Beginning, not yet

-June 10th, 21xx, Valford Capital, Kingdom of Urasus-

At 7 a.m, the sky above the capital stretched clear and blue, like an expansive ocean captured on canvas. The gentle rays of dawn spilled downward, draping the towering skyscrapers in a shimmering golden glow that sparkled across their transparent glass panes, as if the entire city had been delicately cloaked in a silken robe of gold. Early breezes rustled through the leaves, weaving the soft, whispering sounds of a Nation summer day, carrying the breath of a new morning that cooled the heart in a strangely soothing way.

Three days of tense meetings had finally drawn to a close. Today marked the fifth day of the Organization's diplomatic delegation's eight-day visit to Nation, a journey woven with not only political and diplomatic threads but also unexpected twists lurking beneath the surface.

Lunamaria Whieblod stepped out from the grand entrance of the Elvarion Hotel, the capital's pinnacle of luxury, a place so opulent that its mere sight could spark daydreams of romantic CEO love stories straight out of the melodramatic romance dramas flooding national television. Her pleated moss-green skirt clung gently to her form, swaying lightly with each step like an impromptu waltz. The white blouse fluttered in the breeze, elegant and alluring. She brushed her hair back with a soft gesture, drawing a deep breath to fill her lungs with the crisp, fresh air.

And then, just as she crossed the threshold of the gate, she met that gaze, a familiar one that sent her heart skittering.

Stratos stood there, leaning casually against a matte black sedan parked along the curb, exuding an effortless calm as if the world were merely his stage. Dressed in a simple white t-shirt and dark jeans, he could have been a warm-hearted hero plucked from the pages of a romcom novel—were it not for those sharp, piercing eyes, a trait he couldn't mask even if he tried. Gone was the imposing general of the battlefield; in his place stood a man capable of stirring someone's pulse with a single glance.

For a fleeting moment, their eyes locked.

"Good morning, Whieblod!" Stratos broke the silence first, his deep, warm voice resonating like a melody against the dawn.

"Good morning!" Lunamaria replied, her lips curving into a gentle smile. "Thanks for inviting me out."

"Not quite an invitation. After all, spending time together is a fine way to size up the enemy, isn't it?" He smirked, his eyes glinting with playful mischief.

"You always have a knack for making things more interesting, don't you, Stratos?"

He said nothing more, simply stepping forward to open the car door with a slight tilt of his head, gesturing for her to enter. She raised an eyebrow, pausing to consider, then slid into the front seat. Her gaze swept over the car's interior—a modest D-segment sedan, surprisingly understated. Given his stature within the Nation bloc, she'd half-expected him to roll up in a sleek, luxurious ride or a flashy new sports car, the kind favored by the aristocrats of her own bloc—something befitting his rank and influence. Instead, she found herself in a quiet, unpretentious space, as if extravagance had never crossed the mind of the man beside her. A practical choice, perhaps—or a deliberate mask.

"Surprised?" he asked, a hint of teasing in his tone as he turned the key in the ignition.

"Not really!" She tilted her head, her hair spilling over one shoulder. "It's just… for someone like you to drive this, isn't it a bit too plain?"

"A car's just a means to get around. They're all the same to me." Stratos shrugged, his eyes fixed on the steering wheel.

"Makes sense." Lunamaria let out a soft chuckle, falling silent for a moment as an odd feeling stirred within her. He never failed to catch her off guard, from the battlefield to quiet moments like this.

"Have you had breakfast?" he asked suddenly, his voice dipping lower, laced with a trace of concern he couldn't quite conceal.

"Not yet."

"Good!" Stratos grinned, his eyes lighting up as if he'd uncovered some delightful secret. "I know a great place."

The car glided through the capital's bustling streets. Crowds wove through the wide roads, electronic billboards flickered incessantly, and overhead, aerial trains skimmed silently across the sky, all pulsing together in a lively rhythm not unlike the heart of Beum. She watched the scenery unfold, a realization dawning on her. Perhaps, no matter the place, the essence of thriving cities remained remarkably similar.

"I thought this place would feel more ancient!" she mused aloud, her voice a soft, fleeting thought.

"There are still spots like that. But this is Urasus's administrative hub—space here is just a lavish dream." Stratos glanced at her, his gaze lingering for a heartbeat before he shrugged nonchalantly.

