After placing a special seal on the confidential letter and carefully applying the wax to secure it, Viscount Andrew exhaled slowly, reviewing the content to ensure no details were missed. Everything they'd discussed was there, and he was confident it was written in a way that would make any reader believe he had truly witnessed "that event" firsthand.
Now, all that remained was to see if the distant king would choose to accept the letter's contents as fact. Or, more precisely, if he would acknowledge the truth of the matter.
This was a risky move, but Andrew was not one to shy away from a gamble; after all, had he not taken risks, he never would have emerged as the Leslie family heir from among seven siblings. The only unexpected twist was that this latest venture would entwine his fate with that of the declining Cecil family—a family that, a century prior, had fallen from the center of power, now nearly extinct, with hardly any heirs left to carry on its name.
Andrew had long kept a close watch on his "neighbor," not only because of the adjacency of their lands and their regular trade but also because of the Cecil family's accelerating decline in recent years. At the current pace, he might even have hoped to double Leslie's estate within his lifetime. That young girl who had hastily inherited her family's responsibilities was no proper lord, despite her efforts—she simply couldn't retain the family's dwindling holdings.
Then fate played an unexpected hand, in a way no one could have foreseen. First, the news of monsters destroying Cecil territory had left Andrew stunned. Then, hearing the creatures resembled those recorded in history as "magi-chaos beasts" left him in disbelief. When merchants reported sightings of a dragon near the area, he was equally baffled. But when Rebecca Cecil and Hetty Cecil arrived at his castle with a man they claimed was their ancient ancestor…
At that point, Andrew managed to remain outwardly calm only because he had grown accustomed to shock.
Yet, once his conversation with the "ancestor" concluded, and he returned to his quarters, he felt he'd made the right decision. A dying noble line and a land reduced to ashes had no value, and there was no more water to be squeezed from such a rock. Instead of squeezing blood from a stone, it was better to become a generous ally.
The presence of the "ancestor" was also pivotal. Andrew was now almost entirely convinced of the authenticity of this strange revival. A Cecil lineage with its ancient founder was a vastly different entity from one without.
He placed the letter in a silver cylinder and wound a string of magical thread around it before handing it to his elderly steward. "Give this to our most reliable messenger. He's to travel by griffon and ensure this reaches the White Castle after the first courier has arrived, but before the Cecil family arrives."
The steward accepted the silver container, but as he was about to depart, Andrew added, "Wait. Also, go to the treasury and retrieve the silver and gold that belongs to the Cecils. Return it as it was."
"Yes, Viscount. Should we simply return it, then?"
"Returning it intact will suffice. When they're ready to depart, I'll add a small gesture in the name of travel expenses."
Circumstances had shifted, and what had been his earlier "fees," prompted by a fleeting moment of greed, were now a burden. Returning everything was the first step, but he knew he couldn't make his actions too conspicuous all at once. He hoped the ancient ancestor would understand his goodwill.
The night grew deeper.
Wrapped in his robe, Gawain opened the doors to his balcony and stepped onto the second-floor terrace of the viscount's castle.
The nights in this world lacked a moon. Instead, the sky was a deep expanse filled with stars, far denser than what he'd known on Earth. Each glittering light cast a cold, distant glow over the land, and to Gawain, every star was unfamiliar.
Since arriving in this world, Gawain had found himself often looking skyward, by both day and night. In the daylight, he gazed at the massive, gentle "sun," and at night, he studied the moonless heavens.
His eyes traced the constellations, attempting to spot something unmoving, something unique among the array of stars. But he knew it was a futile search. There were countless stars, and without proper data or calculations, finding his exact vantage point from his former life was impossible. Even if he could identify it, distinguishing it among the expanse of stars would be beyond him.
And yet, he couldn't resist trying. He alone understood that this sky held secrets.
Something was there—a satellite, a space station, or perhaps a ship. It might have gone dormant, but there was no guarantee that nothing else remained active above. He had once been a part of that watchful device. This was the closest conclusion he'd arrived at after days of contemplation. If he hadn't experienced the view from above, he would have had no reason to suspect anything or feel the weight of this knowledge. But he had, and he did.
