Chapter 121: The Last Winter
In the northernmost reaches of the supercontinent, deep within the glacial tundras that stretched endlessly, three towering mountain peaks stood entwined like sentinels guarding a forbidden realm.
At their heart sat an immense castle of ice, its jagged spires piercing the sky. Sheltered from the raging elements by the natural embrace of the mountains, the structure stood silent and imposing.
Arriving at the massive gates of this frozen fortress, Marcus, his wife Judith, and Lady Clarke paused, their breaths visible in the freezing air.
"Remember," Judith warned, her tone sharp and her expression tense, "no matter what happens in there, mind your place. This is a family matter, and I can't guarantee it won't get messy." Her green aura pulsed faintly, a subtle warning in itself. "And... let me apologize now for whatever may happen."
Lady Clarke raised a brow. "I have no intention of stepping into anyone's family drama. I just hope this trip won't be for nothing."
Judith's gaze softened, but Marcus stepped forward, cutting the tension. "Don't worry. We won't forget your request. Whether he agrees or not." Without another word, he raised his fist and struck the frozen gate, the impact echoing.
They waited. The cold seemed to deepen with every passing second, the silence stretching. Then, at last, a deep, authoritative voice carried out from within. "Only the Lady with yellow eyes may enter. The rest can leave."
Clarke's nose wrinkled. 'Why me?'
Judith's expression hardened, her aura flaring slightly. "Open the gates, Father," she said, her tone clipped. "Stop playing games."
A pause. Then the voice returned, laced with irritation. "She may enter with a single escort. But no men are allowed—"
BOOOOM!
The earth shuddered as an immense green tondado slammed and ground into the gate, breaking massive chunks from its surface. Clarke and Marcus flinched, their stunned expressions matched by the sharp cracks of splitting ice. Judith stood at the center of the chaos, her aura now a raging green whirlwind.
"Open the damn gate," she snarled, her voice cutting through the howling wind. "Or I'll destroy it!"
Eventually, a grumbling sigh came from within, and slowly, the gates began to creak open, icy mechanisms groaning in protest as Judith canceled her spell, her aura calming slightly.
Leaning closer to Marcus, Clarke muttered, "Is it always like this?"
Marcus stiffened, his face reddening as he focused on the opening gates, his silence answering the question for him.
Clarke sighed inwardly. 'That bad, huh?'
As the trio stepped through, the vast expanse of the ice castle revealed itself. Towering spires of dark frost spiraled into the sky, their surfaces reflecting the light like jagged diamonds. Inside the grounds leading to the main entrance, the barren emptiness was shocking to Clarke—no guards, no visible servants, no signs of life beyond the faint auras that stood within.
Judith's aura still swirled around her, her voice cutting through the icy silence. "Sorry for that. I know I promised I wouldn't be the first, but he was asking for it."
Marcus quickly caught up, his expression serious but his tone soft. "He's your father, dear. I just think it's best if we tread lightly here. He already hates me as it is, and last time… well, you did try to kill him." His hand lightly touched her arm, steadying her as he added gently, "Just remember why we're here."
Her steps slowed, her aura easing as she flushed slightly. "I will."
Clarke followed behind, her frown deepening as the oppressive atmosphere gnawed at her nerves. The deeper they went, the heavier the air seemed to grow. Finally, she broke the silence, her voice tight. "I know you said your father was a powerful knight, but who exactly is he? You've been avoiding saying it, but I think I should know now."
Judith's lips pressed into a thin line before she answered. "Names have power, and there are certain ones that shouldn't be said lightly. Until we arrived, it wasn't safe to mention him. Even now, it's best to tread carefully. You likely won't know his name, but it's Gillian Cross."
Clarke frowned, "doesn't sound familiar. What's his title?"
"He has none."
The bluntness of Judith's response stopped Clarke in her tracks. Even Marcus's expression hardened as he kept his gaze fixed ahead. Clarke's eyes narrowed, her thoughts racing. "You said he was a powerful knight, stronger than you. If he doesn't have a title… wait." Her voice sharpened. "He's a free knight?! That doesn't make sense. Free knights haven't existed for centuries."
Judith sighed, her gaze drifting upward to the towering heart of the castle. "That's why you haven't heard his name," she said, her voice carrying a quiet weight. "He hasn't been active for a very long time. Not since Warwick Valdene disappeared."
Clarke froze, her eyes widening as realization struck. "The Reformation…" she whispered, the word catching in her throat. Her golden eyes brightened, almost glowing as she resumed walking, her steps faster now. "The Reformation Era. That means—"
Judith cut in, her tone steady but grave. "My father stays here, hidden in his castle. The only reason we could even reach this place was due to certain spells I've been maintaining." She glanced back at Clarke, her voice quiet but firm. "He is one the last free knights. And while not official, he went by another name you might recognize, The Last Winter."
