[: 3rd POV :]

At some point, Caelira's hands trembled slightly as she stood near the ornate window overlooking the sprawling gardens of the Elven palace.

The sky was painted with hues of deep purple and gold, but the beauty of the moment was lost on her.

Her eyes, usually so calm and resolute, flickered with a quiet torment.

Every passing second felt heavier, like a weight pressing down on her chest.

Aeriwen stepped closer, her voice gentle yet firm, a balm against the growing storm in her mother's heart.

"Don't worry, Mother," she said softly, placing a reassuring hand on Caelira's arm.

"We will find him."

Caelira closed her eyes, drawing in a slow breath, the faint scent of jasmine from the garden reaching her senses.

She felt the truth in her daughter's words, but the relentless ache of uncertainty gnawed at her soul.

"You don't understand, Aeriwen," she murmured, her voice trembling.

"I have spent countless days and nights—relentlessly purging the filth from our lands, cleaning the shadows that corrupt our people. And all the while… searching''

''Searching for any trace of Daniel."

Aeriwen nodded solemnly, knowing too well the depths of her mother's pain.

She had unleashed the full force of their continent's army to scour every corner, every hidden valley, every forgotten path where a child could be lost or hidden.

Yet the answer remained maddeningly the same: nothing.

No sign, no whisper, no hint of his whereabouts.

Her eyes filled with frustration and sorrow as she spoke quietly, more to herself than to her mother.

"Why is it so hard to find him?"

She paused, the question hanging heavy in the still air.

"It's no boast to say we could find anyone within days if we wished—any enemy, any ally… anyone''

''Yet Daniel disappeared like a shadow swallowed by the night, without a single clue left behind."

Caelira opened her eyes, shining with a fierce light despite the exhaustion etched on her face.

"That is what frightens me the most."

Her voice cracked, barely more than a whisper.

"Not just that he's lost… but that something, or someone, has hidden him so completely. That even the power of the Elven continent cannot reach him."

Aeriwen squeezed her mother's arm gently, her own heart aching for the woman who had given everything to protect her family.

"We will find him, Mother. We must. No matter the cost."

Caelira's lips trembled into a fragile smile, grateful for the strength her daughter's words gave her.

The murmurs in the grand hall hushed as a new announcement echoed through the crystal-clear speakers.

The third imperial family was arriving.

A hush of anticipation fell over the crowd, the air thick with curiosity and respect.

All eyes turned toward the grand entrance.

The heavy doors swung open, and into the hall strode the imposing figures of the Demi-Human royal family.

The King of Beasts, Kaelgor Ironclaw, walked with a powerful, measured gait, his broad shoulders and fierce amber eyes commanding silent awe.

Beside him, the Queen, Selena Ironcalw, moved with regal grace, her brown-streaked fur shimmering beneath the grand chandeliers.

Her gaze, sharp yet warm, scanned the room protectively, a silent promise of strength and care.

Trailing behind them was their only daughter, Rika Ironclaw, youthful but already emanating the fierce pride of her lineage, her eyes gleaming with determination.

Alongside her walked her three elder brothers—Torren Ironclaw, the eldest, towering with a bear-like presence and calm authority.

Vaelen Ironclaw, lithe and quick, with the keen eyes of a hawk, and Draven Ironclaw, rugged and fierce, with the roar of a lion in his voice and the restless energy of a warrior.

Behind the royal siblings, seven War Beasts appeared, each representing ancient and mythological creatures, accompanied by their families.

Their presence was formidable and awe-inspiring.

There was Tharos Stormmane, the Griffin War Beast, whose golden wings and sharp talons shimmered even in the low light.

Brynn Firefang, the Sea Serpent War Beast, her scales glistening with faint embers, exudes a quiet but deadly heat.

Eryndor Stonehide, the Minotaur War Beast, massive and solid as the mountains themselves, his axe resting easily across his broad shoulders.

Sylas Shadowclaw, the Werewolf War Beast, his eyes glowing a fierce yellow, muscles taut and ready.

Kaelis Windstrider, the Flame Tiger War Beast, was surrounded by faint flickers of flame that danced like living fire.

Liora Seasworn, the Rhino War Beast, her presence marked by a haunting calm and the scent of the deep ocean.

And Garrik Thunderhoof, the Centaur War Beast, stood steady and proud, his hooves echoing like thunder on the marble floor.

As the royal procession moved forward, the crowd erupted into respectful applause, though a few whispers rippled beneath the surface—some of awe, others tinged with apprehension.

In a corner near the council table, Victor leaned toward Caesar, his voice low but tinged with admiration.

"The strength of the Demi-Human Empire is undeniable. Their beasts alone could topple entire cities."

"But power comes with pride. Watch carefully—they guard their honor fiercely. Any insult, even accidental, could spark conflict."

"And their presence here means they acknowledge the Empress's authority. That's no small thing."

