Chapter 1152: Another Shift in the Winds

At dawn, the tower keeper, Gerlin, awoke to the low hum of the mechanical apparatuses. Sunlight streamed through the crystal glass window of the tower’s resting chamber, casting intricate patterns of light and shadow from the wrought-iron window frame onto the floor. The sky beyond was vast and cloudless, and the mechanical antenna array atop the Luan hub slowly pivoted, its jagged alloy framework slicing the sky into a series of clever geometric shapes.

“Not bad at all. Looks like good weather… The mages’ forecasts keep getting more accurate,” Gerlin murmured, squinting at the morning light. He let out a deep breath, slipped on a loose, cool shirt, tidied his appearance briefly, and then turned to leave the room. The reassuring, familiar low drone of the upper-level machinery and linkages accompanied him as he crossed a short corridor and a few steps to the nearby equipment room.

There, a young man with blond hair, dressed in a brown shirt, sat intently before the magic network terminal, eyes fixed on the flickering numbers of the holographic display. Beside him, a printer was stacked with freshly trimmed copies of the latest newspapers.

The young man’s name was Ron, Gerlin’s colleague and the other tower keeper at this high tower. Though recently transferred here, his earnest, diligent, and likable nature had already made a strong, positive impression on the “old hands” in the tower.

“Ah, Mr. Gerlin,” the blond youth smiled warmly upon hearing the door open and recognizing the visitor. “Shift change isn’t for a while yet. Up early today?”

“Routine’s good for the body—especially for a middle-aged man like me,” Gerlin chuckled, nodding in greeting. “Has Vickson returned yet?”

“He came back briefly but left again with two technicians. There’s something off with the secondary hub readings near Kosen Town. A nearby factory reported losing all signals from Luan since yesterday. Vickson suspects the thunderstorm damaged the secondary hub and wants to check it out himself. Oh, and he took the gray magi-car.”

“Sounds like that storm packed more punch than we thought,” Gerlin said casually as he approached the terminal. His eyes immediately caught the neatly trimmed newspapers printed by the networked printer—some had clearly been leafed through, and one page bore red markings.

“Anything interesting in the papers, Ron?”

“Ah, I was just about to mention it,” Ron’s face lit up with a mix of excitement and mystery. “Remember that ‘Listening Project’ Vickson’s been so focused on? The one with listening stations at all the main hubs? There’s been a sudden breakthrough—they say they’ve received a mysterious signal. The scholars have devoted a lot of space discussing it! And it’s not just one issue…”

Gerlin hadn’t paid much attention to the Listening Project before, but Ron’s enthusiasm piqued his curiosity. Without waiting for the young man to finish, he picked up the freshly printed sheets, still faintly smelling of ink.

The first thing that caught his eye was a bold headline: “Among the Vast Stars, Is It Possible There Are Beings Like Us Capable of Rational Thought?”

What kind of question was that?

Gerlin’s gaze was instantly drawn in. Having spent his youth as a noble scribe and now middle-aged as a tower keeper, he’d seen and heard much—but never anything like this. Never had he encountered such a question, or anyone seriously discussing it. Among the stars… Why would anyone look at the stars that way? And treat it as a serious topic?

According to the priests’ teachings… the stars were the realm of the heavens, the domain of the divine.

Gerlin frowned instinctively, puzzled, and scanned further down the page. The entire issue seemed devoted to exploring these questions. On subsequent pages, even more striking and perplexing headlines appeared: “From Caves to Plains, From Underfoot to the Horizon—Royal Astrologer Morgan Hugo Guides You Through the ‘Breadth’ of the World.”

Ron’s voice chimed in beside him: “These are fascinating—even though they look like dry academic articles, they’re surprisingly easy to understand. I’ve never seen anything like this in any paper or magazine before. But my teacher once told me that the land beneath our feet is actually a planet, orbiting the sun, which in turn orbits ‘O,’ and every twinkling point in the sky could be a similar celestial system…”

Gerlin listened to Ron’s excited explanation but could only offer a few polite responses. The young man’s interests and knowledge were clearly different from his own. Though Gerlin had received a solid general education, these lofty, abstract ideas felt distant from his daily life. Keeping up with the conversation was a challenge.

Meanwhile, his eyes flicked through the rest of the papers—ads, trivial news—and then a copy of the Cecil Weekly caught his attention. As expected, it carried a similar headline: “Master Kamail’s Perspective on Celestial Scales—Knowledge and Wisdom from the Gondor Era.” Following that was a notice announcing a new periodical authorized by the Empire’s Supreme Council, aimed at popularizing astrology and enriching citizens’ reading experiences.

Seeing these clear, sharp letters stirred something in Gerlin. He spread out the papers on the table and quickly scanned their main pages and bolded headlines. A collection of seemingly unrelated articles, yet all shared a strong consistency—academic, engaging, or thought-provoking.

The tower keeper smiled, his experience telling him what was coming. It looked like the Supreme Council had another “big plan” underway. These papers were just the first step. Soon, the magic network broadcasts would likely roll out new programs on the subject.

Ordinary people might not notice such shifts in the cultural “winds” through their limited media exposure. But a tower keeper stationed at a regional information hub could keenly sense these signals early on—provided they had enough experience. Gerlin was such a seasoned keeper. Ron, however, clearly hadn’t thought that far yet.

