The carriage door closed with a solid thud. With a lurch, the grand vehicle began to move, pulling away from the palace and the figures of our father and Belmira, who stood watching until we were out of sight. I looked back—not with sadness or longing, but with the cool, analytical interest of a scholar embarking on a new and unpredictable field of study.

The Serathin awaited. I was curious to see what these so-called "proud nobles" were made of.

chapter nine 

NADIEL’S POINT OF VIEW

The hour-long journey from the palace was a smooth rumble over the capital's perfectly laid cobblestone. We were heading toward the city's testament to magical engineering and raw power—the capital’s most impressive feat of magical engineering: the Grand Nexus Port.

It functioned, for all intents and purposes, like a fantasy-Middleville airport, though it housed no flying machines. Instead, it was a massive, open-air marble plaza dominated by a single, breathtaking structure—a hub of transit and farewells—but its methods were far more elegant. The air here thrummed with a constant, low-level hum of contained energy. Commoners and merchants bustled about the open-air plaza, their voices echoing as they awaited their scheduled departures, while officials in crisp uniforms directed the flow of traffic.

At the plaza's center, dominating the skyline, stood the Aethelgard Arch. It was a colossal ring of polished obsidian and gleaming, mana-infused silver, at least fifty meters in height. Its surface was a dizzying, seamless tapestry of interwoven runes and geometric magic circles that pulsed with a soft blue light. This was the kingdom's gateway to distant lands—a marvel of magic craft. It operated on a principle I found both clever and inefficient: it formed a stable, instantaneous link with another Arch at a registered destination, but only once the receiving mages accepted the connection and synchronized their own mana matrix.

Upon our arrival, a contingent of port mages in formal blue and silver robes hurried to greet the royal procession. Master Corrin dismounted his horse, his stern presence alone commanding silence from the onlookers. He spoke briefly with the head mage—a man whose weary eyes and faint tremor betrayed the immense concentration required to manage such a powerful artifact. After a curt nod from Corrin, the head mage relayed the order.

A dozen mages took their positions around the Aethelgard Arch. They raised their hands in unison, mana circles appearing on their palms as they signaled the Arch. The runes on the obsidian ring flared to life, the ambient hum rising to a powerful thrum. The empty space within the circle began to shimmer, then swirl like a liquid mirror, coalescing into a mesmerizing vortex of silver and blue light that distorted the air around it. With our escort of twenty knights—ten in front, ten behind—and Corrin leading the way, our carriage rolled forward into the glowing portal.

The transition was instantaneous—jarring and brutal on the senses. One moment, we were bathed in the familiar, golden warmth of sunlight in the capital. The next, we were plunged into its complete opposite. A piercingly cold air flooded the carriage, carrying the sharp, clean scent of ancient pines and deep frost. Outside the windows, the sky was a canvas of heavy, bruised-grey clouds. A thin, pristine layer of fresh snow blanketed the ground, muffling the sound of our horses' hooves and swallowing the light. It was a world drained of warmth and color.

The shift was so abrupt that it stole the breath from my sisters. It was Riva, however, who surprisingly turned to me, a bright, almost feverish smile on her face—an expression so alien on her usually timid features that it put me on edge. This was a new variable. The quiet, reclusive Riva was a known quantity, easily dismissed. This cheerful, knowledgeable version was unpredictable. A potential asset—or a new kind of annoyance? I would have to observe.

"What's mak—?”

I didn't even finish the question before the words spilled out of her, a dam of silence breaking. "Finally! I know you've been curious about the big magic gate, right? Right?"

Runo, sitting beside me, slapped a hand over her face with a dramatic groan. "Nad, you just had to ask."

I watched, fascinated, as the quiet, reclusive Riva transformed. It was as if leaving the capital had unlocked a part of her I never knew existed.

"The Aethelgard Arch is a marvel of magic craft!" she began, her eyes sparkling. "It’s built with ancient spells for stability, thousands of focusing runes, and a core magic circle that handles the spatial displacement. The mages don't create the portal; they just guide and power the Arch that does the work. Even commoners can use them, but they have to gather for a scheduled destination and pay a fee—just like a ferry. There are two kinds: local, for travel within the kingdom to any city with its own Arch, and international, for travel outside Viradom—though that requires a lot more power and diplomatic clearance."

She finished her lecture with a proud little puff of her chest. "Isn't that impressive?"

