Few days after the Peace Conference...
The world trembled — not just from the fury of war, but from the quiet, growing resistance of those who sought balance.
Two princesses, youthful yet resolute, marched into battle — not as conquerors but as protectors.
_ _ _
Beneath a charred sky and smoldering air, Princess Sylvia of the Nature Tribe strode forward, the scent of burned forests stinging her nose.
The once-lush grasslands now lay scorched and blackened — the handiwork of Prince Arson and his relentless flames. Smoke curled from the remnants of ancient trees, and the ground crackled underfoot, brittle and lifeless.
But not for long.
Sylvia knelt, her green fingers brushing the ash. She closed her eyes and where her hand touched, life pulsed.
Tiny sprouts emerged, pushing through the blackened soil.
Vines twisted from the ground, their emerald tendrils stretching out like curious fingers. Flowers, hesitant at first, blossomed in soft hues — yellow, violet, red — reclaiming the land that fire had stolen.
Her two loyal generals worked beside her:
Thorne — a tall, broad-shouldered warrior with bark-like skin, his arms entwined with thorny vines. His strength mirrored the unyielding roots of the deepest forests, and with a mere swing of his hand, he could summon walls of brambles.
Ivy — a nimble and elegant strategist, her hair adorned with delicate leaves. She commanded plant growth with precision, directing vines to reinforce weakened trees or guide creeping moss to restore cracked earth.
"Arson's flames move fast," Thorne muttered, his voice a low growl. "But life moves faster."
Sylvia's gaze remained fixed ahead. "We're not just chasing his destruction," she said softly. "We're reclaiming what's ours."
Their mission wasn't to attack — it was to undo.
Wherever Arson burned, they would regrow.
And though they weren't yet near him, he sensed there silent defiance.
_ _ _
Further ahead, Prince Arson stood atop a scorched hill, his arms crossed and a wicked grin stretched across his face as another tree collapsed in a burst of flame.
He watched the smoke rise like a dragon, its black tendrils clawing at the sky.
His generals flanked him:
Blaze
Scoria
Arson's crimson skin seemed to glow even brighter in the firelight, his molten eyes flickering with pride.
"They think they can follow me — fix what I burn?" he laughed. "Let them try."
Blaze chuckled. "They're planting seeds in a furnace."
Scoria, however, frowned. "Sylvia's not just planting seeds, Arson. She's undoing your work."
Arson's jaw tightened.
Sylvia wasn't fighting him head-on.
She was defying him — silently.
His flames roared for dominance. Hers answered with quiet, unyielding life.
And that infuriated him.
_ _ _
Meanwhile...
Miles away, in the icy grip of the Ice Tribe's expanding territory, Princess Peggy of the Fairy Tribe hovered above the frozen ground, her golden wings shimmering like liquid gold.
The land before her was a graveyard of ice — rivers locked solid, trees encased in frozen tombs, and the air so sharp it bit at her skin.
But she didn't flinch.
Raising her hand, Peggy summoned a soft, radiant light — warm and golden. It spiraled from her palm, spreading in gentle waves.
As the light touched the frost, the ice began to melt.
Cracks rippled through frozen rivers. Snowdrifts turned to glistening dew. Icicles dripped, their sharp edges softening into gentle drops of water.
Her two loyal generals worked beside her:
Dave — a playful yet fierce fairy, his magic as unpredictable as his personality. He darted through the frozen air, leaving trails of shimmering warmth, laughing as the ice recoiled from his touch.
Veronica— a calm and methodical fairy, her magic steady and precise. She focused on unfreezing key points — rivers, roots of trees, and plant veins locked beneath the ice — ensuring that life could return in a structured way.
"We're not just melting ice," Peggy murmured, her voice firm. "We're making sure it doesn't come back."
Veronica nodded. "Glacius doesn't freeze for fun — he freezes with purpose. If we undo his work, we weaken his hold."
But Dave grinned mischievously. "Or we just make him angry."
_ _ _
Not far off, Prince Glacius stood in the heart of his frozen kingdom, his cold blue skin glowing against the ice. His dark blue hair hung like frozen silk, and his glacier-blue eyes remained as cold as the land he ruled.
He didn't move with fury like Arson — he moved with precision, each step calculated like a chess piece placed deliberately on a board.
His two generals mirrored his demeanor:
Frysta
Drake
Glacius' gaze darkened as he sensed his frozen lands getting thawed.
"Fairies," he muttered, his voice like a whisper of winter wind. "Flitting, glowing nuisances."
Frysta's expression remained blank. "They melt our work, my prince. Their light thins our ice."
Drake's grip on his frozen sword tightened. "Shall we freeze them, my lord?"
Glacius' lips barely moved. "No. Let them thaw. Let them hope. And when they think the frost is gone..."
His hand clenched — and a shockwave of ice erupted from his feet, refreezing an entire patch of recently thawed ground.
"...we shall remind them of cold's permanence."
The battles weren't head-on yet.
But they were coming.
Sylvia's green defied Arson's red.
Peggy's gold clashed with Glacius' dark blue.
It wasn't just war — it was a battle of ideals.
Arson's flames sought to conquer — Sylvia's growth sought to restore.
Glacius' ice moved to control — Peggy's light moved to liberate.
And as the youthful leaders drew closer to their rivals, the tension grew.