Chapter 84: Chapter 84: The Sisters’ Face-Off

The gargantuan double doors, woven from the shimmering White-Wood of Vaelith’s core, groaned open with a sound like a long-suppressed sigh. It was a pressurized hiss, the breath of an ancient entity finally being released. Dayat stepped forward, his suede boots sinking slightly into the carpet of glowing petals that lined the entryway. Behind him, Dola and Kancil followed; Dola was a silent, alert shadow, while Kancil was so stiff with tension that his movements looked mechanical.

They entered a space that bypassed every human definition of grandeur. This was the Crystal Throne Room.

The floor was not crafted from cold marble or polished timber. Instead, it was a vast expanse of frozen water-crystal—solid enough to bear weight but transparent enough to reveal the terrifying beauty beneath. Beneath their feet, thick, rhythmic pulses of bioluminescent sap flowed through the primary roots of the World Tree, glowing like rivers of molten emerald. It felt as if they were walking upon the exposed heart of a living god, a titan that existed on a scale humanity could never truly grasp.

At the far end of the hall, the late afternoon sunlight pierced through the high, arched lattices of the dome. The golden light fell directly upon a throne that seemed to have sprouted naturally from the floor, a lattice of thousands of eternal flowers that bloomed in a riot of impossible colors.

There, seated in the center of the floral majesty, was a woman whose beauty was the mirror image of Lunethra’s, yet her essence was its polar opposite. Queen Verene.

If Lunethra was a crackling campfire—warm, inviting, and fierce—then Verene was a monolith of platinum ice. She was pure, untouchable, and lethal in her stillness. Her silver hair was coiled into an intricate bun, held in place by a crown of woven golden roots. Her emerald eyes, identical in color to her sister’s but devoid of their playfulness, stared at the group with a gaze so frigid it felt like a physical weight against Dayat’s chest.

“You have returned, Sister,” Verene’s voice echoed through the silent hall. It was a clear, crystalline sound, devoid of warmth, carrying a chill that seemed to seep into the very marrow of their bones.

Lunethra stepped forward, her emerald gown trailing across the crystal floor with a soft, melodic shush. “Vaelith looks weary, Verene. And you… you look colder than when I last walked these halls.”

“I do not possess the luxury of warmth, Lunethra,” Verene replied, slowly rising from her throne. Her movements were slow, deliberate, and terrifyingly graceful. “While you chose to wander the outer world, chasing shadows and disappearing for seasons, the burden of maintaining our sacred guardian fell entirely upon my shoulders. I had to become ice, Sister. If I had not, this kingdom would have evaporated long ago under the weight of the crisis you chose to ignore.”

The tension between the two sisters snapped like a taut wire. In an instant, the atmosphere in the room shifted. From Lunethra’s frame, a brilliant aura of golden Mana exploded—vast, warm, and pulsing with the chaotic vitality of the sun. In response, Verene’s body erupted in a sharp, platinum light that shimmered like a newly whetted blade. It was a cold, intimidating pressure that felt like the edge of a glacier.

The two auras collided in the center of the hall, creating a silent shockwave that made the flowers on the palace walls tremble and lose petals. Dayat stood his ground, maintaining a calm, neutral posture even as the mana-saturated air made his skin prickle. He felt like a man standing between two colliding galaxies. To his side, Kancil had practically vanished into Dayat’s shadow, his breath coming in shallow hitches as he tried to become invisible.

Dola, however, did not flinch. Her sapphire eyes were fixed on Queen Verene, her internal processors working at maximum capacity. To a normal observer, Verene was a statue of unyielding power. But Dola’s bio-scanners were reading deeper. She captured the micro-tremors in the Queen’s facial muscles and the irregular rhythm of her mana-flow. Behind that mask of platinum ice, Dola detected a level of exhaustion that was near-catastrophic.

There was no malice in Dola’s assessment, only a growing sense of synthetic empathy. She realized that Verene was not a villain; she was a younger sister forced to grow up too fast, a woman holding a dying kingdom together with nothing but her own pride.

“Who are they, Lunethra?” Verene asked, her gaze finally shifting away from her sister to Dayat and Dola.

