CHAPTER 154: THE INVITATION

"So... Adam, huh?" she thought, her crimson gaze narrowing, dark and cold, as if the dwarf prince had just signed his own death warrant. Her small fist clenched tightly against the teddy bear she held, and in the quiet of her room she made a silent vow: during their next so-called training session, she would make him suffer. Of course, she would disguise it as nothing more than sparring.

Yet, despite her murderous thoughts, her chest felt strangely lighter. For the very first time, she had received a message from someone she had begun to acknowledge—not just as a rival, but as someone who mattered.

It was time to reply.

[I’m fine, there’s no need to worry.] (Khione)

Nero glanced at her message and chuckled. Cold, detached—just like her. He was about to type his own reply when another notification came.

[What about you?] (Khione)

He raised a brow in mild surprise before responding.

[I’m doing fine. I just came from outside where I wanted to test the sword I received from Adam.]

For him, the words were unusually talkative. Khione’s answer was quick, almost too quick.

[You too?] (Khione)

Nero immediately understood. Just as he wanted to test his sword, she must have tried out her wand.

[Yes, it was fun. He’s pretty good. I like the sword, and I think I’ll be using it for a long time

.]

On the other side, Khione’s fingers lingered on her screen longer than usual. The honesty in her words left her oddly at ease. Without noticing, her expression softened, the icy edges fading as she continued the exchange.

[Ithink so too. I must properly thank him and prepare a gift for his birthday. I dislike owing others.] (Khione)

’Oh? So Adam’s birthday isn’t far,’ Nero mused. A useful bit of information.

[That’s a nice idea. Together, let’s search for a good gift for him.]

[Okay.] (Khione)

[It’s getting late. I won’t disturb you further. I just wanted to exchange a little with you before going to sleep.]

[I see. It was nice chatting with you.] (Khione)

That reply genuinely surprised him. With a faint smile, Nero promised himself he would chat with her more often.

[I almost forgot. Together with the others, we decided to visit Lux’s hometown for summer break. I was hoping you’d come along—if you have no other plans. What do you say?

P.S. Elreth may come!]

He leaned back, waiting calmly. For some reason, he was certain she wouldn’t refuse.

On the other side, Khione read and reread the message, her first instinct to decline. But the last line lit a spark of irritation. Elreth? The idea of her making use of the trip to get closer to Nero stirred an uncomfortable heat in her chest. Like hell she would allow that. After a pause, her fingers danced across the screen.

[Sure. Count me in.] (Khione)

[That’s reassuring. Let’s have fun together.]

[Okay.] (Khione)

[Goodnight.]

[You too.] (Khione)

The moment she hit send, her phone slipped from her hand to the side of the bed. A heavy drowsiness overtook her, and her breathing slowed. Hugging the teddy bear close, her lips curved faintly into a smile—so small, so fleeting, it was almost unnoticeable. But it was there. In that instant, the Ice Queen’s cold façade melted away, revealing a fragile, almost tender beauty.

It was a sight worthy of a master painter, a moment to be immortalized for posterity. Yet no one was there to witness it, no one to hold on to that ephemeral vision. Alone, she surrendered to the call of sleep, serene and unknowingly radiant.

Meanwhile, in his own room, Nero fiddled with his phone a little longer before setting it aside. A quiet chuckle escaped him as he thought of her one last time. Not long after, he too drifted into slumber.

°°°

That night, her dreams carried her to a battlefield. A mountain range split apart as torrents of fire clashed against waves of ice. Volcanoes erupted where Elreth’s flames struck, boiling rivers of molten stone, while frozen glaciers surged forward, freezing even lava into jagged crystal.

The clash was apocalyptic. Firestorms raged across the skies, and blizzards howled through valleys, tearing trees from the ground. The Law of Fire and the Law of Ice collided, each blow threatening to shatter the very world beneath them.

Elreth stood at the center of the inferno, golden hair whipping like a burning banner, her crimson eyes alight with pride and fury. She bellowed, and a sea of flames surged forth, engulfing everything. The very mountain melted.

But Khione did not flinch. Raising her wand, she whispered a single cold incantation.

The world froze.

Flames cracked and shattered into icy fragments. Fireballs dissolved into snowflakes before touching her skin. The ground beneath Elreth’s feet crystallized, turning her blazing inferno into a frozen graveyard of ice spires.

