Elysia
Chapter 21: The Queen’s Decree and the King’s Fear

The idyllic peace of the afternoon shattered like a pane of frosted glass. The moment the scent of blood and obsession reached Elysia, the world around her seemed to hold its breath. For Elina, the shift was as violent and terrifying as the creation of the palace had been wondrous. The gentle, ambient warmth of the air vanished, replaced by a profound, soul-deep cold. The light-flowers in the garden, which had been pulsing with joyous energy just moments before, now retracted their petals, their inner light dimming to a fearful flicker. The very air grew heavy, thick with a pressure that made it hard to breathe.

Elina had witnessed Elysia’s power. She had seen her manifest castles from thin air and conjure miracles with a wave of her hand. But this was different. This was the first time she had ever felt the true, untamed weight of her guardian’s being, the aura of a being who had conquered Hell not through gentle creation, but through nine millennia of unrelenting warfare. This was not the power of a goddess of peace; this was the chilling authority of a primordial predator.

Terrified, Elina tugged again at Elysia’s sleeve, her voice a small, trembling whisper. "Lady Elysia… you're scaring me."

The child’s words cut through the chilling fog of Elysia’s focus. Her piercing blue eyes, which had been locked on the distant mountain peaks, flickered downwards to look at the small, frightened face beside her. She saw the genuine fear in Elina’s wide, golden-brown eyes, the way her fox ears were pressed flat against her head. And in that instant, a new, ferocious priority overrode her ancient animosity.

The safety of the child. The preservation of the sanctuary.

Her expression remained a mask of ice, but her next actions were swift and decisive. "Go inside," she commanded. Her voice was flat, devoid of its usual melodic undertones, replaced by a sharp, commanding tone that left no room for argument. "Go to your room. Do not leave it until I come for you."

It was the first true order she had ever given Elina. Scared but instantly obedient, Elina nodded, let go of the sleeve, and ran towards the shimmering gates of the Aurora Palace without looking back. Once inside, she didn’t stop running until she was in the safety of her own chambers. She scrambled onto her cushioned window seat and peered out, watching as Elysia stood alone in the twilight, a solitary, majestic figure facing an unseen threat.

Alone now, Elysia closed her eyes for a single moment. Her internal monologue was a tempest of cold fury. Nine years. Nine years of near-perfect silence. And she dares to follow me here? To bring her grand, bloody theatrics and the foul scent of her obsession into this world? Into my sanctuary?

She was not afraid of Nyxoria. Fear was a luxury she had discarded eons ago. What she felt was a profound, cosmic-level annoyance. Nyxoria was the ultimate disturbance, the embodiment of the chaos and emotional entanglement she had sought to escape. But now, it was worse. The vampire queen's presence was no longer just a threat to her own peace; it was a direct threat to Elina. The thought of Nyxoria’s madness even touching the fragile, peaceful world she had constructed for the child fueled a protective rage colder and more dangerous than any fiery wrath.

She raised a single, elegant hand. The air around the entire domain of the World Tree began to shimmer. From the ground, a translucent wall of pure, solidified aurora light rose into the sky, enclosing the entire sacred forest in a magnificent, pulsating dome. It was a barrier far more complex and powerful than the simple purification field she had erected before—this one was woven with concepts of nullification, spatial distortion, and absolute deterrence. It was a silent, beautiful, and utterly lethal declaration to all of creation: Keep Out.

Having secured the perimeter, she stood motionless, a queen of ice and starlight on her battlements, waiting.

In the Elven capital, the mood of cautious optimism was about to be violently extinguished. King Theron and his council were deep in discussion, strategizing their next move against Malgorath’s forces, when the doors to the throne room burst open. Two royal guards entered, supporting the broken figure of an Elven Ranger between them.

It was Lyren, the captain of the Silent Striders. His fine elven armor was torn and blackened, his face was a mask of dirt and dried blood, but the physical wounds were nothing compared to the damage to his spirit. His eyes, usually sharp and alert, were wide and vacant with a terror that seemed to have permanently hollowed out his soul.

"Captain Lyren!" King Theron exclaimed, rising from his throne. "What has happened?"

Lyren was gently lowered into a chair. He trembled uncontrollably, taking several gasping breaths before he could speak. He recounted his report in a fractured, haunted voice, his words painting a picture of a slaughter so swift and effortless it defied all known principles of combat. He described a hidden cavern, a woman of predatory beauty, and a one-sided massacre that lasted mere seconds.

"Her speed… Your Majesty, even for an Elf, it was impossible," Lyren choked out. "She moved like a thought. Our blades… they shattered against her skin. Our arrows… she caught them from the air. We were not fighting a warrior. We were… children swatting at a storm."

