“Oh…”
Lyra pulled her hand back, a little disappointed, and glanced at the griffin again, as if to confirm it really wasn’t moving.
Freya walked over.
“Come on, I’ll take you to see the stables.”
“Stables? Are there horses?”
“Yes. Grandfather keeps a few northern horses. They have long manes and aren’t afraid of the cold.”
Lyra’s eyes lit up instantly. She bounced along behind Freya.
The stables were in the backyard, large and spotlessly clean.
Several tall northern horses stood inside, their manes thick, lazily eating hay.
When they saw someone coming, they raised their heads and snorted.
Lyra stood at the stable entrance, stunned.
“They’re huge…”
“Scared?”
“No!”
With that, Lyra took a step forward.
The nearest horse lowered its head, huffed warm air, and nudged her face with its nose.
She froze for a moment, then grinned, reaching out to stroke the horse’s forehead.
“It’s so gentle.”
Freya stood nearby, watching Lyra interact with the horse. The animal seemed to like her, resting its head on her shoulder and rubbing against her.
Lyra giggled as the rubbing tickled her.
“Boss, what’s its name?”
“No name. Grandfather calls it ‘Number Three.’”
Lyra’s smile stiffened. “Number Three? A horse this beautiful, and you call it Number Three?”
“Grandfather is casual with names.”
“Then I’ll give it one!” Lyra tilted her head, thinking.
“Let’s call it… Big Fur! Because it has so much fur!”
Freya was silent for a moment.
“…Suit yourself.”
Lyra patted Big Fur’s head, satisfied.
“From now on, you’re Big Fur! I’ll come visit you often!”
Big Fur snorted, as if it understood.
Coming out of the stables, the sky had darkened.
Grandfather sent someone to call them for dinner.
The meal was even more lavish than the day before—probably because the cook heard the young lady was home and pulled out all the stops.
Lyra ate with her usual gusto, Grandfather piled food on her plate as usual, and Freya quietly ate what was in front of her as usual.
After dinner, Grandfather called Freya to the study.
The study was huge. Three walls were lined floor-to-ceiling with bookshelves stuffed full of books.
As a child, Freya had loved spending time here, pulling out any book at random and reading for an entire day.
Grandfather sat in an armchair by the fireplace and gestured for her to sit across from him.
“About the Holy Sword,” he said, getting straight to the point.
“What do you plan to do?”
Freya was silent for a moment.
“I don’t know.”
The Old Duke looked at her, his pale violet eyes, so similar to hers, swirling with complex emotions.
“Freya, do you know why your mother married your father?”
Freya looked up.
“Not for love. Because the family needed it.”
The Old Duke’s voice was very soft.
“At that time, the Northern Frontier was unstable. The Castor family needed us. Your mother didn’t want to, but she still married him.”
Freya lowered her head.
“Are you telling me that some things are beyond our control?”
“I’m telling you that no matter what choice you make, Grandfather will support you.” The Old Duke’s voice grew a little hoarse.
“Your mother didn’t have a choice back then. You do.”
Freya looked up at her grandfather’s aged, wrinkled face. His eyes were red.
“I don’t want to be some kind of Decider,” she said softly.
“And I don’t want to choose any Bearer of the Holy Sword.”
“Then don’t. Don’t choose.”
“But the Evil God—”
“The Evil God is not something that can only be solved with the Holy Sword.”
The Old Duke cut her off.
“Even without the Holy Sword, even without a Bearer, we can still find a way. The Northern Frontier has the best warriors, the strongest fortresses, the most powerful mages.”
He paused.
“Your grandfather isn’t too old to fight yet.”
Freya looked at her grandfather, at those pale violet eyes burning with light.
Suddenly she remembered when she was little, how he used to carry her on his shoulders and walk through the snow.
“Little girl, look, those are the Northern Mountains. Behind that mountain is our home.”
She had never been afraid of anything, because Grandfather said that no matter what happened, home was always there.
“Grandfather.” Her voice was a little choked.
“Mm.”
“Thank you.”
The Old Duke looked at her, then reached out and gently patted her shoulder.
“Go get some rest. What do you want to eat tomorrow? I’ll tell the cook.”
“Lyra wants to eat grilled meat.”
“Then grilled meat it is.” The Old Duke smiled, a smile both aged and warm.
“That girl, she eats just as much as your mother did when she was little.”
Freya stood up and paused at the door. “Grandfather.”
“Mm.”
“Do you think my mother ever regretted it?”
The Old Duke was silent for a long time.
“She never regretted marrying your father. She only regretted not seeing some people clearly sooner.”
He paused again.
“So, little girl, no matter what decision you make, make sure you see those people clearly.”
Freya stood there, silent for a long time.
“I understand.”
She pushed open the door and walked out.
In the hallway, Lyra was squatting by the wall, staring wide-eyed at a cat that had appeared from nowhere.
The cat was orange and fat as a fur ball, squinting at Lyra.
