The snow crunched under silver-shod hooves as the elven sled glided to a halt. Its frame was shaped from whitewood and enchanted bone, gilded with mana-infused crystal and draped in banners bearing the crest of the Winter Bloom Court. Sleek, beautiful, and obviously expensive.
Behind it, the snow roared.
The dwarven crawler tore up the terrain as it rolled in like a siege beast—thick treads grinding against frostbitten ice, its armored plates marked with soot, iron runes, and grease-stained clan insignias. No grace. Just force.
The two vehicles sat awkwardly in the wind, less than ten meters apart. Neither side moved.
Elven guards stepped down, graceful and polished in their layered froststeel. Their hair was braided with whitegold rings. Their gazes were sharp, suspicious.
The dwarves disembarked with grunts, their short, wide bodies clad in power-hammered armor, lined with metal mesh and pipe-fed heaters. Beards braided like battle standards. Every movement deliberate. Heavy.
No words were exchanged at first.
Then Queen Vaeloria Thal’avel stepped forward, her breath misting elegantly in the cold. Her robes flowed with quiet magic, and her silver circlet glowed faintly with binding runes.
Across from her, King Brokkan Stoneheart dropped from the crawler’s side hatch with a heavy clang, boots punching into the ice like pistons. Scarred, square-faced, and layered in mithril-reinforced plate. His crown wasn’t a symbol—it was a weapon.
Their eyes met.
She arched a brow. “Unexpected.”
He grunted. “Unwelcome.”
From the ridge above, a Shack drone descended with a chime.
[High-Rank Visitors Detected – Simultaneous Entry: Granted][Please Proceed to Designated Trade Receiving Hall – Neutral Ground Active]
Neither ruler flinched. But they both moved.
Queen Vaeloria stepped forward first, gliding across the frost. Brokkan followed, his boots sending cracks through the snow with each step.
They didn’t speak again.
But the tension between them was sharp enough to cut steel.
And above them, watching from his Shack’s internal feed room, Kenji sipped hot broth and muttered, “Heh. This should be good.”
Banter in the Lounge
The visitor lounge had been auto-fabricated only days ago—polished floors, climate-controlled, and neutral in color. A perfect midpoint between icy elegance and dwarven utility. It smelled faintly of spiced wood and oil. Kenji had made sure of that.
Queen Vaeloria sat with a straight back on one side of the long obsidian table, legs crossed, fingers steepled. Her twin daughters stood behind her in silence—identical girls with porcelain skin, flawless posture, and graceful curves. Their eyes didn’t wander. They were trained.
Across from them, King Brokkan Stoneheart slouched in a chair that creaked under his armor. His beard was bound in copper rings. His hammer rested beside him, casual but within reach.
Silence lingered.
Then Queen Vaeloria broke it. “I wasn’t aware the Shack hosted stonemasons now.”
Brokkan grunted. “Didn’t realize this was a dollhouse. Thought I was here to trade, not admire twig-sized royalty.”
One of the twins shifted slightly. Queen Vaeloria didn’t blink. “It must be difficult carrying that much steel when your people never learned balance.”
“Better heavy and useful than hollow and pretty,” Brokkan shot back. “Ore doesn’t shatter when touched.”
“Neither do trained heirs.” Her tone was like glass.
The door slid open. Mirelle entered, clipboard in hand, her steps confident as she glanced between the two. “Lord Kenji will arrive shortly. Until then, please keep weapons holstered and insults beneath lethal level.”
Neither ruler responded. But Queen Vaeloria adjusted her gloves, and Brokkan scratched his beard.
Kenji leaned back in his seat, silent. Lira stood behind him, her fingers expertly working into the tension in his shoulders as he watched the feed. She didn’t speak—she never did during these moments—but her eyes lingered on the twins visible in the lounge display. They looked about her age.
The Gifts Escalate
Kenji stepped into the lounge, the door hissing shut behind him. He didn’t say anything at first.
King Brokkan Stoneheart and Queen Vaeloria Thal’avel turned slightly in their seats to acknowledge him—but neither stood. They were testing each other. Waiting.
