As they reached the suite, Lima opened the ornate double doors, and Ylvima stepped inside. The room was bathed in a soft, golden light filtering through a tall window, illuminating a space designed for a true noble. Rich, dark wood paneling lined the walls, and a thick, silver-gray rug covered the marble floor.
In the center of the room sat a massive bearfolk, dressed in a pristine white tunic with silver stripes that seemed to glimmer in the light. He was the Baron himself, Ylvima's father. He was sipping wine from a crystal goblet, his immense frame relaxed and at ease. As Ylvima entered, his eyes opened, revealing golden irises that seemed to glow with an inner light, a tell-tale sign of their family's unique bloodline ability.
Ylvima bowed politely, a gesture of deep respect. "Father."
"Ylvima, come sit," the Baron's voice rumbled, a deep, resonant sound that seemed to vibrate through the very air.
She took the opposite seat at the coffee table and placed the velvet box on the surface. The Baron's golden eyes flickered with a knowing glint. "I see you're also getting harassed by those... insects," he said, the word dripping with disdain.
"It was no big deal, Father," she replied, her voice calm and controlled.
The Baron stood up, walking to the window that overlooked the vast, circular theater where the Alliance meeting would take place. "We sometimes need to remind these preys and put them in their proper place. Before the Alliance was formed, your great-grandfather was against it. He voiced his concerns to the Ursarok High Table. He believed our kind was too soft against these preys. Now, look at the state of it. These insects think they're our equals. They think they can insult us with their paltry politics. If it wasn't for this 'Alliance' thing, our kind would have dominated the region long ago."
"Yes, Father," Ylvima said softly, her gaze fixed on him.
"But my lovely daughter, sometimes we should provide a more... harsher example." He turned to face her, his massive shoulders a shadow against the light. "You see, when an insect insults you, you cut off its neck and pull the esophagus right out. But you," he said, his voice laced with disappointment, "you spared that cunning little fox."
Ylvima paled, a thin layer of sweat forming on her brow. She looked down, her posture one of absolute deference. "I apologize, Father. I won't do it again."
He returned to his seat, a flicker of a smirk on his face. "Never mind that. How was your tour to the old dungeons, my darling?" The change in topic was swift and deliberate.
Ylvima eased, relieved to be on a safer topic. "Yes, Father. The undead have woken up."
The Baron's mind seemed to wander for a moment. "Hmm... it was only a matter of time. The Demon King's Sword is getting stronger; it's only natural that the undead would resurface. Tell me, are they invading the region anytime soon?"
Ylvima felt a renewed unease. "That... it was quite unexpected, but I don't think they're going to be doing that."
The Baron's golden eyes flared, glowing brightly as he reached out with his mind, reading Ylvima's recent memories. She felt the invasion of her thoughts, a subtle but undeniable pressure, as his consciousness sifted through her experiences at the Necro Market. She sweated, hoping he wouldn't find anything that would truly irritate him.
The golden glow in the Baron's eyes faded. "Hmm... strange." He snapped his fingers, and Lima appeared in an instant, a flash of black and white. She handed the Baron an old book with an ornate silver cover.
He flipped through the brittle pages, reading ancient, spidery text. "Old texts say there's no such thing as undead trying to coexist with the living in harmony. They're trying the Ramaris strategy. Those goats, trying to act like the lifeline of the beastkin economy, are quite effective. Before, they were the ones actually being preyed upon. Are the undead getting weaker?"
As he spoke, Ylvima remembered the vision of the iron wagons—tanks—pulling themselves without horses, of weapons that spat thunder and killed enemies from a distance, and the terrifying power that could bring the sun down. All the while, the Baron was reading her mind, watching the visions unfold in her thoughts. He sat beside her and patted her back, a smirk on his face.
"My lovely daughter is still a child after all," he said, his voice softer. "Although I don't know what that is you've seen, for you to feel that much fear is understandable."
Ylvima leaned into him, seeking comfort. "I apologize, Father. It's just not getting off my head."
"Don't worry, child. We're here," he reassured her.
Just then, a door behind them opened, and a palpable aura of power emanated from it. The Baron's own subtle aura flared, forming a barely-visible shield to protect Ylvima from the sudden pressure. Standing in the doorway was a female Ursarok noble, even larger than the Baron. Her white fur flowed in a long, elegant mane, and her eyes glowed a deep, intimidating blue.
"Who dares bully my daughter?" she said in a low, dangerous voice, her expression ready to kill.
"Nothing, darling," the Baron said, a thin sheen of sweat on his forehead. "It was just a vision she saw, that's all."
"Hmph," Yulena scoffed as she walked past them. "You need to train again, Ylvima. Your marriage life has made you soft." She sat on the opposite side of the table, her leg crossed over the other, her arms crossed as she stared at them menacingly.
