It had been several days since both the Wind and Thunder Dragon leaders left with the remainder of their people. Ever since then, Max had not had a single day of rest.

On the first day, he had to find ways to properly house every single person he had dragged under his banner. Some took shelter with families they did not even know, squeezing into the small houses once abandoned by the Fire Dragons.

Others slept beneath rough tents, beside unfinished walls, or near the edge of the newly grown jungle, waiting for orders, space, and a future that had not yet been built.

While it was fun receiving over two hundred thousand troops of his own, it was far less fun actually trying to make their lives comfortable in such limited space. Every mouth needed food, every family needed shelter, every warrior needed orders, and every newly conquered person needed to be watched in case their loyalty cracked too early. Victory had tasted sweet for a short while, but the work that came after it was bitter enough to make his head ache.

Early in the morning, Max was still drawing on the map with a piece of charcoal. The room smelled faintly of ash, old wood, and cold tea he had forgotten to drink. Dark lines covered the rough surface as he searched for the most forested areas to cut down and turn into temporary housing.

He also wanted to move the capital city to the very middle of the Dragon Region, where he would one day be able to absorb large amounts of land and rule all the regions from the center.

That location would secure not only a powerful defensive and trading hub, but also the perfect place to keep the four future dragon houses under an iron grip. Roads had to connect. Rivers had to be secured. Safe routes had to be guarded. The new capital could not simply be pretty or large. It had to be useful, difficult to attack, and rich enough to feed all the people he had stolen, gathered, or forced under his banner.

"Years of playing strategy games better pay off," Max muttered with a bitter laugh.

The skin beneath his eyes was fully dark now.

Every other minute, he would blank out, falling asleep for a second before forcing himself back into focus. His fingers were stained black from charcoal, and the table before him was filled with half-finished lines, circles, and notes that only made sense inside his exhausted head.

"What if I cut down this forest here?" He pointed to the north, at the small patch of forested land around the Orc tribes. "If I want to transport all of the wood, it will take at least several months of work, but... by the size of it, there should be enough wood for an initial town."

A sudden knock on the door drew his attention.

"Come in," he said in a low, barely audible voice, but the door still creaked open despite that.

Rosalia’s worried face met his. She walked in with uncertain steps, her fingers lightly brushing the side of her dress as if she did not know whether she should approach him or stay near the door.

She was still angry at him for taking Agnia without even talking to her first about it, and then there was the lie about his origins, which she had mostly already forgiven despite her previous reply.

She still hated how much he had hidden from her, but after seeing what his power had done for the Ice Dragons, she could no longer see it as only betrayal.

After a few days of thinking and being alone, she understood that she had overreacted in some ways, even if her pain was not false. Max had gained their bloodline, but the Ice Dragons had benefited from it as well. It was a powerful ability, one she was happy he had, because with his help, the Ice Dragons had a chance to rise once again.

"You’re going to kill yourself before you can become a proper king, my dear," she spoke softly as she walked to his side and sat on the chair before him.

"Well, a kingdom won’t build itself..." Max’s eyes drifted back to the map. "And I want to build my own kingdom. One that I can call home..."

Rosalia sighed, her eyes looking at him lovingly. She wondered why he was the way he was. He was silly and childish at times when he was free of his duties, and his decisions had caused a lot of pain and tears.

But when they needed him, when responsibility was placed on his shoulders, he acted like the most mature man she had ever seen. She wondered how somebody could be two people in one, like two completely different halves forced to share the same body.

"I talked to the three camps and found skilled architects from their side. Also, we have a talented youth who would like to work with them and learn." Rosalia paused, watching his tired eyes struggle to stay open. "Max."

He lifted his eyes, meeting her shining gaze.

"You don’t need to work yourself this hard. This kingdom is not yours to carry alone. You have all of us. People have seen your potential, and they are ready to work for you, to build a kingdom that is ours. A kingdom for you, for me, and for everyone who chose to follow you."

She moved her chair closer to him.

"So put down those tired eyes," she whispered, her hand gently brushing the side of his face. "And rest. A kingdom without its leader can’t rise."

Her fingers gently pulled his head into her breasts, the soft embrace of those warm and squishy pillows making his eyes grow heavy. Max wanted to resist, to say that he still had work to finish, that the map was not done, that the houses, roads, walls, and food stores still needed to be planned, but it felt too good. Too warm. Too safe.

Rosalia smelled like fresh flowers, calming his nerves in a way no power ever could. Her warmth wrapped around him more gently than any blanket, and even the noise inside his head slowly began to fade. Even if he tried to resist, it only took a few seconds for him to fall asleep.

Her soft hands caressed his hair and cheek as she looked at him with a love she could not fully understand. Even if he had hurt her, she wanted to stay by his side. She wanted to see him rise and become an emperor one day. A man who would one day show the world the might of someone who had once met her without magic, without bloodline, without anything, yet somehow still refused to stay broken.

For a long moment, Rosalia simply held him there, listening to his slow breathing while the map of his future kingdom lay unfinished beneath his hand. The charcoal had fallen from his fingers, leaving a dark stain near the border he had been drawing, but she did not move it away.

For once, the kingdom could wait until he opened his eyes again.