Archmage Gideon leaned forward, his face grim. "This being… did she use magic? Incantations? Runic circles?"

Lyren shook his head frantically. "No! Nothing I recognized. It was… a part of her. Shadow and speed and a strength that felt ancient. It was not the chaotic corruption of Malgorath. It was… sentient. Graceful. And utterly, dismissively cruel."

The leaders exchanged horrified glances. A new, unknown power of this magnitude was a nightmare scenario.

"Did she give a name?" Queen Lyra asked softly.

Lyren shuddered, the memory clearly torturing him. "She did. She told me to deliver a message to the rulers of this world." He took a ragged breath and recited the words that had been burned into his mind. "She said, 'The Crimson Queen has arrived. Tell them to stay out of my way.'"

A wave of confusion swept through the room. The Crimson Queen? The name was not in any of their records, not even in the most forbidden annexes of Gideon’s library.

"There is more," Lyren whispered, his gaze finding King Theron's. "Her final words… she said them with a smile. 'I am here… to visit an old friend.'"

Silence. A thick, dreadful silence descended upon the throne room. An old friend? An entity of such terrifying power had an acquaintance in their world? Who could possibly be considered a peer to such a being?

It was King Theron who connected the pieces first. His face went utterly pale. He looked at his wife, his eyes wide with a dawning, catastrophic realization. There was only one other transcendent, "out-of-context" power they knew of. The Ruler of Hell. The Lady of the Aurora Palace.

"Her 'old friend'..." Theron breathed, the words tasting like ash. "She is not here for us."

The implication struck the rest of the council like a physical blow. This new, terrifying faction, this Crimson Queen, was not another front in their war against Malgorath. She was here for Elysia. Their world, their home, was about to become the chosen battlefield for a grudge match between two beings whose power could shatter dimensions. Their own apocalyptic war against Malgorath was suddenly, horrifyingly, demoted to a potential sideshow.

High on a balcony of the Aurora Palace, Elysia stood, a silent statue against the swirling colors of her self-made sky. She had felt the psychic scream of the dying elves, a faint and distant echo on the wind. It was a messy, theatrical signature she knew all too well. Nyxoria was announcing her arrival.

So be it, Elysia thought. She knew her rival's temperament. Nyxoria would not stay hidden for long. She would eventually come to the World Tree. Elysia had to set the terms of engagement before Nyxoria's brand of chaos could bleed into her sanctuary.

She would not send a message. Messages could be ignored. She would issue a decree.

Closing her eyes, Elysia drew upon her will. She did not gather mana in the traditional sense. She simply… focused. Her consciousness expanded, stretching out from the palace in a silent, invisible wave of pure, condensed intent. It washed over the entire continent in an instant. Every king, every beast, every commoner, every soldier felt it for a fleeting second—a sudden, inexplicable drop in temperature, a shiver down the spine, the feeling of being watched by an ancient, unblinking eye. And then it was gone.

But the message was not for them. It was a psychic broadcast aimed with absolute precision at one specific soul.

In her dark mountain cave, Nyxoria, who was admiring a fresh kill, suddenly stiffened. The message bloomed directly in her mind, not as words, but as pure, undeniable concepts, colder and clearer than any spoken language.

"Nyxoria. I know you are here. Your scent fouls the air of my sanctuary." The acknowledgement was a blade of ice.

"This world is my domain of peace now. Your theatrics are not welcome." The boundary was drawn.

"There is a child here. She is under my protection. If your presence causes her even a moment of fear, if a single drop of your corrupted blood falls within this forest, I will not simply defeat you again. I will unmake you. I will erase your name from the memory of every dimension." The unbreakable rule, and a promise of a fate far worse than death. The protective instinct was absolute.

"You wish to see me. Fine. Approach the World Tree alone. Come as a petitioner, not as a warlord. Or I will come to you. And I will not be in a pleasant mood." The invitation, and the ultimatum.

The psychic broadcast ceased. On her balcony, Elysia opened her eyes. The cold fury had settled into a grim, patient resolve. She had made her move. She had set the rules for the coming storm.

Far away, in her mountain cave, Nyxoria slowly let the drained corpse in her hand fall to the floor. The psychic power of the decree still echoed in her mind, a chill that even she could feel. Then, a slow, dangerous smile spread across her face. Her crimson eyes gleamed in the darkness, filled not with fear, but with an amused, obsessive fire.

"Oh, my love," she whispered to the shadows, her voice a low purr. "You got a pet? And you're already trying to set rules for me?"

She laughed, a sound like shattering glass.

"How utterly adorable."