"I apologize, Mother. I'll remember your words," Ylvima said.
"No," Yulena commanded. "After the Alliance session, we'll return to the estate. Call Urma and I'll train you both just like the old days."
"B-but, Mom..." Ylvima started.
Yulena's left eyebrow raised imperiously. "I'm sorry, did you say something?"
"No-no, Mother."
"Good."
Ylvima swallowed hard, her voice a determined whisper. "Father, I have something important to say."
"Hmm... yes, I know about it," the Baron rumbled, his gaze still fixed on the intricate patterns of his goblet. "I'm currently weighing the options of whether it's wise to ally ourselves with the undead, especially if the old texts state they never interact that much with the living except kill you and turn you into one of their own. The historical record is, after all, quite clear on this."
"Hmph. If it's that's already clear then what's there to consider?" Yulena scoffed from her seat, her arms still crossed, her disdain evident.
The Baron looked at his wife, his expression unreadable. "For one, the texts are never clear until you see it with our own eyes. If they have truly changed, then their role is much more important. Their neutrality makes it so that we don't have to rely on the Lupens for our weapons and armor. Their monopoly on advanced forging and combat gear has always been a political leash on our kind. Two, they also engage in trade, which makes us independent of the Alliance's economy. The Ramaris control the trade routes, and their caravan masters are a constant source of friction with our merchants. Three, if the Alliance breaks, they're the only 'neutral' third party that does not involve themselves in the territorial wars. And the final reason, the most crucial one, is that if time is on their side, they're going to dominate the entire region sooner rather than later. They are a force of nature, and we must get ahead of the curve, not be swept away by it."
Yulena scoffed again, the sound like grinding stone. "Like you can truly trust an undead."
"That's something I'll have to see for myself," the Baron said, a smirk playing on his lips. "If they truly have become docile, the benefits they offer far outweigh the risks. The High Table has been looking for a way to dominate the region and reunite all beastkin into a single empire. The Alliance basically prevents that, because we Ursaroks are dependent on so many other races for our supplies and resources. But what if there's a third party that can provide everything we need? We would no longer need the Lupens' forges or the Ramaris' caravans." The smirk widened, a glint of ruthless ambition in his golden eyes.
"But Father," Ylvima said, a note of worry in her voice, "what about the orcs? They still outnumber our kind, and with the cultists on their side and their influence in the Alliance, won't we face a ten-to-one disadvantage?"
The Baron's smirk only grew. "Do you know what the old texts say about the undead? That they are a walking cataclysm." He leaned forward. "With every death, their numbers increase. Their ranks are filled with the bodies of those they kill. The undead themselves are immune to the demonic miasma surrounding the Spinebridge Forest, a phenomenon that turns any armies into mindless beasts. Unlike our soldiers, who are vulnerable to the effects of the miasma, they can fight in the miasma-filled lands indefinitely." His expression turned serious, his golden eyes narrowing. "Not to mention that mysterious vision I saw in your memories. Are they truly that capable of making such weapons of mass destruction? Are they the key to true regional dominance?"
Ylvima took the velvet box from the coffee table and handed it to him. "This is my gift to you, Father. They made this."
The Baron's eyes widened, a flicker of genuine surprise on his face. "What's this?"
"This is something that will convince you and besides, didn't you read my mind already?" Ylvima teased.
"I only read your mind when I have to," he said, his voice unusually gentle. "It's inappropriate to peer into someone's memories unless it's something serious." He opened the box, took out the gauntlets, and put them on, a smile spreading across his face. "This is quite classy. The design and texture suit my tastes well."
A cold pressure began to emanate from across the table.
"Ylvima," Yulena said, her voice a low growl.
Ylvima and the Baron both startled.
"Why is it only your father?" Yulena demanded, a dangerous blue light beginning to flare in her eyes. "Why didn't you buy me one as well? Do you not consider me worthy of a gift?"
Ylvima nervously tried to find an excuse. "Ah... well, you see, Mother..."
Yulena's blue aura flared up violently. "Did you hate me that much?! If that's what you think of me, then I'll make you hate me more!"
"I know it's your fault, darling," the Baron said to Ylvima, a flash of pure panic in his golden eyes. "But you should run. He said calmly like he'd done this a million times. "In the meantime, I'll hold off your mother and cool her head down!"
Ylvima didn't need to be told twice. She sprinted out of the room, Lima following right behind her.
"My lady," Lima said, her voice utterly deadpan, "I think you should have let her hit you once. It would have been easier."
"Don't you know how strong she is?!" Ylvima cried, glancing behind her.
The door to the suite was suddenly sent flying down the hallway with a sickening crash, the Baron slumping against the frame as he defended against Yulena's fierce assault. Her hair and eyes blazed with a terrifying blue light.
I'll never forget your sacrifice, Father, Ylvima thought, speeding up her retreat.