My face, however, had unknowingly settled into a look of profound unimpressiveness. Impressive? I thought. These humans require a massive, costly material structure just to tear a hole in space? I could manifest a stable portal in thin air in my former life. This is merely clever construction, not true mastery of spatial magic. But of course, that was not something I could say to her.

I forced my expression to shift into one of feigned awe. "Oh, I am impressed. What they did is very impressive."

"I know, right?" she replied, beaming.

As if on cue, the carriage stopped. A new set of mages, these ones clad in thick, wolf-fur-lined robes over their uniforms, came to offer their greetings. Everyone here, from the guards to the officials, wore heavy attire designed to suppress the intense, bone-deep cold of the North. The chill was beginning to seep past my fine clothes and into my bones now. Winter in the palace was cold, but my maids and Aunt Belmira always ensured my chambers were warmed with heat-emitting runes. This was a far more aggressive cold—an active presence that sought to leech the life from you. My small body began to shiver involuntarily.

My mother noticed, her warm gaze softening with concern. "Nadiel, why don't you try circulating your mana? It will warm you from the inside."

The statement, though kind, struck me with the force of a physical blow. I, the former peak of all magical knowledge, being reminded of the most obvious application of mana control. How much lower could my situation get?

Theria, naturally, had to make things worse, her voice laced with venomous satisfaction. "Wow. The so-called genius is being told how to get rid of the cold."

I gave her a single, indifferent look, willing myself not to react—a silent dismissal that I knew infuriated her more than any retort.

"Stop it, you two," our mother interrupted, her voice gentle but edged with steel. "I know you don't get along, but please, both of you need to be careful with how you behave in the Serathin hold."

Theria looked away with a dismissive, "Whatever."

The queen sighed, the sound heavy with a familiar weariness. "Riva, why don't you tell Nadiel a few things about the Serathins?"

Theria and Runo looked at their mother in unison. "Moooom?" they groaned, but the queen simply kept a straight, smiling face.

Riva, however, looked delighted at the opportunity; she was sparked back to life. "House Serathin is one of the five highest-ranked noble families in Viradom!"

She began while I wondered—this sudden, uncharacteristic chattiness was perplexing. What is it about the palace that made her feel different?

"They reign over the frost-bound North. They are known for their unbreakable warriors and ironclad loyalty towards the royals.”

Runo quickly grunted, “Yeah, right. People only say that because the first Serathin was the first king's best friend and sworn brother!”

Riva only paused a moment after the grunt, shooting her a disapproving glance before continuing. “House Serathin stands as the bulwark of Viradom’s northern frontier. It has two famed physical features they are known for: gleaming silver hair like Mom and us, and also—more importantly—MANA SIGHT. Not like yours, though; theirs are eyes of vivid azure.”

“Most true-born Serathins inherit one or both of our signatures: silver hair that shimmers like moonlit ice, and MANA SIGHT that manifests as vivid, azure-blue eyes. The MANA SIGHT gives them an enormous boost in their already impressive magical talents,” my mother added softly, tucking a strand of her own gleaming silver hair behind her ear.

"They're also masters of frost magic," Theria chimed in, unable to resist speaking on a topic of martial prowess. "Their mages use Frost Art to weave blizzards. Their swordsmen use the Hailbrand sword art, and their combatants specialize in Permafrost combat art—a brutal grappling style. They are the kingdom's unchallenged masters of cold and strategy." She said it with a grudging respect, the combatant in her unable to deny their skill.

“That’s why they're so strict about marriage," Riva continued, her voice dropping slightly. "To preserve the traits, any heir who displays them—especially the eyes—must wed within the extended family circle. For one and only purpose: keeping the MANA SIGHT concentrated in their bloodline."

The carriage stopped, its door aligning perfectly with a long red carpet. On either side, two lines of knights in polished silver and blue armor stood at attention. As we disembarked one by one, they raised their swords in a silent, formal salute. At the end of the carpet, three figures stood waiting. All three possessed the piercing azure eyes of House Serathin that Riva spoke of, but only two had the silver hair—the woman on his right had black hair.

The man in the center was tall and powerfully built, with the same shimmering silver hair as my mother, cut short and swept back from his high forehead. His eyes were a piercing azure blue, sharp and intelligent. The woman on his left had an aristocratic severity, her silver hair coiled in an intricate, icy braid, her gaze as sharp and cold as the icicles clinging to the eaves. The woman on his right was different—quieter, her beauty more subdued, substituting the missing silver hair with black. Her azure gaze was more measured as she took everything in with an unnerving stillness.

