The cold of the North grew harsher as the sun disappeared behind the mountains.
The last rays of light painted the snow-covered peaks gold while long shadows spread across the terraces of the capital.
A thin mist began to descend from the highest levels of the city.
Merchants gathered their goods.
Blacksmiths finished the last work of the day.
Torches were lit along the walls and stone streets, casting orange reflections over the accumulated snow.
The city was changing.
But its discipline remained the same.
Even with night falling, the Northern Kingdom seemed prepared for a war.
But it was also alive.
While part of the city ended its activities, another began to awaken.
The taverns gradually filled.
Laughter escaped from some illuminated windows.
The aroma of hot food spread through the streets as residents returned home after another day of work.
Soldiers changed shifts atop the walls.
Above them, the banner of the white dragon continued to wave beneath the cutting mountain wind.
Children ran across the lower terraces before being called home.
The distant sound of conversations, metalwork, and footsteps blended with the wind descending from the mountains.
Among the crowd, Éreon walked without hurry.
A dark cloak protected his body from the growing cold.
The hood concealed part of his face.
Even so, his steps remained firm.
Precise.
He crossed one of the capital's central squares.
There, the movement was still intense.
Residents returned home.
Groups talked beside the braziers scattered through the square.
Travelers searched for shelter for the night.
At the center of that constant flow of people, one figure remained motionless.
Face hidden beneath the hood.
Eyes turned toward the city.
Lost among the lights beginning to emerge across the capital.
Éreon approached.
Stopped beside him.
For a few seconds, he also watched the movement of the square.
Soon, a faint smile appeared.
"How long has it been, Éon?"
Éon did not answer immediately.
His eyes remained on the square.
A child ran between passersby before being caught by a woman who quickly pulled her by the hand.
The silence stretched for a few moments.
Éreon released a short breath through his nose.
"Did you find anything in the Eastern Viscounty?"
Éon's gaze never left the city.
"I heard rumors about a woman close to Viscount Ardentis."
Éreon remained silent.
The first lights of the capital were beginning to overcome the twilight.
"Someone capable of altering our plans?"
"Perhaps."
The wind crossed the square.
Moving both their cloaks.
Éreon nodded almost imperceptibly.
"Then we'll need to resolve the Eastern Viscounty before this takes root."
After a few seconds, he spoke again.
"Was that all?"
Éon gave a single nod.
"The rest only confirms what we already knew."
Éreon's eyes shifted toward him.
"I didn't remain idle while you were settling accounts in the East either."
Éon remained motionless.
"Unlike what you did in the county..."
A discreet smile appeared on Éreon's face.
"...I didn't need to turn half a brothel into a memory."
No response came.
As always.
"But I dealt with Serena."
The pause was short.
"Before dying, she told me something interesting."
The silence remained between them.
Éreon waited for a question.
It never came.
The smile returned, almost nostalgic.
"There was a time when all I had to do was begin a sentence."
His eyes returned to the city.
"And you would finish it before me."
The memory seemed to pass through him for an instant.
"'I know. Totsuka no Tsurugi.'"
Éon turned his face.
Enough to look at Éreon.
Éreon understood the gesture.
"Phoebrus left a message."
A pause.
"He said he'll be waiting in Zeus' territory."
Éreon's expression became distant.
"Sixteen centuries..."
His eyes were lost among the lights of the capital.
"And he still believes every war needs to begin with a provocation."
The last rays of sunlight slowly disappeared behind the mountains.
For a few moments, only the distant sounds of the city occupied the space between them.
A voice emerged from the crowd.
"Big brother!"
Éreon lifted his eyes.
A girl was crossing the square running toward him.
She carried a small basket of roses pressed against her body.
Her dark brown hair was messy, short enough not to hide her thin face.
Her blue eyes drew attention immediately, far too alive for someone bearing such obvious wounds.
The hem of her dress was patched.
The sleeves were worn.
A yellowish bruise appeared near her left wrist.
Another, subtler one, near her collarbone.
Even so, her smile remained intact.
"Are you buying another rose today?"
Éreon crouched in front of her.
"I'll buy all of them again today."
Her blue eyes immediately lit up.
"You'll need more roses this time."
"Oh really?"
She nodded.
"Six coins."
One of Éreon's brows rose.
"Last time it cost two."
The girl pointed to her own wrist.
"Last time they only caught me near the prayer hall."
Éreon's gaze rose to the small bruise near her collarbone.
"I imagine this time you went a little beyond that."
"I was listening behind the priests' door."
The answer came filled with indignation.
"Brother Leto found me."
"I imagine he didn't like that."
"Not even a little."
She lifted her chin.
"Six coins."
"Four."
"Six."
"Four and one free rose."
"I sell roses."
"Exactly."
She stared at him for a few seconds.
Then crossed her arms.
"Six."
A discreet smile appeared on Éreon's face.
"Fine. Six."
Victory immediately lit up the girl's face.
"Today there's going to be the gathering."
"What gathering?"
"The one that happens when several priests come from other temples."
Her hands moved while she spoke.
"There's going to be prayer, blessing, sermons, and all those boring things they like to do."
Éreon listened without interrupting.
"Will the High Priest be present?"
She shook her head.
"No."
"Who will conduct it?"
"The archbishop."
Éreon remained silent for a few seconds.
