Chapter 1207: Threads of History

In the northern reaches of the Loren Continent, towering mountains, biting winds, and the banners of the Wilde family held dominion over the empire’s northern frontier. Though autumn still lingered, the chill of winter was already knocking at the mountain passes. Since the first days of fall, a relentless dry cold had swept through the region, growing harsher with each passing day. Occasionally, gusts howled down from the peaks, shaking loose patches of snow that tumbled halfway down the slopes. The mountain folk often wondered if the winter snow had arrived early—or if it was just the cold wind announcing its approach.

For Winterhold Castle, perched atop the highest summit, snow and wind were everyday companions, indifferent to the calendar. Even in the height of summer, the fortress could suddenly find itself blanketed in swirling snowflakes, despite clear skies all around. When such sudden flurries appeared, the castle’s servants knew it was a sign—the “Ice and Snow Duke,” the castle’s enigmatic lord who dwelled deep within, was shifting in mood. Whether his temper was sour or sweet, however, was a secret only his closest attendants could guess.

At the castle’s highest tower, bathed in a faint magical glow, snowflakes seemed to materialize from the very air, dancing around the spire and the surrounding walls. The shimmering magic streams mingled with the swirling snow, creating a mesmerizing yet chilling spectacle. Two maids stood nervously in a corridor near the tower’s upper level, peering out at the relentless snowfall. One of them stepped closer to the window, double-checking that it was firmly shut.

Of course, the window was sealed tight. Yet the biting wind seemed to pierce through stone and crystal glass alike, chilling their faces as if it had found a way inside.

“Do you think the mistress is angry?” the maid who checked the window whispered anxiously to her companion. “It’s been snowing all day—now the courtyard’s completely buried.”

“No need for us to worry about that,” the other maid replied calmly. “Even if she’s upset, she wouldn’t take it out on us. Besides, she might not be angry at all—maybe she’s just in an unusually good mood today.”

“You sound like you know her well.”

“Sort of—I’ve worked here for ten years. The mistress is much gentler than you’d think. And now that Miss Maggie has returned to the castle, with her by the mistress’s side, we don’t have to fret so much.”

“Wait, Miss Maggie’s back? I didn’t see her.”

“She came back last night, but not through the main gate. She flew straight in from the terrace,” the older maid smiled knowingly, as if she had witnessed it herself. “Don’t forget, Miss Maggie is a powerful dragon!”

“…Oh.”

Their quiet conversation might have escaped ordinary ears, but not those of a legendary mage or a dragon. In the magic meditation chamber, Victoria opened her eyes from deep thought. Before she could speak, Maggie, standing vigil beside her, broke the silence.

“I’ll go remind those two in the corridor—they’re getting a bit too lively with their chatter.”

“No need,” Victoria said flatly, shaking her head. “They’re just idle talk. It doesn’t bother me.”

Maggie nodded without another word. Victoria exhaled softly, waving her hand to snuff out the incense burning in the chamber. As the magical runes etched into the floor dimmed one by one, the northern guardian glanced at her companion—a friend and servant alike—and casually asked, “Are you enjoying your time in Cecil City?”

Maggie gave her a half-smile. “If I said I’m having a great time—so much so that I almost forgot to come back—would you be upset?”

Victoria said nothing, only fixed her with an expressionless stare.

“Alright, that ‘I know you’re joking but I have to make a face anyway’ look is pretty obvious. I almost missed it,” Maggie sighed, shrugging with a smile. “Honestly, the imperial capital is quite pleasant. Rebecca is a good friend, His Majesty is wise and kind, and my work as a flight advisor and instructor isn’t too demanding. Plus, there are plenty of dragonkin there.”

“Then why come back early?” Victoria asked, curious. “Isn’t it better to be with your own kind?”

“If I wanted to be with my kin, wouldn’t it be better to return to the Holy Dragon Duchy?” Maggie chuckled, shaking her head. “No special reason. My work there wrapped up. The flight unit’s training is on track, and new dragonkin are signing up for the technical division. Honestly, you probably need more help here than the capital does. And if anything happens there, it’s easy enough for me to fly back.”

Victoria nodded silently. Maggie’s gaze held hers as the wind howled outside the castle walls. After a moment, she suddenly said, “Still can’t calm your mind? I thought this incense helped you meditate.”

“The incense helps me focus, but it can’t stop my thoughts,” Victoria replied with a hint of frustration. Her mind drifted back to the intelligence Amber had relayed from the capital. Her brow furrowed, the earlier blank expression fading. “I’m beginning to understand how Heddy and Rebecca felt when they faced the resurrected ancestors in Gawain Cecil’s tomb…”

Maggie watched her friend quietly before breaking the silence. “Your feelings aren’t the same as theirs. Their situation was desperate—those ‘ancestors’ who rose from the grave were their only hope. But you have a wide-open stage ahead of you, a chance to pursue your ambitions. In that context, a suddenly reappearing ‘ancestor’ might not be a blessing.”

Victoria exhaled softly, her voice low. “Maggie, you know what worries me isn’t that.”

“Yes, I know you’re not one to crave power or status. Your confidence and ability make you steady in any situation. And given the way the great adventurer Modir Wilde conducts himself, you don’t have to fear him disrupting the order you maintain here. But still—a forebear who vanished six centuries ago suddenly returns to this world. The changes that could bring are countless, aren’t they?” Maggie smiled faintly. “Even gods can’t control the future. You’re only mortal, Vicky—and yet you hate feeling like the future is slipping beyond your grasp.”