"This gathering truly is the world's finest. Every step they take echoes with history and power."

As Rika stepped gracefully into the grand hall, the weight of the occasion did little to ease the tight knot of worry in her chest.

Her keen eyes scanned the room briefly before she felt a gentle hand rest on her shoulder.

It was her mother, Queen Selena.

"Rika," Selena said softly, her voice carrying both warmth and the faint tremor of worry, "don't let your heart grow heavy''

''Your father will have a quiet word with the Empress soon. We'll do everything in our power to find this Daniel."

Rika looked up at her mother, searching the familiar strength behind those eyes, but she found only concern there.

"I know, Mother," she replied quietly, her voice barely above a whisper.

"We've been searching for weeks now. The forces have scoured every corner, every whisper, yet no trace of him."

Selena squeezed her shoulder gently, as if to pass on her own resolve.

"We cannot lose hope, Rika. And the Empress… she holds power and influence that stretches beyond our reach on the Human continent''

''Together, we will find him."

Rika nodded, swallowing the lump that threatened to rise in her throat.

"I just… I just want to see him safe again. To know that he's out there, alive."

Her mother's eyes glistened with unshed tears, but her voice remained steady.

"That day will come. Until then, we stand strong — for Daniel, for our family, and for the future."

Eventually, the grand doors of the hall swung open with a resonant creak, drawing the eyes of everyone present.

A regal procession entered, their presence commanding respect and awe.

At the forefront was Empress Sylthara Drakoria, the Dragon Empress—her tall figure draped in robes of deep crimson and shimmering gold scales that caught the light of the sun.

Her eyes gleamed with ancient wisdom, and a subtle, knowing smirk played on her lips.

Trailing behind her were her three daughters—each a reflection of their mother's noble lineage but distinct in their own ways.

There was Lysandra, the eldest, with sharp, piercing eyes and a quiet confidence that radiated authority.

Next came Rena, whose graceful poise masked a fierce determination.

And then, the youngest of all, Erina—still a child at heart despite her four years younger, her wide eyes brimming with curiosity and untamed spirit.

Behind the royal family followed twelve members of the Drakon Force, an elite order sworn to protect the Dragon Empire and its people.

Each member was accompanied by their families and children, a proud display of unity and strength.

As they stepped fully into the hall, Empress Sylthara's voice rang clear and strong.

"It has been a long time since I last set foot in the territory of humans," she declared, her smirk widening just a fraction.

"But the world changes, and so must we."

A murmur of respect and awe rippled through the crowd.

Lysandra's eyes scanned the room, settling momentarily on the Empress herself, a subtle nod acknowledging the gathering.

The heavy doors creaked open once more, this time revealing the stout and sturdy figures of the Dwarven imperial family.

Their entrance commanded a different kind of respect—one forged through centuries of craftsmanship, endurance, and unyielding spirit.

At the forefront stood King Thrain Stoneforge, his broad shoulders wrapped in a cloak of iron-grey woven with intricate runes.

His face was weathered and strong, but his brows furrowed deeply, betraying a restless mind.

Beside him was Queen Brynja Stoneforge, regal even in her practicality, her brown-streaked hair braided tightly as was custom among the dwarves.

She bore a calm yet resolute expression.

Flanking them were their four children, the two daughters, Hilda and Freya Stoneforge, both carrying the fiery spirit of their lineage.

Hilda with fierce amber eyes that glimmered like molten metal, and Freya, her younger sister, whose smile was warm but laced with determination.

Their two sons, Balin and Dain Stoneforge, stood tall and solid, their hands calloused from early training in the forge and battlefield alike.

Behind the royal family came the Ironslayers—five legendary dwarven warriors known for their mastery of both hammer and anvil.

Each carried the weight of legacy and honour, their armour marked by the scars of countless battles.

They were accompanied by their families, sons and daughters, all dressed in the sturdy garb of the mountain clans.

The Ironslayers were led by Captain Gundrik Ironhand, a broad-chested veteran whose gauntlet bore the emblem of a roaring forge. Beside him were:

Thorek Firebeard, known for his unmatched skill in flame-forging weapons of war.

Halvar Deepdelve, a master tactician and miner with eyes as sharp as the diamonds he unearthed.

Einar Stonebreaker, famed for his legendary strength and loyalty to the kingdom.

Rurik Frosthelm, whose cold precision in battle was as feared as the icy peaks he hailed from.

As King Thrain stepped forward into the hall, a deep sigh escaped his lips.

"Sigh… I wished to create and smith more weapons," he muttered, his voice heavy with longing.

His eyes briefly scanned the polished armaments displayed in the hall, but the desire to be at his forge, hammering steel, clearly weighed on his heart.

Queen Brynja placed a firm hand on his arm, her voice gentle yet steady.

"The war has been quiet for now, but we must remain vigilant. The weapons you forge will be needed when the time comes."

King Thrain nodded slowly, though the furrow in his brow remained.