As we stopped before them, the three figures bowed their heads.

“We welcome you to the Serathin hold, Your Royal Highnesses,” the man said, his voice a warm, deep baritone.

My mother, who was closest to him, stepped forward and gently took his arms to raise him up. “Come on, Boo. This is hardly a public setting,” she chided playfully.

He straightened, a teasing glint in his azure eyes. “Well, I can’t help it when you look so majestically stunning.” They shared a warm, familiar hug. After releasing her, my mother moved to greet the two women.

“Relina. Elara,” my mother said with a nod. “It is good to see you both well.”

“Ardelyn,” Relina—the one with silver hair—replied stiffly. “You look... healthy.”

Elara simply offered a cool, polite smile and a slight inclination of her head.

While that stilted exchange occurred, Runo dashed past them and launched herself into a surprise hug from behind the man. “Uncle Boo!”

He turned, catching her with a laugh. “Hey, Runo! Is it just me, or have you grown taller?” he asked, ruffling her hair.

“What can I say, Uncle Boo? Aunt Bel makes sure I eat all my food,” she chirped.

“Yeah, I can see that,” he said, smiling. He then looked to his left, where Theria stood awkwardly. “Hello, Theria.”

“Hi, Uncle Boo,” she mumbled, not quite meeting his eyes. He then turned to his right as Riva approached and gave him a gentle hug. “Uncle Boo.”

“For goodness’ sake, what is Belmira feeding you all?” he joked. “Riva, you’re just as tall as Runo now!” Riva let out a rare, genuine laugh.

Suddenly, the playful atmosphere vanished. Boorogle, Relina, and Elara all looked past the twins, their gazes locking onto me. In unison, their azure eyes began to glow, their MANA SIGHT activating as they scrutinized me without a shred of subtlety.

Boorogle then walked past Runo and came to a stop directly in front of me. The air grew still. He knelt, bringing his face level with mine, his powerful frame eclipsing the grey sky. A heavy hand settled on my left shoulder.

“Hello, you must be Nadiel. I'm Boorogle, but you can call me Uncle Boo. I'm the current patriarch of the Serathin family, and I would like to welcome you to the Serathin hold.”

His voice was a warm baritone, but his glowing eyes were a cold, analytical fire, dissecting me layer by layer. The pressure of his MANA SIGHT felt like a physical weight—an intrusion I had not felt since my weakest days as a whelpling. My ancient pride, dormant and simmering, began to boil.

My face remained impassive, showing indifference to his welcome. Then I spoke.

“I have heard a lot about the Serathins,” my voice dangerously calm, cutting through the frosty air, “but to think this is how they welcome a guest—especially one who is royalty.” I let my gaze sweep over the three of them, a silent indictment. “The Serathins’ bravery is quite laudable.”

The tension snapped taut. Theria gasped softly. Runo’s playful demeanor vanished, replaced by wide-eyed shock. Behind me, I felt Corrin’s and Veronica’s posture stiffen.

“Nadiel!!!” my mother's voice cracked through the silence. She was still near the patriarch’s wives at the end of the carpet, trying to halt the confrontation, but Boorogle raised his left hand slightly—a gesture of absolute command that silenced her without a word.

His smile remained, but it no longer reached his eyes.

“Is there something we did wrong to warrant this absurd claim of yours, Nadiel?”

“Since coming through that gate,” I began, my voice level and devoid of emotion, “I have been the target of invasive gazes from your people. It is annoying. It is insulting. And now, you and those two women do the same—right in front of me.” I met his glowing azure eyes with my own. “Tell me, Uncle Boo. Does possessing MANA SIGHT give you the right to probe whomever you wish? Especially someone like me—a…”
My anger nearly made my tongue slip, a flash of ultimate fury threatening to reveal everything.
Too close.
“…a guest in your home?” I finished smoothly.

Boorogle’s smile finally tightened. “Nadiel, you’re right. What we did in front of you was definitely something we shouldn't have done, and for that, I apologize.” He stood, put a small space between us, and gave a shallow, formal bow.

Relina bristled with indignation. “My lord, you don’t have to apologize for some silly claim by a child!”

“No, Relina. I believe he’s right. We are in the wrong,” Boorogle said firmly. He straightened and stepped closer, looking down at me, the playful mask gone, replaced by the cold authority of a Northern lord.