She paused, then added calmly, “Besides, this ‘great adventurer Modir’ is in a strange state. Whether he truly rose from the grave or wandered aimlessly for six hundred years, he doesn’t seem like a ‘normal living person’ now. As a descendant of the Wilde family, you can’t just ignore such a forebear.”

Victoria met Maggie’s gaze, then sighed with a trace of a smile. “You understand me better than most. Others would spend a day guessing and never know what’s on my mind.”

“So, what’s your decision?” Maggie asked quietly. “You’ve been brooding here long enough. Though it’s not obvious, it’s time to decide.”

“I have duties,” Victoria murmured after a moment’s thought. “Many decisions can’t be made on a whim. Especially now, with the northern situation just stabilizing, I can’t afford to focus too much on personal matters…”

“You’re too hard on yourself, Vicky. And Modir Wilde’s case isn’t just personal—it’s something even His Majesty is watching closely. It’s already affecting both the Empire and Talrond,” Maggie said, knowing her friend’s serious nature often became a stumbling block. “Sometimes you have to break the rules and make bold choices. Or at least discuss it with His Majesty first. If he approves, you’ll have less to worry about.”

Victoria’s expression softened, a small smile breaking through. “You seem to trust our emperor a lot.”

“You have a point. This is an unusual situation, and I should make an unusual decision. Maggie, I’ve decided to go to Talrond myself to check on this ‘adventurer Modir.’ I hear he can’t handle any provocation from the Wilde name, so he probably won’t come to Winterhold. If he won’t come here, then I’ll go to him.”

…

In Cecil Palace, the study was lined with deep blue velvet carpets. Amber stood across from Gawain at his desk. After hearing her report, he nodded slightly.

“So… you believe the Violet Kingdom in the north is a prime suspect,” he said, looking at the half-elf who wore a serious expression. “You suspect that Modir Wilde’s final adventure took him there, and that something happened which caused him to survive until now in a strange, amnesiac state?”

“Not necessarily alive all this time,” Amber replied, gathering her thoughts. “Maybe he experienced something like your ‘sleep’—only recently crawling out of his coffin for some reason, without realizing it himself. I have suspicions but no proof yet. But think about it: Modir’s disappearance was a huge deal for Ansu. The royal family and the Wilde clan must have thrown everything into the search. Even if they couldn’t find him, they should have found some clue. Yet all leads vanished once they pointed north…”

“Given the intensity of the search, the only places where clues could vanish are Talrond or the mysterious Violet Kingdom. Talrond is mostly ruled out…”

Gawain listened intently to Amber’s analysis and nodded. “Next, we need to learn more about this ‘adventurer Modir.’ Talrond wants us to send someone who knows him well to make contact. Enya suggested the same. Honestly… I’m curious about this ‘adventurer’ myself.”

“But you can’t leave now,” Amber rolled her eyes. “Between Project 115, progress in the Black Forest, and key dealings with Typhon and the Silver Empire, you have to handle everything personally.”

Gawain sighed, thinking it over. “I’m starting to understand how Heddy feels every day.”

Amber didn’t hesitate to blurt out, “You just don’t get it—she’s under so much pressure she even puts on smokey eye makeup just to come find you for some fun. And you? You don’t have some resurrected ancestor to back you up… Hey, I’m just saying! Didn’t lie either, so no hitting, okay?”

Gawain shot a glare at this shameless little troublemaker who never knew when to hold her tongue. He casually tossed the silver seal he’d just picked up back onto the desk—he was only joking, of course. He’d never actually throw something at her. Not because he was worried about hurting her, but because once you throw something, it’s a pain to get it back. This shadowy little troublemaker might not be the most agile, but if you toss something worth more than half a pound at her—even if it was fired from a magi-cannon—she’d catch it midair without a scratch and be gone before you could blink. Even Gawain, a legendary knight, couldn’t explain how she managed that.

Just then, a buzzing sound came from the nearby arcane network terminal beside the desk. The projection crystal flickered to life, drawing Gawain’s attention away from Amber.

The terminal activated, the crystal glowing brighter, and a clear hologram of Hetty appeared. She wore a serious expression as she reported, “Ancestor, the Silver Queen Belsethia and her delegation have crossed the Dark Mountains. They’re expected to land at Pioneer Square in thirty minutes.”

“They’ve arrived already…” Gawain murmured, then nodded. “Understood. Notify the reception team at the square to prepare according to protocol. I’ll be there shortly.”

The visit from the Silver Empire’s delegation had been arranged long ago, and Gawain had everything planned out well in advance. So there was no surprise on his part. Still, thinking about the unique nature of this delegation made his expression grow a bit more solemn.

The real focus of the Silver delegation wasn’t the Silver Queen herself, but several elves bearing the titles of “Great Druids” and “Ancient Sages.” Each of them was so old that humans, with their short lifespans, would consider them living fossils.

Leading these Silver Elves was an ancient druid priest named Azmor. Before the White Star fell three thousand years ago, he was the “Servant of the Gods,” second only in status to the Silver Queen. He had received a divine blessing directly from the nature gods. According to the information Belsethia sent, he was recognized as a “Sage” by more than half of the Silver Empire’s old secret cults. Countless hidden sects operated in his name.

He was the last high-ranking priest in the world still devoted to the faith of Amon, and the only one who had received the “Divine Grace” three millennia ago.

Gawain rose from behind his desk, took a deep breath, and headed for the door.

“The last ‘anchor’ of Amon’s presence in the mortal world has arrived,” he said gravely. “Let’s go meet them.”

(End of chapter)