Clarke stopped dead, her fists clenching. "The Last…?" Her voice trembled slightly as she began losing her composure. "The Last Winter… that means he's…" Her breath hitched, and she stared at Judith, her voice rising. "A legend knight! Your father's a true ascended?!"
Marcus's jaw tightened, his mustache twitching as he spoke, "He was the first knight of the water element, and the only free knight to ascend to the legend rank. Truly an impossible man to live up to as a son-in-law."
"Nonsense, you're at least twice the father he'll ever be," Judith said with a dismissive wave of her hand.
"Judith!" Marcus nearly groaned, his eye's darting. "It's things like that that make it worse. It's like you're doing it on purpose." A faint pallor crept into his face.
"I've told you," she replied, her tone sharp but teasing. "You have nothing to fear from him. Grow a pair."
Marcus gestured emphatically as they approached the castle's main door. "He broke my eye socket the first time we met! And last visit, he crushed three of my fingers just shaking my hand."
The imposing double doors of the castle stood ahead, their icy surface carved with intricate patterns resembling frozen rivers. Judith rolled her eyes, dismissing her husband's protests with a wave. "He's just a bully. And the only way to stop a bully is to stand up to them."
Marcus grumbled under his breath as he pushed open the heavy door. "Easy for you to say…" His words trailed off as he stepped into the entry hall, his voice shifting mid-sentence. "Where is everyone? Usually Bertold would be kissing your ass alr—" He froze, his words faltering as a figure emerged from behind the door.
"Bertold! Great to see you, brother! How have you—"
"Usually one knocks before entering, Lord Kinneman," the man said, his tone even and his expression unreadable. His piercing blue eyes shifted to Judith. "Sister, good to see you. Would you like to rest first, or shall you go straight to see Father?"
"He's in the garden, isn't he?" Judith's voice cut through the silence, her impatience sharp.
Sighing, Berthold inclined his head in a slight bow. "Indeed. I suggest you keep your temper in check this time. He's been in an unusually sour mood of late."
Judith snorted but said nothing, her hands clenched at her sides as she strode forward. Marcus followed close behind, his shoulders tense as he glanced around the entry hall.
Trailing behind them, Lady Clarke hesitated at the threshold, sharply scanning every detail as her thoughts swirled. 'The domain of a true ascended…'
Her attention was immediately drawn to Berthold, who stood with the calm confidence of a veteran knight. He appeared to be in his early forties, with shoulder-length black hair that framed a strikingly handsome face. His blue eyes were sharp and calculating, with streaks of gray peppering his well-kept beard. He wore a tailored butler's coat and trousers, their simplicity mixed the aura of a steel knight made for a strange sight.
His flowing aura, unmistakable for a tier 4 steel knight attuned to the water element, wasn't oppressive, but it radiated quiet strength, as though he was a lake unshaken by the harshest storm.
Berthold's presence seemed at odds with the eerie emptiness of the castle, his composed demeanor hinting at someone who had spent decades mastering control over both his power and his emotions. Clarke's curiosity burned brighter. 'A steel knight of his caliber left to be used as a butler? This place is more dangerous than I thought.'
She inhaled deeply, steadying herself as her eyes turned to the castle's interior.
The castle was a masterpiece of frozen mana. The walls weren't merely ice but hummed faintly with currents of pure magic, their surfaces alive with runic patterns that shifted like flowing water. The air buzzed with a cold vitality, each breath charged with energy that made Clarke's aura instinctively brace itself.
The floor seemed to move, its smooth surface carved with glowing runes that drummed like a heartbeat beneath her feet. Overhead, the ceiling twisted upward into a vast dome of refracted light, glowing softly with an untraceable source.
What struck Clarke most was the eerie emptiness. Just like out in the courtyard, there were no servants, no guards—only the faint pressure of auras that clung to the walls. The stillness was unnerving, broken only by the occasional soft crackle as the ice shifted under its own weight. The entire castle felt alive, but unwelcoming—more like a tomb that tolerated their presence out of duty rather than hospitality.
"Stay with us."
Clarke snapped out of her daze at Marcus's voice, quickening her steps to catch up.
Marcus gestured toward Berthold as they walked. "Lady Clarke, this is Berthold Cross, my brother-in-law."
"Greetings, Lord Cross! Your home here is quite... impressive." Clarke struggled to maintain her composure, her words hastily chosen.
"Just Berthold, my lady. I am no lord," he replied with a faint smile. "Welcome to Castle Tír na nÓg, we are honored to have a knight of your renown grace our halls. Guests of your renown and beauty are a rare treat in such a remote place."
"You've heard of me?"
"The Mountain of Floeur d'Alene? Of course. Even up here, your exploits are well known. If you have time later, I'd be honored to spar with you."
