Chapter 1298: Winter Has Come

A clear, bell-like chime echoed softly through the neural link. Seated upright on the throne of command, Belsethia slowly opened her eyes.

The vast control hall was nearly empty, with only a few personnel moving about. The Starlight Sanctuary, currently cruising in low-power mode, was making its way back from the borderlands of the Korynn Kingdom. Along the elegant support arches traced with faint golden lines at the hall’s edges, gentle streams of light flowed slowly. Amid the deep, soothing hum of machinery, occasional faint buzzing from various systems could be heard.

But beyond the sounds audible to human ears, Belsethia’s neural link allowed her to perceive the Sanctuary’s deeper “echoes” — a low, soft resonance emanating from the fortress core itself.

Since Master Virania and her star mages had conducted a thorough inspection of the Sanctuary’s depths, replacing the long-failed ancient energy arrays with new ones, this ancient sky fortress—weathered by millennia of storms and decay—had finally gained a brief reprieve from its relentless decline. The overburdened power systems had a moment to breathe, and the perpetually overworked anti-gravity engines improved with auxiliary power. In Belsethia’s memory, this was the lowest, most comfortable hum she had ever heard from the neural link since taking her seat on the throne.

Yet she knew this relief was only temporary. The Starlight Sanctuary was far too ancient; its problems could not be solved by merely swapping out some energy arrays and engines. While arcane technology was useful, it was not omnipotent.

The technicians had only bought time for the fortress—and time was all they had. One day, the elves would have to find a truly lasting solution.

But that was not a concern for now.

Belsethia gently rubbed her forehead, easing the slight sensory dissonance caused by prolonged neural connection to the Sanctuary’s systems. She then turned to the attendant standing beside her, Ilian. “It’s time. Dismiss all non-essential personnel.”

“Yes, Your Majesty,” Ilian replied softly. She turned and gestured to the attendants below the throne platform and the royal guards stationed beyond the inner ring. The ordered personnel immediately saluted the throne and filed out in sequence. Within moments, the vast control hall was left with only the Silver Queen on her throne, Ilian at her side, and the fortress’s automated monitoring systems quietly running.

“Transfer main control to autonomous mode. Continue low-speed cruise,” Belsethia commanded silently through the neural link. She tapped the armrest of her throne lightly with her fingers. A neural cable connected to the throne glowed brightly. The hall’s lights dimmed, windows quietly closed and locked. Then, with a faint scraping sound, the floor before the throne slid open to reveal a crystal-like communication altar rising from below.

The device activated, its top embedded with a crystal array that quickly brightened. Two beams of light shot upward, forming a clear magical projection in midair. The images of Gawain Cecil and Rosetta Augustus appeared.

“Good. The meeting begins as scheduled,” Gawain said, glancing at the two figures before him. He sat in his study, while Belsethia and Rosetta’s holograms faced him. Aside from some flickering light at the edges, the experience was almost like a face-to-face conversation. “Good afternoon to both of you.”

The three imperial leaders exchanged greetings, then without further small talk, the slender, black-haired, black-eyed Rosetta Augustus cut straight to the point: “I heard that during your personal exploration of the God of War’s divine realm, you boarded an ancient ship bound for the depths of the ‘Deep Sea’ and only returned two days later. You convened this meeting immediately afterward… What did you discover?”

“That ship is a relic left by the Pathfinders, part of an ancient sentinel system,” Gawain answered without hesitation. The secrets of the Pathfinders had once been exclusive to the Cecil Empire, but with the formation of the Alliance and the shifting global situation—especially the looming common threat to mortal nations—this information was now shared openly among member states. Each nation held varying degrees of knowledge about the Pathfinders, and among the three great empires, this intelligence was shared at the highest level. “I believe you’re familiar with the warning ‘Beware the Sentinels’—yes, it’s that very ‘Sentinel.’”

Gawain recounted everything he had seen in the Deep Sea’s depths, the intelligence gathered at the Sentinel’s home port, and his observations and hypotheses about the ship’s strange condition. Faced with a crisis that threatened the entire world, there was no need to hold back. Clearly explaining the urgency would better enable their allies on the same front to muster sufficient strength.

Throughout Gawain’s report, Rosetta and Belsethia maintained solemn, grave expressions. Their brows furrowed as they listened intently, occasionally interrupting with questions. When Gawain finished and the communication system fell silent, Belsethia was the first to break the quiet.

“So, the ‘mysterious cube’ the sea witches recently salvaged from the Deep Blue Network is very likely the signal that the Sentinels have begun to act?”

“If before we only suspected the wasteland cultists’ activities were linked to the Deep Blue Network, now we can be almost certain the Sentinels are behind it,” Gawain nodded. “Those cubes are probably some kind of magical control devices. A large number of them will form a vast system within the Deep Blue Network. Once complete, the Sentinels and the cultists under their control will effectively hold the lifeblood of our planet. The danger is beyond words.”

Rosetta looked at Gawain. “What do you propose?”

“Gather all available forces at the foot of the Grant Wall. Now is not the time to conserve strength. Once the border defenses are complete, immediately order all forward bases to advance into the wasteland, establish bridgeheads in the contaminated zones, and begin searching for the cultists. At the same time… we must find a way to contact the heart of the wasteland.”

“Contact the heart of the wasteland?” Belsethia frowned, clearly intrigued by Gawain’s last statement. “What could possibly be there…?”

Gawain’s gaze swept slowly over the Silver Queen and the Typhon Emperor. After a moment of silence, his voice dropped low as he said, “The last legion of the ancient Gondor Empire still holds out among the ruins of the Deep Blue Well. They will be our most steadfast allies in the counterattack against the wasteland.”