Kenji took a slow walk around the room. His eyes skimmed over the stacked crates of dwarven ore and the elegant elven chests wrapped in mana-treated silk.
He stopped near the table, gave them both a flat look, and asked, “So. What do you want?”
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Queen Vaeloria answered first, her voice calm and precise. “Alliance. Access to your supply network. Protection for our eastern corridor.”
Brokkan grunted. “Trade route. Meat. And beer. Plenty of it.”
Kenji nodded once. “Then show me what you’re offering.”
Brokkan gestured toward the crates. “Reinforced turret concrete, refined mithril, and tech salvage. Straight from our vaults.”
But he paused when Queen Vaeloria raised her hand.
Her twin daughters stepped forward in perfect unison. They knelt beside her, heads bowed, utterly composed.
“Untouched, but fully trained,” Vaeloria said. “Obedience. Diplomacy. Alliance building. They were raised for this.”
Kenji's gaze lingered. Small. Barely five feet tall. Perfect skin, sculpted features. They looked very young—too young by any old-world standard.
He narrowed his eyes slightly. “How old are they?”
“Seventy-three,” Queen Vaeloria answered without pause.
Kenji blinked. Seventy-three? They had decades on him—older by a wide margin.
That gave him pause. Here he was, expecting to feel like a creep. But these two? They’d been alive before he ever got behind the wheel of a truck.
Right. Elves.
“They carry the Winter Bloom bloodline,” Vaeloria added. “Unbroken since the Cryo-Sealing. They understand what it means to serve.”
Kenji leaned back slightly. The world was broken. Lawless. No one cared who did what. But even now, some old instincts lingered. Things that stuck.
He muttered to himself, “Guess some things still stick.”
He looked at the twins. “Names?”
One bowed her head. “My name is Sola.”
The other mirrored her. “And I am Luna.”
Queen Vaeloria’s gaze softened slightly. “Sola, born under the sun’s blessing. Luna, under the moon’s silence.”
Both girls had identical faces—delicate and porcelain-like, with high cheekbones, soft lips, and large almond-shaped eyes framed by elegant brows. Their silver-blue hair was braided neatly behind their pointed ears, each movement precise, trained.
Yet subtle details set them apart. Sola’s irises glowed with a faint crimson hue, warm and intense like embers beneath snow. Luna’s eyes, by contrast, held a soft bluish sheen, cool and serene, echoing moonlit silence.
Braided into Sola’s hair was a single fine red thread, while Luna’s braid bore a midnight-blue strand—quiet symbols of their namesakes, sun and moon, fire and frost.
Brokkan folded his arms. “Then add raw adamantine. Full crates. Enough to rebuild your defenses and armor your troops. Double what we brought.”
He hadn’t planned that. But he wasn’t about to let Vaeloria win.
Kenji raised an eyebrow.
This wasn’t just a trade anymore.
It was a contest.
And somehow, he—the lazy, middle-aged truck driver who used to get yelled at for showing up late—was the one they were all trying to impress.
He didn’t say anything yet.
He just soaked it in.
Kenji Makes His Choice
Kenji let the silence stretch a few seconds longer. Then he moved.
He approached the crates first—rapping his knuckles lightly against the reinforced dwarven ore, checking the serial markings with a glance. Top-tier material. No rust. No filler. Useful.
Next, he looked over the elven ceremonial chests—then, down at the twins, still kneeling in perfect posture. Their expressions were serene. Completely obedient.
He circled once more, then stopped.
“All right,” he said finally. “I’ll take both.”
Queen Vaeloria gave a shallow bow, her lips curling faintly with satisfaction.
King Brokkan just grunted. “Didn’t expect otherwise.”
The Shack pinged softly:
[Trade Terms Accepted – Dwarven Delivery Route Confirmed][Elven Alliance Registry – High-Risk Tribute Logged][System Acknowledges: Two Faction-Grade Deals Finalized]
Kenji turned toward Queen Vaeloria. “If they’re staying, they wear collars. You know how it works.”
There was the slightest pause. A flicker in her expression—pride, hesitation, maybe even anger—but it vanished almost instantly. Her posture didn’t change, nor did her voice.
