The city of Ropa had never known a day like this. As the sun hung low in the sky, casting long shadows over the cobbled streets, the city became a living, breathing entity of awe and trepidation.

The towering buildings of Aropia—their fine craftsmanship and gleaming facades—stood as a symbol of the nation's newfound strength. But today, Ropa had become a stage, and the Grand Alliance was its star.

A heavy silence fell over the masses as the procession entered the city. The people of Aropia had heard rumors of the Grand Alliance’s impending arrival, but none had believed it would come to pass.

They saw the banners of elves and fairies fluttering high in the sky, their symbols of power emblazoned for all to see.

At the front of the procession, a group of high-ranking elves and fairies moved with quiet grace, their faces serene and unbothered, as if the streets of Aropia were nothing more than another stage for their illustrious lives.

But it was two women, two figures who commanded the attention of all, who led the procession with unrivaled poise.

Queen Valleria Aisha —the ethereal monarch of the Grand Alliance—was a vision of regal beauty. Her fairy skin glowed with the pale radiance of moonlight, her hair cascading in perfect waves down her back, catching the sunlight like a river of liquid metal.

Her slender form was draped in the finest silks, woven with intricate patterns of silver that shimmered . Her expression was calm, almost detached, as though the vastness of her power could not be measured by mere mortals. Her eyes, however, betrayed an understanding that none could escape the weight of her presence.

Beside her, her younger sister Liv Aisha , the sharp and impatient diplomat of the Grand Alliance, stood with more urgency. Her eyes, a striking shade of green, scanned the city with a quiet judgment, taking in every detail, every movement of the crowd, every whispered word between the citizens.

Unlike her sister, Liv’s beauty was sharper—her features more angular, her hair held back in an elegant but functional style.

Her gown was less ornate than Valleria’s, but it still bore the hallmarks of high status—deep emerald fabric, embroidered with gold thread that caught the light just enough to make her stand out among the procession.

The two sisters—each representing the height of elven and fairy society—stood with a grace that seemed almost divine, as though they were floating on air. The crowd watched respectfully, with in awe as the Grand Alliance’s procession wound its way through Ropa’s main road , the Golden Straight.

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Behind them came the rest of the delegation—elites of both races—moving with the certainty that only centuries of superiority could afford.

The elves, tall and elegant, wore their shimmering robes, their long hair flowing freely, giving them an air of ancient wisdom. The fairies, light and delicate, fluttered through the air with their iridescent wings, their soft laughter filling the air as they flitted above the masses, aloof and untouchable.

There was no question in the minds of the people: these were the true rulers of Pangea.

Theirs was the power of magic, of millennia of history, of an unshakable belief in their own superiority.

But as the procession passed through the city, there was a shift—a quiet murmur among the citizens. They had expected awe, they had expected to feel dwarfed beneath the weight of the Grand Alliance’s presence, but instead, a small but growing sense of defiance began to take root.

“Why are they here?” one man whispered to his neighbor, his voice laced with curiosity and fear.

“After everything, why come to us now?”

“Peace talks, they say,” his neighbor replied, voice low. “But can we trust them? The elves, the fairies—they’ve never cared about us, not until now.”

Another woman stood a little further down the street, holding her child close. Her eyes narrowed at the sight of the procession, but she did not look away. “I don’t trust them. But I trust King Ren,” she murmured, almost to herself. “He’s brought us back from the brink. We’ve fought, we’ve bled—and we’ve won.”

The mention of Ren’s name rippled through the crowd like a wave.

The soldiers who had fought under his banner, the civilians who had witnessed his rise from humble beginnings to the man who had shaped Aropia’s future—all of them had faith in their king.

They may have stood before the might of the Grand Alliance, but they no longer felt small. They were no longer the underdogs in this fight.

And as the procession continued, the people’s gazes—once filled with doubt—turned upward, following the towering form of their king, who stood atop the steps of the entrance of the royal palace.

There, with his eyes cold and calculating, Ren Canahy watched the Grand Alliance's approach. His figure stood strong, bathed in the golden light of the setting sun, his posture regal, yet unmistakably human. Hazel stood by his side as well as Ogren .

Ren’s gaze never faltered, and the crowd could feel the weight of his presence from where they stood in the streets.

The Grand Alliance’s procession finally came to a halt at the base of the royal palace steps, where Valleria and Liv Aisha, accompanied by their elite entourage, stood at attention, poised and composed.

Ren made no move to greet them immediately. There was a stillness in the air now, as if the city itself held its breath.

Valleria’s gaze locked with Ren’s . Her lips curved into a small, imperceptible smile, one that held no warmth but only the sharpness of a queen accustomed to getting what she wanted.

Liv, beside her, stood with a more impatient air, her sharp eyes darting from Ren to Hazel.