The Capital of Oland, The Thorne Estate.
The winter in the Capital was nothing like the jagged, killing frost of the North. Here, it was merely a polite chill that required a velvet cloak rather than a fur parka.
In the West Wing of the vast Thorne Estate, the air was warm, heated by a fireplace burning imported Scented Oak.
Duke Valerius Thorne sat in his high-backed leather chair. He was a man carved from granite, with broad shoulders that had borne the weight of the Northern Border for thirty years. But now, his hair was streaked with iron-gray, and his eyes were tired.
On the mahogany desk before him lay a single sheet of parchment.
[Death Certificate: Rian Thorne]
[Status: Presumed Deceased - Absentia]
Next to the parchment sat a small, velvet-lined box.
Inside rested the Aurora Vial.
"My Lord," the Head Steward, distinct in his crisp black uniform, spoke softly from the doorway. "The merchant from the Golden Route insisted on that price. He says the material is Star-Crystal, found only in the deepest ruins of the Glacial Plain."
The Duke didn't answer immediately. He reached out with a calloused hand—a hand used to holding a Greatsword—and picked up the delicate bottle.
It was heavy for its size.
He held it up to the firelight.
The material was terrifyingly clear.
Usually, White Crystal mined by the Dwarves had faint cloudy streaks or tiny fractures. Even the finest Elven Quartz had a slight yellow tint.
But this?
This was invisible. It was solid air.
"Five hundred Gold Coins," the Duke rumbled, his voice deep and gravelly. "For one ounce of liquid and a piece of stone."
"The nobility is in a frenzy, My Lord," the Steward explained, bowing slightly. "Lady Margaret of the Rose Garden offered six hundred, but the Merchant refused. He said this bottle was reserved specifically for the Thorne Estate."
The Duke uncorked the stopper.
The Snowflake Stopper.
He stared at it. It wasn't just a rough shape. It was hexagonal, with tiny, intricate facets that caught the light and split it into rainbows.
Only a master Gem-Cutter with microscopic vision could carve this, the Duke thought. Or a machine.
A scent drifted out of the open bottle.
Frost Violet and Ice Mint.
The Steward, standing ten feet away, twitched his nose.
"By the Gods..." the Steward whispered, forgetting his place. "It smells... cold. But a clean cold. Like the morning air on the High Peaks."
The Duke inhaled.
The scent hit him. It didn't smell like the heavy, cloying rose oils popular in the Capital. It smelled of sharp wind, pine needles, and resilience.
It smelled like the North.
"It smells like him," the Duke whispered, so softly the Steward didn't hear.
The Intruder
The heavy oak doors swung open without a knock.
A young man strode in, bringing a gust of arrogant energy with him. He wore a crimson coat embroidered with gold thread, and a Longsword hung at his hip, glowing faintly with a suppression enchantment.
Cassius Thorne. The Heir.
Behind him walked his mother, Duchess Lydia, draped in emerald silk.
"Father," Cassius said, his voice smooth but edged with impatience. "The Royal Scribe is waiting in the hall. Have you signed the paper yet?"
Cassius walked to the desk. He glanced at the Aurora Vial with disdain, then at the unsigned Death Certificate.
"It has been six months, Valerius," Lydia added, gliding into the room. She placed a hand on the back of the Duke's chair. "The winter storms in the Blackiron Mountains were the worst in fifty years. Even a Knight with Qi protection would freeze. Rian... he had nothing. No core. No supplies."
"He had a brain," the Duke grunted, capping the bottle. The sharp click of the glass stopper on the glass neck echoed in the silent room. "And he had his mother's stubbornness."
"Stubbornness does not stop hypothermia," Cassius sneered. He reached for the bottle. "Is this the famous Star-Crystal everyone is whispering about? I heard Countess Elena fainted from delight when she smelled it."
Cassius snatched the bottle.
He looked at the clarity.
"Hmph. Probably ancient loot found in a dungeon," Cassius dismissed it. "But the Merchant... that is the interesting part."
The Duke looked up sharply. "What about the Merchant?"
"I tried to buy his entire stock," Cassius smiled cruelly. "To corner the market. When he refused, I sent my Guards to... persuade him."
"And?"
"And they were stopped," Cassius's face darkened. "By the Royal Guard."
The Duke froze.
Royal Guard. The King's personal swords.
"Not the King," Lydia corrected, her eyes narrowing. "The Princess. Her Highness, Isabella. Her personal carriage was seen escorting the Merchant's wagon through the South Gate."
The Memory
The name hung in the air like smoke.
Princess Isabella.
The Third Daughter. A genius Mage. Cold, calculating, and notoriously uninterested in trade.
The Duke looked at the Snowflake Stopper.
He closed his eyes.
Three years ago. The Grand Hunt.
He remembered the chaos. The roar of the Mana-Bear. The screams of the nobles.
And he remembered looking across the field to see his youngest son—the "useless" one—standing in the path of the beast, holding a pouch of Flash Powder he had mixed himself.
Rian hadn't used a sword. He had used chemistry to blind the beast, saving the young Princess who had fallen from her horse.
The debt was never spoken of. The Royal Family did not admit weakness.
But now?
"Isabella protects this Merchant," the Duke murmured. "And this Merchant sells a bottle carved with the symbol of the Thorne winters."
He grabbed the Death Certificate.
Rrrrip.
The sound of tearing parchment was loud.
"Father!" Cassius shouted, his composure cracking. "What are you doing? Without that paper, the title of Viscount remains with him! We cannot claim the Northern tax revenue!"
"There is no body," the Duke stood up. He towered over his son.
"And I will not bury a Thorne until I see his bones."
He tossed the torn paper into the fireplace.
The flames licked the edges, curling the name Rian Thorne into ash.
"But Father—" Cassius started.
"Get out," the Duke commanded. His voice was low, vibrating with a trace of his own Battle Aura. The fire in the hearth flared up in response to his emotion.
Lydia grabbed Cassius's arm. Her eyes were venomous, but she knew better than to push the Duke when his Aura was leaking.
"Come, Cassius," she whispered. "Let your father hold onto his ghosts."
The Viper's Plan
Outside the library, in the cold stone corridor.
Lydia dropped her mask of calm. Her face twisted into a snarl.
"The old fool," she hissed. "He thinks the boy is alive."
"If the Princess is involved," Cassius said, his hand gripping the hilt of his sword, "then Rian is not just alive. He is... connected. Money. Influence."
"We cannot let him return," Lydia said. "If he comes back with a fortune in Star-Crystal, the Duke might reinstate him. He might divide the inheritance."
"The North is far," Cassius whispered, looking out the window toward the dark horizon. "The King's law is weak in the wasteland."
"Send the Shadowblades," Lydia ordered. Her voice was devoid of emotion. "Not spies. Assassins. Pay them in Mana Stones. Tell them to find the source of this bottle."
"And when they find Rian... ensure there is a body for your father to bury."
End of Chapter 61