“Of course,” she said, as if it were nothing.
Kenji turned to the twins. “You two—come with me. Pendants off.”
The girls rose without hesitation, removing their royal jewelry and folding their hands in front of them, awaiting further instruction.
Kenji didn’t rush. He didn’t need to.
They were his now.
And soon, they'd be collared properly—like the rest.
Aftermath and Banter
The lounge emptied slowly.
King Brokkan’s guards moved efficiently, securing the ore crates and preparing the formal trade handoff. Brokkan himself offered no more words, just a grunt of approval before turning back toward his crawler with the steady clank of armored boots.
Queen Vaeloria lingered. Her gaze followed Sola and Luna as they walked behind Kenji without a word. No protest, no hesitation. Only silence. Her lips remained neutral, but her jaw was tense—pride held in check.
Outside the lounge, Mirelle intercepted Kenji, datapad in hand. “Instructions?”
“They’re staying in my room,” Kenji said. “Get maid uniforms. Tight, tasteful. And underwear. You know what I like.”
Mirelle nodded without comment, already tapping notes.
Before they departed, the Shack’s dining hall was prepared as a gesture of respect and friendship—Kenji’s way of acknowledging the value of what had been exchanged.
Kenji hosted a closing feast: seared wagyu beef, roasted lobster tails, golden-glazed winterroot, and chilled sweetfruit. The dishes were freshly crafted from Shack-stocked high-grade ingredients—expensive even by pre-apocalypse standards.
No words of thanks were exchanged, but both Vaeloria and Brokkan finished their plates. The Queen’s fingers lingered on her wine glass. The King grunted once more, quieter this time.
Kenji offered only a casual, “Enjoy.”
That was all he needed to say.
The monarchs left in silence.
Afterward, the twins were quietly guided to his room. No formal ceremony. No further talk.
Back in the command lounge, Kenji collapsed into his seat and stretched, satisfied. The Shack chimed softly:
[New Trade Routes Established – Influence Spread: +12%][Regional Interest: Elevated]
Kenji smirked.
Let them come.
They’d either trade—or kneel.
He leaned back, lobster butter still clinging to the air. Internally, he laughed.
“If the gods won’t send me to paradise,” he thought, “I’ll just build my own.”
Shadows Claimed
The collaring ceremony was brief.
Simple Shack-forged bands locked around Sola and Luna’s necks with a quiet click, the system confirming their submission without fanfare.
[Subjects: Sola & Luna – Shack Compliance Enabled][Status: Bound – Owner: Kenji]
Afterward, Kenji sat on the edge of his bed, the twins kneeling quietly before him. They didn’t flinch, didn’t blink—just waited.
“Let’s be clear,” he said. “You belong to me now.”
Both girls nodded in unison.
“You’ll serve as personal maids. That includes everything: cleaning, attending, bathing me, and of course… pleasure.”
They bowed their heads.
“But that’s not all,” he added, leaning forward. “You’re more than pretty decorations. What can you do?”
Sola spoke first. “I am a high-class fire mage. In addition to twin-blade combat, I can wield advanced fire magic—both destructive and precise.”
Luna followed, her voice calm. “I am a high-class ice mage. I specialize in control, suppression, and concealment. I was trained for quick kills and containment, without drawing attention.””
Kenji’s eyes narrowed with interest.
They weren’t just trained—they were useful.
Astarions were monsters on the battlefield, but they drew stares. Sola and Luna? They could slip through crowds, kill silently, blend in. He rubbed his chin.
“Could be handy,” he muttered. “If I can get you two some overpowered gear… you might just earn a real slot.”
For now, though, he had simpler goals.
“You’ll be my shadows,” Kenji said. “Where I go, you go—unless I say otherwise. You don’t speak unless spoken to. And if I snap my fingers…”
He snapped once.
Both girls lowered their heads again.
“…You drop everything.”
They obeyed.
Kenji smirked to himself.
Two more tools in his growing arsenal.
And unlike the world outside, here in the Shack—every piece was exactly where he wanted it.