By the time the royal investigators reached Elarion proper, the snow had already buried half the lower roads again.

Workers moved through it anyway.

Some carried timber over their shoulders while others dragged sledges filled with coal toward the furnace district further west. A pair of blacksmith apprentices argued loudly near the storage yard about whose fault yesterday’s cracked mold had been while nearby guards warmed their hands beside iron braziers between patrol rotations.

Life.

Messy, loud, imperfect but nonetheless life.

Not the atmosphere Seraphin Vale had expected from an exile territory.

The royal carriage rolled slowly through the outer gate while the investigator watched the settlement through frosted glass.

Children ran between buildings despite the cold until their mother shouted at them to get back inside before they froze to death. Somewhere nearby someone was cooking stew strong enough that even through the winter air the scent reached the road.

People looked tired here.

But not hopeless.

That alone bothered him.

Beside him, the younger investigator finally muttered what both of them were thinking.

"This place shouldn’t exist like this."

Seraphin didn’t answer immediately.

Because he agreed.

Lucien Valcroix had arrived here half-dead with limited escorts, minimal funding, and a ruined reputation.

This territory should have remained a frozen grave waiting for collapse.

Instead—

Smoke rose from active furnaces.

Trade wagons stood near the market road.

Fresh repairs reinforced the walls.

The north was harsh enough that growth itself became suspicious.

The carriage eventually stopped in front of the administrative hall where several knights waited beneath torchlight. Snow gathered over their shoulders and cloaks while servants hurried down the steps carrying heated lanterns.

A man stepped forward from the entrance.

Tall. Dark-haired. Well dressed without looking extravagant.

Lucas Marcus.

Seraphin recognized him from the records immediately.

Former administrative talent from southern territories. Efficient. Educated. Quiet reputation.

Interesting person for an exiled noble to recruit.

Lucas bowed politely once the investigators stepped down from the carriage.

"Welcome to Elarion."

His voice carried calm professionalism, though Seraphin noticed the faint exhaustion beneath it.

The kind earned through sleepless weeks.

"Lucas Marcus," Seraphin greeted.

A flicker of surprise crossed the administrator’s face before disappearing just as quickly.

"You know me."

"I prefer preparation before traveling."

That earned the faintest hint of a smile.

Reasonable response.

The younger investigator glanced toward the fortress behind them while snow continued drifting across the courtyard.

"We were informed Lord Lucien is still recovering."

Lucas nodded.

"The awakening backlash damaged him severely."

Not difficult to believe.

Seraphin had seen the medical reports himself. Mana poisoning combined with awakening collapse could destroy people permanently.

Still—

Something about this territory didn’t match a bedridden lord.

Lucas stepped aside afterward.

"You’ve traveled far. Come inside before the weather kills everyone involved."

That sounded less like noble etiquette and more like genuine northern practicality.

Seraphin respected it slightly.

Inside, warmth hit almost immediately.

The main administrative chamber wasn’t luxurious, but it was active. Maps covered one wall entirely while stacks of reports, supply manifests, and trade ledgers occupied nearly every table in sight.

A young clerk nearly collided with one of the servants while carrying documents.

"Sorry!"

"No, you’re blind, that’s the problem."

"Move then!"

Lucas pinched the bridge of his nose tiredly.

"Every day," he muttered under his breath.

The investigators were eventually seated near the central hearth while heated wine was brought forward. One of the escorts looked moments away from crying in relief after escaping the cold.

Seraphin accepted the drink before glancing around the room again.

Nothing here looked staged.

That was what unsettled him most.

Messy paperwork.

Half-finished logistics reports.

Mud near the entrance from constant traffic.

This wasn’t the polished performance of nobles trying to impress the crown.

It looked real.

Lucas finally sat across from them after dismissing several servants.

"So," he said while leaning back slightly, "how bad are the rumors down south now?"

The younger investigator blinked.

"That direct?"

Lucas gave a tired shrug.

"We’re isolated, not stupid."

Fair enough.

Seraphin placed a few documents onto the table.

"Merchant reports mention unusual activity here."

"Mm."

