[From the Other Side of the World]
17:39, Miwova Time
In a wealthy and powerful state, practically considered one of the most prosperous and mighty nations in the world, greatness is not just an ideal but a living reality.
Today, they felt the staggering power of a being who, for a moment, redirected the nearest ocean currents—a power originating from the other side of the map, in the western block.
The ruler of this nation, though deemed strange by some, is respected by the humans living in Miwova. These humans stand apart from the typical and negative behaviors others have attributed to them, claiming not to mingle with the ways of people from kingdoms like Astoria, Montesis, or even the FSA.
Miwova is the only country to adopt a different system of government, based on a peculiar voting system premised on the strange notion that the people hold the nation’s reins.
They coined a curious word for their ruler: “president.” Everyone calls their president, King Mo, a very kind person. No one understands why he seems to have no enemies.
He is imposing and muscular, yet his face conveys the opposite, sparking rumors about why no one—not even nearby kingdoms—dares to challenge him. There are whispers that he is a level 8.
In his carriage, heading toward his palace, he maintained his usual playful expression. But the moment he sensed the faint echo of ether spreading across the ocean, for the first time, he slightly opened his eyes, which always seemed closed and jovial. He let out a soft huff, a “hmm” tinged with mockery.
He seemed only mildly interested in what the southwestern nations were plotting, though he didn’t show it. Just to be safe, he sent his spies to investigate what was happening and gather information, preparing for possible suspicious activities. This action would later begin to unravel the peace and possibly lead to a war of power.
But neither he nor the other nations would stand idly by when they heard that the new queen on Zephyria’s throne sought to expand her dominion, seizing the lands of the therianthropes and the abandoned kingdom of Tordontos.
Many interests would now be at stake, and new needs would arise from the scarcity of essential resources. At that moment, we would see just how capable—and how dangerous—Queen Calenmir could be. She’s lovely and young, and while her power is comparable to a rank 5, the strength of her armada is potentially a threat to anyone who underestimates it.
[We Return to the Moment of the Queen’s Announcement]
From her balcony, with her people’s full attention, the queen decided to summon her most loyal companion, her fiercest protector, and, above all, one of the strongest spirits wandering lost in the darkness of Menifesi. He was called to serve the kingdom and Calenmir’s will, though she had not yet been crowned.
Unlike the human tradition, where a new king or queen’s coronation involves crafting a crown from blue metal and criftones, adorned with various jewels and later imbued with a confidential mage’s seal, the elves have a similar process, except the crown does not rest on the monarch’s head. It is customary that, after summoning a new contract with an Index, the Index receives a ring—symbolizing the crown—and offers it to the matriarch, kneeling in reverence.
After Calenmir’s summons, a gentle breeze gradually turned into gusts, all converging on a single point in the sky. This black point grew larger, absorbing everything around it: light, air, tree leaves, and tiny water droplets from the fountain, all rising into the sky, devoured. Then, that same point expanded into a humanoid shape.
Minimus called for the castle’s Hramandir, and without warning, the body rose and merged with whatever was forming in the sky. It erupted, casting light around the feminine entity that had been summoned, though her body was completely exposed before everyone.
Some parents were outraged, but beyond the queen’s expectations, she gained a vassal who surpassed her desires. The silent exchange between them carried a hint of defiance, as if they were kindred spirits, two sides of the same coin, though one was exponentially more powerful.
The children, despite being told to bow their heads, trembled in immediate fear, and adults of rank 5 or lower were petrified by shock. Though the future queen herself is of a lower rank than her Index, the latter seemed to challenge her, radiating a thirst to spread death.
Everything around them was paralyzed in panic; the jovial atmosphere from two hours ago was long forgotten. Yet neither averted their gaze, both with emerald-green eyes locked in mutual provocation, until Index, of her own will, made her choice and calmed.
Her new body—naked, youthful, with two tiny horns on the sides of her head, betraying her age in a developed form—had short hair down to her neck, each strand shimmering with an ashen gray hue.
In the air, she descended, never breaking eye contact with Calenmir, her future charge. With elegance, she let each barefoot toe touch the cold terrace, her respect subtle.
She cannot speak, nor is she permitted to, but Calenmir allowed her to briefly introduce herself, revealing that she is called the Holy Company. When she was about to disclose her true name, Calenmir quickly corrected her, stating she was stripped of any former name or identity and would now answer only as Index.
Minimus approached and, with the little authority granted to him, firmly told his inexperienced superior to kneel before her queen. He proceeded to hand her a ring engraved with the symbol of the chosen descendant for Zephyria’s crown. Calenmir, with an arrogant, smug smile—one hand extended, the other covering part of her face, flaunting her excessive pride—accepted the ring.
The entire kingdom knelt before Calenmir, and she accepted the ring.
Drums began to thunder, filling the air with their deep, resonant sound. Trumpets and the beautiful elven chorales started to resound, their melodies gradually easing the tension of a royal proclamation day that felt and unfolded unlike any other.
For some, it was a spectacle, but others remained fearful and worried that everything could spiral out of control. All remained kneeling. Calenmir slightly raised her palm, allowing everyone to rise.
With a paradoxical smile—lovely and graced with compassion for her people—she cast the spell that began the Luin’Lára tradition, upheld for centuries to bring happiness and prosperity to the kingdom.
She asked her people for a moment of silence as golden rain fell under a radiant sun. She looked at Index, still kneeling, and asked a servant to bring a blanket. She personally wrapped it around Index, shielding her from the cold, and asked her to stand.
Without exchanging a word, she signaled for Index and Minimus to stand behind her and declared:
“I have been clear, Zephyrians, showing you a mere fraction of what my servant can do. And for those who sensed any conflict, let there be no mistake: this is the power of your queen, the same one who swore to raise our kingdom to glory.
“Even in darkness, my kingdom will be praised. Go to the four corners of the world and spread word of our power’s return. In the name of your queen. And be proud of who you are, Elves, the venerable and protected children of Inocency, daughter of creation.”
Calenmir promised her people, before retreating to her chambers, that better days would come for the elves.
After the ceremony, she left behind the clamor of the outside, the endless songs of joy, the trumpets, the drums, the bows to her name. She withdrew from the madness and chose to stroll for a while in her favorite place: the Fountain of the Eternals, a garden as vast as a village, a magical, almost alternate space hundreds of meters underground.
To some, it might seem like a different world. This restricted space, once a cave many years ago, is now a confined area beneath a glorious, fortified palace, protected by the highest-ranking knights, the OMEGA Division.
On her walk back to her royal chamber, she encountered her [advisor?], a tall, slender elf with an ever-upright posture, exuding dignity and wisdom. His long, silver hair fell in waves over his shoulders, a reflection of his ancient lineage.
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