“Mr. Gerlin,” Ron noticed the elder’s sudden focus and was a bit startled. “Is something wrong?”

“Nothing bad. You’ll understand after a couple more years here,” Gerlin smiled, casually brushing it off as he returned his gaze to the marked newspaper page. This one wasn’t academic or educational—it was a special news report and a public recruitment notice.

“The Solin Listening Station Receives Mysterious Signal of Unknown Origin”
“Nationwide Call for Decoding Proposals of the Following Symbols”

Gerlin studied the strange symbols accompanying the article. They looked nothing like any known alphabet or southern pictographs—curved arcs connected by short lines, mysterious and indecipherable. Next to them, Ron had scribbled strings of letters that seemed utterly random.

“Don’t tell me you’re planning to crack these symbols—symbols that have stumped even the experts,” Gerlin said, glancing up at the young man.

“Why not?” Ron replied eagerly. “Don’t you think it’s a thrilling challenge? Like being part of history! Plus, there’s a hefty reward—enough to buy an entire estate in Luan City if you solve it!”

Gerlin wasn’t swept up by the youthful enthusiasm. Instead, he looked at the reports and those alien symbols with a growing unease. But he pushed the feeling down and asked, “So, after all your study, have you found any patterns?”

“None at all. These symbols are like encrypted graffiti—far beyond simple letter substitution or rearrangement,” Ron said with a disappointed shake of his head. “Honestly, I’m treating it as a hobby outside work. Getting rich quick might be a long shot, but the process is fun. And I bet most people interested in these symbols feel the same way. Like you said, even the capital’s top scholars are stumped.”

Gerlin shrugged and let the topic drop. He glanced at the mechanical clock on the wall and said to Ron, “Time for the shift change.”

…

A rare clear sky had descended over Aldern, and the near-noon sun chased away the usual gloom and mist that hung over the “City of Rain and Fog.” Under the brilliant sunlight, the tightly packed black rooftops and spires gleamed, and even the moldy stone slabs and walls of narrow alleys seemed to shed their dullness, coming alive with renewed vigor.

Yet compared to last year, the noble district’s streets were noticeably quieter.

The grand halls that once hosted endless day-and-night feasts were shuttered tight. The broad roads, once bustling with carriages, now saw only a few hurried vehicles speeding past closed doors. Gardens in front and behind many houses had clearly been neglected for days; weeds sprouted unchecked, crowding out the once carefully tended rare and delicate flowers. Some homes hung heavy white and black curtains and drapes, while withered death chrysanthemums dangled mournfully beneath wrought-iron lanterns, swaying in the breeze.

Most of these mansions weren’t truly abandoned. Faint, muffled sounds still came from within—voices deliberately kept low, as if trying to minimize their presence in the world. Like frightened beasts hiding in their lavish dens, the residents curled inward, fearful that any display might draw “deadly attention.”

In those few estates that had fallen utterly silent, the once-glorious families had lost their last legitimate heirs. Servants were dismissed, properties seized by the crown, and the houses became “assets pending appraisal,” temporarily frozen in limbo. When the owners of these estates passed away, their fates typically diverged sharply: some died stripped of all honor, their heads falling in the purge; others were laid to rest with pomp and posthumous royal titles, their names shining in glory.

Yet, regardless of their destinies, the end result was much the same.

“The noble era is a mere shadow of its former self,” Viscount Hermil said, stepping back from the bulging window. He withdrew his gaze from the street outside and returned to his favorite high-backed chair, though he didn’t sit immediately. Instead, he sighed deeply, eyes heavy with melancholy. “After all these years of stalemate and tug-of-war, the time has finally come for us to vanish completely… Some titles remain, but it seems they’ll never again bask in glory.”

He lifted his head and glanced once more across the broad, straight avenue. Two servants hurried past, moving so fast they seemed like frightened beasts fleeing danger—almost running.

“When have the streets ever looked this desolate? Not even on the day the New Emperor’s Twenty-Two Edicts were proclaimed, nor on the day my father spoke of the fire that consumed the Obsidian Palace… This street has never been so cold and empty, nor have so many death chrysanthemums appeared. Those white flowers almost seem to summon the underworld’s chill into the sunlight.”

“Look on the bright side, Viscount Hermil,” came a kindly, aged voice from nearby. The old mage in black robes, seated on the sofa, smiled gently at the young nobleman. “You’re still standing here, your viscount title intact, your family crest and private estates untouched. That alone is enough to make many envious—both those who have passed and those still alive. They should all envy you.

“You chose the right side, Viscount.”

“Ah, yes,” Hermil replied with a bitter smile as he sank into his chair. He grabbed a nearby glass and, with little grace, drained it in one gulp. “Supporting the crown unconditionally at all times, severing ties with the clergy the moment the church faltered, doing everything possible to aid the Winterfort front, and cooperating fully with Prince Hadrian’s investigations… Honestly, if I had stumbled at any point along the way, I wouldn’t be here talking with you now. You might be raising a glass at my grave instead.”

“But you didn’t falter,” Daniel said with a smile, raising his own glass toward the viscount. “I much prefer to toast the living.”

(End of chapter)