"Industrial smoke."

"We have furnaces."

"Explosions."

Lucas paused.

Then sighed.

"That one was Gandalf."

The younger investigator frowned.

"...What?"

"The mage."

Lucas took a sip from his own drink.

"He nearly blew apart an entire workshop experimenting with heating pressure."

From somewhere deeper in the fortress, faint shouting suddenly echoed.

"I SAID THAT WAS TOO MUCH POWDER!"

Another voice shouted back.

"THEORY REQUIRES SACRIFICE!"

Silence followed.

Then someone yelled:

"WHY IS THE WALL BURNING?!"

Lucas closed his eyes briefly.

"...See?"

The younger investigator looked genuinely startled.

Seraphin, meanwhile, simply stared at Lucas for several seconds.

Either this man was an extraordinary liar—

Or the north had become absurd.

Lucas rubbed his forehead afterward.

"You can investigate the burned workshop tomorrow if you want. We still haven’t repaired part of the ceiling."

Again—

Too natural.

Too unguarded.

Seraphin shifted direction carefully.

"Why expand near the Elarion ruins?"

That finally caused a small pause.

Not fear.

Thought.

Lucas looked toward the fire for a moment before answering.

"Because there isn’t enough space around the fortress."

"Enough for what?"

A faint smile touched the administrator’s face.

"Survival."

The room quieted slightly after that.

Lucas continued more slowly this time.

"When Lord Lucien arrived here, the territory barely functioned. Food stores were low. Half the outer defenses were rotting. Winter beasts kept attacking supply routes."

Another pause.

"The ruins had space, stone foundations, and access to old underground storage chambers."

Reasonable.

Painfully reasonable.

The younger investigator frowned slightly though.

"Most people avoid ancient ruins."

Lucas laughed softly at that.

"Most people also avoid freezing to death."

That earned reluctant amusement even from one of the royal escorts nearby.

Seraphin watched Lucas carefully again.

No arrogance.

No polished noble act.

Just a tired administrator trying to hold together a growing frontier territory.

Which somehow made this harder.

Because deception wrapped inside competence often looked exactly like honesty.

The investigator eventually asked the question that mattered most.

"How involved is Lord Lucien in all this?"

Lucas’s expression changed slightly then.

Not dramatic.

Just quieter.

"My Lord built this territory back from nothing."

The answer came without hesitation.

Seraphin noticed that immediately.

Loyalty.

Real loyalty that goes beyond normal relationship.

Interesting.

The younger investigator leaned forward slightly.

"The records from the capital describe Lucien Valcroix very differently."

Lucas looked at him for a moment.

Then smiled faintly.

"The capital never came this far in north either."

Silence settled over the room again.

Outside, the storm winds howled against the fortress walls while somewhere deeper in the settlement a hammer kept ringing rhythmically through the night.

Life.

Work.

Growth.

None of it fit the image of a ruined exile.

And Seraphin hated mysteries that refused to fit properly.

"What about the rumours" seraphin asked

"About the dragon"

Even Gandalf nearly lost concentration briefly hearing that.

Malen closed his eyes slowly.

Lucien simply stared at the projection silently.

Lucas remained impressively composed externally.

Though just barely.

"I assume frontier rumors exaggerate greatly."

The younger investigator laughed faintly afterward.

"We assumed the same."

Seraphin, however—

" several witness accounts remain unusually consistent."

Lucas spread his hands lightly.

"This is the north, Investigator."

Another pause.

"Snowstorms distort distance. Fear distorts memory."

Reasonable.

Convincing even.

And then—

A distant roar rolled through the mountains.

Deep.

Ancient.

Powerful enough that the windows trembled slightly.

Every conversation inside the chamber stopped instantly.

The younger investigator slowly lowered his cup.

"...Tell me that was the wind."

Lucas didn’t answer immediately.

Which was answer enough.

Far above the fortress, hidden beyond the snow clouds and moonlit storm—

Aurethar giggled at his prank while circling the valley skies.

And deep inside the upper fortress levels, Lucien realized the dragon was becoming impossible to hide.