Belsethia’s eyes widened in shock. She instinctively glanced at Rosetta Augustus, only to see a similar expression of astonishment on the usually stern middle-aged human’s face. After several long seconds, Rosetta finally spoke.

“I’ve lost count of how many times you’ve shocked me, Your Majesty Gawain—how many secrets are you still hiding?”

“Too many, Augustus. Who doesn’t have secrets?” Gawain spread his hands. “But the secrets we carry should ultimately serve the safety of this world and the survival of all mortals. Like now, we face the greatest security threat this world has ever known.”

Belsethia quietly studied Gawain’s hologram, then adjusted her posture, leaning slightly forward. “I agree with that.”

…

Winter has come. The biting cold wind ruled over the towering mountains of the northern lands. As the snowline crept down the major peaks, the city at the foot of Winterhold’s walls gradually merged with the icy, snow-covered world. Wrapped in white, the land the Wilde family had protected for centuries was now a familiar sight to Victoria, who was born and raised in Winterhold.

She stood on the highest terrace of Winterhold, letting the cold wind howl past her. Snow drifted down from the tall towers, swirling outside the terrace. Turning to the elderly man beside her, she smiled—a rare expression for her.

“These mountains, and the vast plains and valleys beyond, have been the Wilde family’s sanctuary for generations. Of course, with the establishment of the Cecil Empire and the new order, the old system of land nobility has collapsed here. The northern mountains now belong to all the people who live on this land. The Imperial Administration, authorized by the Empire, governs these lands. As one of the Empire’s three Grant Magistrates, I have returned ownership of all northern lands except Winterhold itself.”

Modir Wilde stepped to the terrace’s edge, cautiously peering down. The city stretched along the mountain slopes, smoke rising from chimneys, and a faintly glowing giant shield enveloped all inhabited areas. He knew he must have seen this scene before, but no matter how he searched his memory, he found no trace of it.

Finally, he shook his head, abandoning the futile search, and asked with curiosity, “But it seems you still manage parts of this place?”

“That’s part of my duties as Grant Magistrate. Each Grant Magistrate oversees a ‘directly governed province’ that serves as the Empire’s industrial and military hub,” Victoria explained. “My authority to issue orders in the Northern Central Province comes from the Empire, not any inherent right over these lands. In fact, the next Northern Grant Magistrate might not even bear the name ‘Wilde.’ The only inheritance my family’s heirs will receive from me, besides the title, is this castle and other family properties.”

Modir had never dealt with matters of this level before, at least not in his memory. Listening to Victoria’s explanation, he was both curious and surprised. After a moment’s thought, he said seriously, “Does your heir have any objections to this arrangement?”

“We’ve had honest and deep conversations. He has no objections,” Victoria replied earnestly. “In fact, Findel is an exceptional young man. He has the sharp thinking and adaptability of youth, understands the necessity of the new order, and embraces His Majesty’s reforms. You probably don’t know yet, but he entered the Imperial Academy long ago, graduated with excellent results from the Officer’s College, and has now volunteered to serve on the southern wasteland frontier, ready to take his first steps as a soldier.”

The usually stern-faced duchess smiled faintly as she spoke. “I believe he will earn his place in the Empire through his own abilities, not by inheriting anything from me beyond the title and the castle… This is the path he has chosen for himself.”

She paused there, then after a few seconds of thought, slowly continued, “Getting those surviving remnants of the old nobility to accept such changes isn’t easy. Even if they’ve decided to stand on the ‘right side,’ when it really comes down to it, some things are harder to bear than death for certain people. But if a family like the Wildes steps forward first, backing His Majesty’s decisions with real action, then things become a lot simpler. At the very least… we can drastically reduce the number of people we have to hang from the flagpoles.”

“That’s… good,” Modir said after a moment’s reflection. “I mean, this current order is good. In North Harbor, I’ve dealt with the local government offices and their procedures, and I’ve also interacted with nobles from various regions. The contrast is clear—some of the old, outdated ways really do need to be replaced by new things. That’s undeniable.”

Victoria looked quietly at her ancestor for a moment, then spoke with a somewhat strange tone, “Actually, I was worried you might be angry—when I mentioned the ‘new order,’ like the lands and powers I gave up, or the changes in the Wilde family now… I thought you might blame the family’s ‘decline’ on me.”

Modir was taken aback for a moment, a complex expression crossing his face. He glanced back at the distant mountains and the smoke rising from the city nestled among them. After a long silence, he finally replied, “I understand what you mean, but… I don’t feel anything. This huge castle, these mountains and snow, and those ‘antiques’ you showed me—you said many of them were things I used back in the day? But I have no real memory of them. I only remember my own name, the origin of this surname, but my connection to this land… seems to have been completely severed, as if it belongs to ‘another place.’ I’m sorry, Victoria. I’m afraid my answer will only disappoint you.”

“No, please don’t say that,” Victoria quickly responded. “I didn’t mean anything else. I just want you to be happy here. If you really can’t recall any memories of this place, you can still think of it as a comfortable home—every door here remains open to you, even if you don’t remember them.”

“I’m glad you say that,” Modir smiled. “Actually, I’m already quite happy living here, Victoria. There’s no place in the wilderness with rooms as nice as these. And even though I can’t remember my life here before, I’ve still found things I like—like that soup we had for dinner last night. You said it’s a traditional dish from the North… what was it called again?”

“Mosak Assorted Thick Soup.”

“Oh right, that assorted thick soup. I liked the taste.”

“Okay, I’ll have the kitchen make it again for dinner tonight.”

“Good,” Modir said with a smile. “I think I’ll start with that soup and slowly begin to see this place as a ‘home’ again.”

(End of chapter)