As a soul with a modern Earthly mindset, he couldn't curb his curiosity—or his anxiety.
What exactly was up there? What influence did it, or they, have on the land below? And would they remain still, content to stay as they were?
If there were creators behind them, what were their motives?
All these questions stirred an unease within him that he couldn't voice. It was like an Earthling learning that an alien ship had been quietly orbiting above them. Even if that ship hadn't moved in eons, its mere presence would make it difficult to feel at ease.
He needed answers before he could truly rest.
Even without that urgency, curiosity alone would not allow him to ignore the heavens.
"You're always looking at the sky—either staring at the sun or watching the stars," a voice suddenly said from behind.
Startled, Gawain turned to see the half-elf thief perched on the railing of the terrace, facing him with a mischievous smile. Her legs swung freely over the edge, showing no hint of worry about the drop below.
He gave her a glance. "Sneaking onto someone's terrace in the dead of night to scare them? Not very polite."
"Night is my domain, full of shadows. I go where I please," Amber replied, her body shifting to blend into the shadows, only to reappear on the opposite side of the terrace. "Besides, you're a grand hero from seven hundred years ago. Are you really spooked by someone talking to you at night?"
Gawain didn't admit he had actually gotten a slight chill earlier…
"So, what exactly are you staring at every day?" Amber changed the subject when she saw he remained silent. "Are you looking at the sun during the day to figure out direction? And at night… are you stargazing? Do you know astrology?"
"What do you think is up there?" Gawain countered.
"The sky? Stars and the sun, obviously," Amber replied without much thought. "Oh, wait… don't tell me you're about to say the gods' palaces are up there and start preaching to me. If so, I'm out—I worship the Goddess of Shadows and Night, Lady Night. Her realm is in the heart of the starless night, completely separate from the sky, you know? All I have to do is close my eyes and pray a little, and my devotion is done!"
"Are you really a devotee of the Goddess of Night?" Gawain looked at her in surprise. He didn't follow any faith himself, but he knew a fair amount about the world's religions from Gawain Cecil's memories. The sheer variety of gods and sects fascinated him—and gave him every reason to steer clear of them. But to find out this cheeky thief actually had a faith?
"I believe in her casually," Amber replied, saying something any pious person would find downright blasphemous. "Lady Night doesn't ask for offerings, doesn't hand out prophecies, and doesn't require regular worship. Doesn't cost a single coin! So why not go with it? Besides, the way of shadows has something to do with Lady Night's power, right? Sometimes I think praying to her actually makes me a little stronger… even if later I find out it's just a drunken delusion."
Gawain rolled his eyes, deciding not to engage with this freewheeling half-elf. She was a disgrace to the elven bloodline, and whatever her other half was, she was an embarrassment to that too.
"Hey, why'd you go quiet again?" Amber persisted, undeterred. "You still haven't told me—what are you looking at?"
Gawain glanced at her. "Have you ever heard that, when a person dies, their soul returns to the sky, drifting among the stars? That each star is actually an ancestor's spirit?"
"Nope! I've only heard that if someone has faith, their soul gets collected by the god they worship and lives it up in the divine realm. And if someone has no faith, their soul goes to the God of Death, where his wife combs all their memories out with an iron comb and tosses them back to the mortal realm. Which is why they say that everyone, whether they know it or not, is ultimately a follower of the God of Death."
Amber babbled on. "But your version is interesting! When people die, they go to the sky? Was that some religion from seven hundred years ago?"
Gawain felt a bit awkward. "No, it's more like—"
"Right! You died once!" Amber's eyes lit up as if she had discovered a treasure. She moved in front of him in a flash, leaning in with excited curiosity. "So, when you died, did you actually go to the sky? What's it like to be dead? Tell me!"
"Get away from me!" Gawain firmly pushed her back. "When people die, they don't know anything—understand? I was just saying stuff to pass the time!"
Amber squinted at him for a long moment, and then, realizing he wasn't going to indulge her, turned away. "Old people are so boring."
Gawain raised his eyebrow. "What did you just say?!"
And with a flash, Amber disappeared.