"This was not an easy decision for me," Seraphina continued. Her voice was flat, yet there was a faint tremor she tried to hide beneath it. "But it has been decided. I hope you understand."

​Roland wanted to scream. To ask why, who was standing in the way, or to find any diplomatic loophole to refute it. Yet he saw Seraphina’s gaze—a silent plea that said: Please, don’t ask, don’t make this any harder.

​And for the first time, the diplomat chose to keep his mouth shut.

​Seraphina stood up stiffly. "I need to rest. The journey... it was exhausting." She walked toward the bed, then paused for a moment without turning around. "Thank you, Roland. For everything."

​Click.

​The door closed softly as Roland stepped out. He stood in the cold castle corridor, staring at the wooden door in front of him. The same door he had seen thousands of times, but now it felt like a fortress he could never penetrate again.

​His mind was in a whirl. What had happened in Draconia? Who had threatened her? Yet behind his logical anger, there was one fact that hit him harder.

​She rejected him. But she also hugged him as if it were her last breath.

​The reunion hadn’t truly begun, yet for some reason, Roland felt it was already over.