She paused for a fraction of a second when she saw Dayat’s new attire. The olive-green denim and the crisp linen shirt were unlike anything she had ever seen. The unique texture of the denim—the rugged, urban sophistication of a world Verdia couldn’t imagine—caught her eye, but she quickly suppressed the curiosity. “A human in strange skins and a woman with no mana-trace whatsoever. Have you truly sunk so low that you bring the refuse of the outer world into the very heart of Vaelith?”

“Refuse?” Lunethra let out a low, defiant laugh—a sound that challenged her sister’s ice with its own heat. “This man is Dayat. He is the one who dragged me back from the brink of death when I was being corroded by the darkness of the East. And Dola… she is no mere woman. She is a guardian whose loyalty outshines your entire host of Paladins.”

“You haven’t changed,” Verene said, descending the steps of the throne. Her platinum aura flared, pressing against Dayat like a physical wall. “You still believe that we can blend with the lesser races. You forget that the Elves are the stewards of this world, Lunethra. Verdia is a sanctuary, a sacred grove protected from the filth of industry and the insatiable greed of man. No Elf should leave, and no outsider should pollute this soil without an absolute, divine cause.”

“It is your isolationism that is killing Vaelith, Verene!” Lunethra’s voice rose, her golden mana roiling in the air. “The world is shifting. The World Tree is weakening because something in another dimension is siphoning its essence! We need the outside! We need new perspectives, new knowledge to find a cure, not just to hide behind branches that are already turning yellow!”

“Help from humans? From those who level forests to build their iron tombs?” Verene sneered. “I will not see the sovereignty of Verdia traded to those who cannot even hear the voice of the wind.”

The argument grew more heated, a collision of ancient family wounds and rigid political ideologies. Dayat remained silent, feeling as if he were watching a high-stakes board meeting in a Jakarta skyscraper—except here, the shares were souls and the dividends were life itself. He could sense Verene’s stubbornness, but he also saw the desperation in the way she gripped the hilt of her ceremonial dagger.

“And what if I told you…” Lunethra paused, her voice dropping to a dangerous, conspiratorial whisper. She gestured toward Captain Elian, who stood at the entrance clutching the sacred Ironwood chest. “…that this human has brought back the one thing you thought was lost to the ages?”

Elian stepped forward, his hands trembling as he knelt on the crystal floor. He broke the seals on the chest and lifted the lid. From within, a pure, authoritative silver light filled the room, casting long shadows across the walls.

The Silver Thorn.

Verene’s platinum aura vanished instantly, as if extinguished by a sudden rain. She froze, her breath hitching as her eyes locked onto the legendary Adamantite blade. The entire hall fell into a profound, heavy silence. Even the roots beneath the floor seemed to stop their rhythmic pulsing in reverence for the return of the Hero’s legacy.

“That blade…” Verene whispered. Her eyes turned to Dayat, and for the first time, the ice in her gaze was cracked by a flicker of genuine shock—and perhaps, respect. “You… you brought back the Silver Thorn?”

Dayat offered a slow, respectful nod. “I found it in a place very far from here, Queen Verene. It wanted to come home.”

Verene was silent for a long time, her gaze moving from the sword to Lunethra, and finally back to Dayat. The presence of the Silver Thorn was a legal masterstroke. In the ancient laws of Verdia, returning a lost royal artifact was a deed that nullified almost any crime—including illegal entry. It was an “Ace” that Verene, as a traditionalist, could not ignore.

“Laws are laws, Lunethra,” Verene said at last, her voice regaining its composure, though the sharp edge of her hostility had softened. “I will not cast you out today. But do not expect a celebration or a feast. You are permitted to stay under the strictest supervision. Captain Elian, escort them to the Guest Wing. And initiate the verification protocols for the blade immediately.”

Verene turned her back to them, walking back toward her throne. But Dayat noticed the slight slump in her shoulders. The weight of her crown looked heavier than it had minutes ago.

“Come, Dayat,” Lunethra whispered, her golden mana dimming into a warm, satisfied glow as she smiled at her sister’s retreating figure. “Tonight, we rest. Tomorrow… the real game of politics begins.”

Dayat glanced at Dola, who was still staring at the Queen’s back with that look of profound, silent pity. They turned and walked out of the throne room, leaving the crystalline splendor behind to face the uncertainty of the dawn.

Source: Webnovel.com, updated by NovelKeep