He removed six gold coins from beneath the cloak.
The girl's eyes widened.
"You agreed way too fast."
"Don't say that like you're disappointed."
"Maybe I am."
Even so, she immediately pocketed the coins.
"I need to go."
"Curfew waits for no one."
She lifted the basket of roses.
"And Brother Leto even less."
She began to walk away.
Running once more between the residents of the capital.
"Lyra."
She stopped.
Turning immediately.
"Yes?"
A discreet smile appeared on Éreon's face.
"I'll be away for some time without buying your roses."
For an instant she seemed disappointed.
But only for an instant.
Soon, she nodded.
"That's okay."
She raised the basket.
"I'll save the prettiest ones for when you come back."
She ran again.
Gradually disappearing among the residents of the capital.
Éreon watched the small figure move away.
Beside him, Éon did the same.
The silence remained for a few moments.
"Did you feel it?"
Éon's eyes remained on the crowd.
"Yes."
Éreon followed the last moment he could still see the dark hair vanishing among the people.
"She hasn't even turned fifteen yet."
He stood.
"And she's already begun to manifest."
Silence returned.
The wind crossed the square.
Moving both their cloaks.
Éreon began to walk.
"Now that you've arrived..."
His eyes moved toward the lights emerging across the lower levels of the capital.
"We can begin."
Éon did not answer, only followed him.
And night slowly took dominion over the Northern Kingdom.
The two left the square behind.
Walking through stone streets illuminated by rows of torches casting golden reflections over the accumulated snow.
As they advanced through the lower terraces of the capital, the city began to change.
The residences became less numerous.
The taverns more frequent.
The smell of freshly baked bread gave way to the aroma of alcohol, smoke, and spices.
Music escaped through half-open doors.
Laughter echoed through the alleys.
Voices blended with the constant movement of the streets.
Further below, red lanterns began to emerge between the buildings.
One.
Then another.
And another.
Like small embers scattered through the growing darkness.
The Red District was awakening.
Éreon kept the same pace.
Without hurry.
Without hesitation.
Like someone walking toward a meeting that had been destined for a long time.
Beside him, Éon remained silent.
Among the district's establishments, one stood apart from the others.
Three stories.
Dark wood carefully crafted.
Balconies adorned with flowers preserved even beneath the cold of the North.
Above the entrance, a golden sign reflected the lantern light.
Golden Rose.
Éreon lifted his eyes toward the name for a few moments.
Soon, he continued walking.
The doors of the Golden Rose opened before them.
A gust of heated air.
Mixed with the aroma of wine, spices, and soft perfumes.
The contrast against the cold streets was almost violent.
The interior was vast.
Far larger than the facade suggested.
Crystal chandeliers spread golden light across the great main hall.
Musicians played on a raised platform near one of the walls.
Tables spread throughout the hall.
Conversations filled the space.
Men from different social positions mingled beneath the same roof.
Curved staircases led to the upper floors.
Inner balconies surrounded the main hall.
Red lanterns hung from the railings.
Golden flowers decorated the dark wooden pillars.
Two women standing near the entrance intercepted their path.
Their dresses had been made to draw attention.
Light fabrics.
Elegant cuts.
Practiced smiles.
One of them politely raised her hand.
"Excuse me, young sirs."
Her voice was gentle.
But firm.
"I'm afraid you cannot enter."
Éreon stopped.
The woman continued.
"This is not an appropriate place for people your age."
Beside him, Éon remained completely indifferent.
As if he were not even listening.
Éreon's hood concealed part of his face.
For a few moments, he simply observed the woman.
Silently.
He slightly raised his head.
The chandelier light found his eyes.
Purple.
The woman stopped breathing for an instant.
Her heart accelerated for no apparent reason.
She blinked.
Once.
Then again.
Trying to recover her own thoughts.
"I..."
The words disappeared.
Éreon slightly tilted his head.
Polite.
"I understand your concern."
His voice came calm.
"But I assure you I am significantly older than I appear."
The woman opened her mouth.
Closed it again.
Without knowing how to answer.
A faint smile appeared on Éreon's lips.
Small.
Almost amused.
"That's a good thing."
His voice remained calm.
"Though I doubt it makes any difference."
Beneath the dark cloak, purple filaments began to slide between his fingers.
Thin.
Luminous.
Like living threads slithering across his skin.
His hand slowly rose.
Palm turned toward his own face.
His fingers closed slightly.
As though holding something invisible.
His purple eyes remained on the woman.
His hand turned.
A single movement.
Elegant.
Precise.
His palm moved forward.
"Mentis."
The filaments exploded.
Not like a wave.
Nor like lightning.
But like hundreds of translucent threads crossing the hall in every direction.
The conversations ceased.
The laughter died.
The glasses stopped halfway.
The musicians interrupted their movements.
Sound disappeared.
For one instant—
the entire Golden Rose seemed to hold its breath.
Eyes began to acquire a violet glow.
One after another.
As though a single will had crossed every mind present within that building.
The silence became absolute.
The filaments disappeared.
As though they had never existed.
Éreon lowered his hand.
"Better."
Beside him, Éon remained motionless.
Indifferent.
The two resumed walking.
Dozens of violet-glowing eyes followed their passage as they advanced through the interior of the Golden Rose.