Lyra reached out to pet it, but the cat meowed and jumped away.
“Boss, this cat won’t let me touch it.” Lyra looked up, a pitiful expression on her face.
“That’s Grandfather’s cat. It doesn’t like strangers.”
“If I stay a few more days, will it like me?”
“Maybe.”
Lyra stood up and brushed the dust off her skirt.
“Boss, what did Grandfather say to you?”
“Nothing much.”
“Then why are your eyes red?”
Freya was silent for a moment.
“The wind.”
Lyra blinked and didn’t press further.
She walked over and hugged Freya’s arm.
“Boss, no matter what happens, I’ll be with you.”
Freya looked down at her, at those bright red eyes, at that face full of sincerity.
She reached out and gently rubbed that fluffy head.
“Mm.”
Outside the window, the moon peeked out from behind the clouds, bathing the entire hallway in silver light.
In the distance, the orange cat sat on the windowsill, squinting and licking its paw.
That night, Freya dreamed of the Holy Sword again.
It floated before her, its golden light pulsing on and off, as if breathing.
She reached out to touch it, but her fingers passed through the light and touched nothing.
“You’re not here for me,” she said softly.
The Holy Sword’s light flickered, as if in response.
Then it turned and flew into the distance, farther and farther, until it became a tiny star and vanished into the darkness.
Freya stood there, watching the fading light.
She didn’t know where it was flying, or who would catch it.
But she knew that some things couldn’t be solved by running away.
She opened her eyes.
Outside, dawn had not yet broken. Moonlight streamed in coldly.
She turned her head. On the floor mat, Lyra was fast asleep, her silver-white hair splayed across the pillow, a faint smile on her lips.
Freya watched for a long time, then closed her eyes.
The next day, the cook made grilled meat.
Lyra ate three large plates, so full she lay on her chair unable to move.
“Boss, I can’t eat anymore…”
“Then stop.”
“But there’s still half a plate left…”
Freya looked at her conflicted expression and the corner of her mouth lifted slightly.
“Save it for tonight.”
Lyra nodded, contentedly patting her stomach.
Grandfather sat at the head of the table, watching them, a rare smile appearing on his aged face.
Sunlight streamed in through the window, falling on the table, on the empty plates, on Lyra’s silly smiling face.
Freya watched it all and suddenly felt that days like this weren’t so bad.
No Holy Sword, no Evil God, no messy plots and schemes.
Just grilled meat, just sunlight, just this silly little sidekick beside her.
She picked up her teacup and took a sip.
The tea had gone cold, but she didn’t feel cold.
In the distance, a few white clouds drifted lazily across the sky.
If only every day could be like this.
She knew it wouldn’t, but at least for this moment, she could pretend.
She set down her cup.
“Lyra.”
“Mm?”
“I’ll teach you a new Shadow Magic technique this afternoon.”
Lyra’s eyes lit up instantly.
“Yes!”
She jumped up from her chair, full of energy now, despite claiming she couldn’t move a moment ago.
“I’ll go get ready! Boss, wait for me!”
She ran out, her footsteps fading away.
Freya sat there, looking at the doorway, the curve on her lips lingering for a long time.
Grandfather looked at her, a hint of relief on his aged face.
“Little girl, you’ve changed.”
Freya turned her head.
“Changed how?”
“You smile now.”
Grandfather stood up, walked over to her, and patted her shoulder. “That’s better than before.”
He walked out. Only Freya remained in the dining room.
She sat there, her fingers lightly touching the corner of her mouth—where the curve still lingered.
She had smiled indeed.
Outside, the sunlight was just right.
On the open ground in the distance, Lyra was warming up, her silver-white hair sparkling in the sunlight.
Freya stood up and walked toward the door.
This afternoon, she would teach her a new Shadow Magic technique.
At night, she would finish the remaining half-plate of grilled meat.
Days passed one after another like this.
As for the Holy Sword, as for the Evil God, as for all those annoying things—she would worry about them tomorrow.
Freya received the summons in her grandfather’s study.
The sunlight was good that day.
She sat by the window, flipping through an ancient magic tome she had pulled at random from the shelf, while Lyra lay on the floor in a standoff with the orange cat.
She’d been back for several days already, but the cat still wouldn’t let her touch it.
Hurried footsteps sounded from outside the door. The old butler pushed it open, his expression grim.
“My lady, someone from the palace has arrived.”
Freya put down the book, stood up, and walked to the window to look down.
A black carriage was parked at the front gate, its side bearing the golden crest of the Castor family.
Beside the carriage stood a middle-aged man in a deep gray robe, his hair combed meticulously, his posture straight as a ruler—Raymond, the Chief Attendant of the Imperial Family.
She turned and walked toward the door.
Lyra scrambled up from the floor, dusting off her skirt.
“Boss, I’ll come with you.”
Freya didn’t refuse.
Raymond stood at the entrance. When he saw Freya emerge, he gave a slight bow.