The Kingdom of Ignis—a prosperous, frontier nation cradled by rugged mountains and the sea, blessed by the protection of dragons.

  To the south towers the "Dragon’s Tail," an active volcano that still sends plumes of smoke into the heavens.

  Yet, its volcanic soil is incredibly fertile; terraced fields and orchards stretch across the outskirts of the royal capital.

  In this nd, a tradition of lighting fires for every celebration and sacred rite is deeply rooted. Today, that duty is carried by vibrant flowers known as "Luminaria." Their fiery red and orange petals line the streets of the capital, swaying like nterns to light the way for passersby.

  Pnted along the corridors of the royal castle and beside the knight’s training grounds, these flowers emit a soft glow at dawn and dusk—a true symbol of a nation living in harmony with dragons.

  The people call this light the "Dragon’s Blessed Fme" and offer their prayers within it.

  The reigning Queen—Veranora Aurelia Ignis—was the true successor of this bloodline.

  With hair like burning embers and crimson eyes, she wore a golden crown upon her brow. Cd in her deep red dress, she was the embodiment of the "Fme Queen." No matter how powerful a warrior might be, they could not help but kneel before her.

  She was stronger, nobler, and loved her country more than anyone.

  But there was one thing—and only one thing—she cked.

  A consort and a successor.

  The commoners whispered: "Isn't it time she considered marriage?"

  The nobles petitioned, and even though the kingdom was on the frontier, marriage proposals arrived from foreign nds like a torrential rain.

  But Veranora burned them all with her fire magic. With the power of the dragon's descendants—ruthlessly, and without hesitation.

  Because she knew.

  She could choose no one. No one, except for the "boy" who had captured her heart long ago.

  It happened when she was a child. When she was nearly attacked in the city, a boy had taken her hand and fled with her. Not realizing Veranora—who had hidden her hair under a hat—was a girl, he had taken her hand naturally, kindly, and without hesitation.

  At their parting, Veranora entrusted him with one of her earrings, keeping the other for herself. Since then, she had dreamed of reuniting with him.

  But that was a once-in-a-lifetime miracle.

  There would be no reunion. Dreams do not come true.

  So, she decided to devote herself to her duties as Queen. But when the mounting pressure of marriage proposals became too much to bear—these words suddenly burst from her lips:

  "You. Will you become my consort?"

  Silence fell over the audience chamber. An unexpected target. An unexpected turn of events.

  The "Knight" who received those words managed to respond, though their lips twitched slightly:

  "...As you wish."

  But a faint tremor lingered in that voice.

  And for good reason—for that knight was actually a woman, transformed into a man's form by magic, hiding a "certain secret."