"No... impossible!" Elreth roared, summoning her full might. A phoenix of pure fire emerged, its wings stretching across the skies. It screamed, diving down with enough power to incinerate mountains.

Khione’s ice blue eyes flashed coldly. Raising her hand, she summoned a colossal ice phoenix, its body gleaming with the brilliance of frozen starlight. With a thunderous roar, it met the fire phoenix head-on.

The clash shook the dreamscape—light and darkness, heat and frost. Then, with a chilling crack, the phoenix shattered, its fiery body frozen into shards of red crystal that rained to the ground. The dragon let out a victorious roar before dissolving back into blizzard winds.

Elreth fell to her knees, her flames extinguished, her body trembling under the weight of absolute defeat. Steam rose from her shoulders where frost had burned her hotter than any fire. Her pride was broken, her Law of Fire smothered and erased by Khione’s merciless cold.

Khione stepped forward, boots crunching over frost-coated stone. Her eyes were merciless as she looked down at the defeated princess.

"Pathetic," she said flatly. Her voice was cold enough to freeze marrow. "This is your so-called fire? Then kneel—and remember who stands above you."

Elreth’s lips trembled. She lowered her head, forced to bow before the Ice Queen. Her humiliation was complete.

Khione, however, did not spare her another glance. She turned her face away, toward the horizon.

And there—bathed in soft light, untouched by the destruction—stood Nero. His figure was calm, steady, and warm against the backdrop of ice and fire. He raised his hand casually and waved.

For the first time, Khione’s cold mask cracked. Her lips curved faintly upward. Victory tasted sweet, but Nero’s smile made it sweeter still.

As the dream dissolved into mist, she sank deeper into slumber, a faint smile still lingering on her face.

•••

The following morning, Nero awoke with a rare clarity in his mind. The fatigue of yesterday had melted away, leaving him refreshed, his body light as though it had been reforged in the crucible of his dreams. Rising from bed in one fluid motion, he washed quickly before donning his training gear: dark, sleeveless attire that clung snugly to his frame, built for both freedom of movement and resilience.

Stepping outside, the chill of dawn brushed against his skin. The mountain behind the dormirtory loomed tall and silent, its slopes veiled in thin morning mist, its forests whispering in the wind. Nero drew in a deep breath of the crisp air before taking off at a steady pace.

His feet struck the dirt path rhythmically, echoing in the still silence of early morning. The incline was harsh, but his legs never faltered—each step was firm, precise, carrying him further into the winding trails. He moved like a predator, controlled yet untamed, weaving between moss-covered roots and leaping lightly over fallen branches. Birds startled at his passing, scattering into the pale sky. By the time he reached the peak of his usual five kilometers, his lungs expanded evenly with each breath, his heart beat strong and steady, and sweat glistened across his forehead, sliding down his temples before dripping into the earth below.

But Nero was far from finished. Returning to the base of the slope, he lowered himself to the ground, his palms pressing firmly into the soil. He began his push-ups slowly, each descent lowering him with perfect control, each rise accompanied by the tightening of his shoulders, arms, and core. The veins in his arms stood out as his muscles flexed with every repetition. Fifty became a hundred, and still he moved with unwavering rhythm, his breaths syncing with the motion.

Without pause, he shifted into squats. His stance was wide, movements fluid yet sharp—knees bending, thighs burning, spine held straight. Each squat struck the ground like the coiling and uncoiling of a predator ready to pounce.

By the time he finished, his body radiated with heat, a thin steam rising from his skin against the cold dawn air.

Finally, Nero dropped down cross-legged on the grassy clearing, his back straight, eyes closing in solemn focus. The mountain was silent save for the rustle of leaves and the distant call of birds, but to Nero, the world narrowed to the sound of his own breathing. Inhale—long and steady, pulling in not just air but the raw essence of the mountain itself. Exhale—slow and controlled, releasing tension, sharpening clarity. His chest rose and fell like the tide, his entire being centered within the rhythm.

Minutes trickled into twenty, but to him it felt timeless. The air around him seemed to still, the mist itself curling faintly as if drawn by his breath. A faint warmth lingered in his core, subtle yet powerful—the quiet fire of discipline, honed through countless mornings like this.

When at last he opened his eyes, the sun had begun to pierce the mist, scattering golden rays across the mountain. His body felt alive, his spirit sharp. He rose smoothly to his feet, sweat cooling against his skin, every muscle singing with readiness.

The day had begun, and Nero was prepared for it.