Her eyes glowed faintly, the intense yellow betraying her enthusiasm. A sharp grin spread across her face as her instincts as a warrior took hold. "I'll make time."
"Wonderful!" Berthold's smile widened. "Now, as my sister knows the way, I must leave you here. There are matters I need to attend to. But, Judith, do pay me a visit before you leave—it's been too long since our last game of Dominion."
Judith paused, her stern demeanor softening into a rare smile. "I promise."
He bowed deeply to the group before turning down a quiet hallway, the tails of his butler's coat twisting behind him.
As the trio continued their journey, Clarke broke the silence. "Do I really need to be here for this part? I could just go with your brother instead."
Judith faltered briefly, coughing into her hand before regaining her composure. "I'm sorry, but it would be rude not to greet my father first."
Clarke sighed. While her curiosity about meeting a True Ascended—especially one so renowned—was immense, her fear overshadowed her excitement. True Ascended were notorious for being eccentric, most times bordering on madness. Caution was the most common advice when meeting one.
Eventually, they reached a set of doors by a frost-covered window. Clarke glanced outside, noting the barren courtyard blanketed in ice and snow. "I thought he was in the garden?"
"He is," Judith said flatly. She pushed the doors open, and the world transformed.
A wave of life poured over Clarke. The rich, earthy smell of damp soil mingled with the fragrance of countless exotic blooms. Warm, golden light filtered through, blanketing the hall in a comforting glow.
Without hesitation, Judith strode into the garden, Marcus following sheepishly. Clarke hesitated at the threshold, her eyes widening as she took in the lush expanse. "It's huge…"
"I hear that a lot."
The familiar, gruff voice from the gates cut through her awe, turning her wonder into irritation. Clarke's face flushed slightly as she stepped inside, her sense of amazement instantly crushed.
Although irritated from the remark, Clarke couldn't help but marvel at the overwhelming life within the garden. Trees stretched high with vibrant leaves, flowers of every imaginable color and size bloomed in harmony, and lush ferns carpeted the ground, their edges glowing as if kissed by frost. It was a magical haven—an oasis of life within a frozen wasteland.
Turning her head to take in more of the surreal garden, Clarke froze mid-step. Her breath caught in her throat, and an involuntary chill spread through her body as her gaze had landed on Gillian Cross— The Last Winter.
"I know I'm handsome, lady knight," his deep, amused voice broke the silence, "but staring like that will only get you into trouble."
Before Clarke could process his words, a searing sting flared in her eyes, forcing her to blink and rub them furiously. "My apologies, sir. I didn't mean to offend you," she stammered, her voice strained. "And... thank you for the reminder."
"Never look too long at the aura of a True Ascended," he said casually, his tone almost mocking. "As tempting as it may be."
Standing amidst the towering flora, Gillian Cross commanded the space as effortlessly as the frozen winds beyond the castle. His presence was overwhelming. Broad-shouldered and barrel-chested, his physique radiated raw power. A simple white tunic stretched over his muscular frame, while his dark blue trousers hinted at legs that could crush stone.
His glowing, pupil-less eyes shone like icy glaciers, pale blue and vast, as though they contained the frozen essence of the north. His snow-white hair was neatly tied back, matching the thick, immaculate white beard framing his stern face. Yet, it wasn't his appearance alone that held her spellbound—it was his aura.
A colossal wave of water mana enveloped him, crashing and swirling with relentless intensity. It wasn't merely overwhelming; it was suffocating, like standing before a boundless frozen ocean ready to drown the world. His very being exuded a cold, unyielding power that made it impossible to look at him without feeling insignificant.
"Father, we need to speak about something," Judith interrupted, her voice steady but edged with urgency.
He waved her off, his attention locked onto Clarke. He approached with a slow, deliberate gait, his pale eyes slowly wandering over her body. "Later. First, introduce me properly to our guest. And... where is my grandson? Why didn't you bring him with you?" His tone was almost absent, as though the question held no weight.
"Sir—lord—sire—" Clarke stammered, her face pale as she avoided looking at him. "I think you should listen to her."
"There will be time for that later," he said, his voice calm yet commanding, "but first, I would like to—"
Interrupting the Legend Knight, Marcus's firm, unyielding words sliced through the air like a blade, "Percy is dead."
The silence that followed was deafening. Clarke barely registered the words before her legs gave way, 'I can't...!' Her consciousness slipping as she collapsed.
In an instant, the garden transformed. Every tree, every flower, every blade of grass froze solid, encased in glowing ice.
The only ones untouched by the sudden frost were Judith, Marcus, and the unconscious Clarke.
Slowly, Gillian turned to Marcus. His eyes burned with the same icy glow as the sharp spears of ice now circling Marcus's neck. His voice dropped, carrying the weight of an avalanche. "What about my grandson?"