She nodded faintly, her eyes tracing each passing street corner through the window. The familiar cadence of life, the modernity mirroring her own capital—it blurred the lines between their two blocs more than ever.

"The core of Nation's magical technology and your nuclear advancements have more in common than you'd think. That's how United managed to blend them, crafting a new weapon that's been giving us all headaches these past few months." His voice rose again, low and steady, picking up an unspoken thread.

She fell into thought, her finger absently brushing the window glass. A fusion of two opposing sciences—magic power and nuclear energy. An idea that once seemed absurd, now a tangible reality that had threatened both their sides. She exhaled softly, her mind a tangle of overlapping reflections. But rather than pursue the topic, she turned her gaze back to the window, letting the cityscape drift by, carrying her quiet whirl of thoughts along with it.

The car rolled on through the vibrant streets, soon pulling up before a quaint, vintage-style eatery. A wooden sign reading "Namdinh Phở" swayed gently in the breeze. The rich, warm aroma of phở broth wafted out, mingling with the scent of crispy fried dough sticks, coaxing an involuntary swallow from her. Oh, that smell—it was downright unfair to her growling stomach!

"This place serves traditional Vienant cuisine," Stratos said, a nostalgic lilt in his voice. "It's phở! You'll love it."

"I've heard of it but never tried it," Lunamaria replied, her eyes sparkling with curiosity.

"Looks like today's your lucky day."

They stepped inside and settled at a table by the window, where morning sunlight filtered through in soft beams. Before long, a middle-aged woman with a kind smile brought out two steaming bowls of phở, paired with a plate of golden fried dough sticks.

"First time trying phở, dear?" the proprietress asked, her eyes warm and maternal. "Don't worry—this is the most authentic Namdinh style in all of Urasus."

Lunamaria smiled back, polite and friendly.

The woman turned to Stratos, her tone shifting to quiet concern as she asked about her homeland. He set his chopsticks down and replied tersely that the Nation Guard had finalized the handover of the old government after quelling the coup forces, with an official statement due on the airwaves by noon or afternoon. She sighed in relief, nodding faintly in thanks.

He merely nodded back, brushing it off as if it were a trifling matter.

"Do you even know how to use chopsticks, Commander?" Stratos teased abruptly as Lunamaria picked up the pair.

"Are you underestimating me?" She shot him a glance, eyebrow arched.

He chuckled softly, a sound like a breeze rippling over a lake. Then, without another word, he reached out, plucked a napkin, and took the chopsticks from her hand. His movements were slow, deliberate, as if time itself could wait.

Gently, he wiped each edge of the chopsticks, his care so meticulous that she found herself holding her breath. Those hands—hands that had once gripped a sword, had once struck her jaw on the battlefield—were now tending to her with an unfamiliar patience. When he finished, he placed the chopsticks back into her hand, their eyes meeting for a brief, charged moment—long enough to hint at something unspoken, but too short for her to decipher it fully.

Lunamaria took them, masking a flicker of fluster. She began to eat, the soft, chewy noodles gliding over her lips, the clear broth melding with the dish's distinctive aroma—a gentle symphony on her tongue.

"How is it?" Stratos asked, his amusement barely concealed.

"Very much to my taste," she nodded, then flashed a sly smile. "You do understand women, after all."

"Or maybe I just you," Stratos replied, leaning back slightly in his chair with a smirk.

She froze, her chopsticks hovering mid-air. A strange warmth crept across her cheeks, as if her own body were betraying her composure. It was just a fleeting second, but enough to make her dreamy heart skip a beat. She knew full well that less than a year ago, he'd been the one to dismantle her strategies on the Western front—a formidable foe she'd thrown everything into facing. More than that, he was the only one who forced her to weigh every step, the only one who could ignite both her ire and her unwavering attention.

And now, after all they'd endured on the Southern front—forced to unite against United and the traitors—she couldn't help but wonder: were his words still just tactical banter, or did they conceal something deeper, more perilous, and more unsettling than ever before?

Outside, the morning sun still danced across Valford's every corner. And somewhere within it, two people who'd once clashed in battle now shared a breakfast, as if the past year had brought nothing between them—or perhaps, far more than either could yet admit.