Chapter 113: Mother

“Miss Freya, His Majesty requests your presence.”

His gaze landed on Lyra, paused for a moment, but said nothing.

“Now?”

“Now.”

Freya was silent for a moment.

“I’ll change my clothes.”

She turned and walked back into the room.

Lyra followed behind her, her red eyes full of worry.

“Boss, why does the Emperor want to see you? That crybaby isn’t pulling some trick again, is he?”

“I don’t know.”

Freya opened the wardrobe and took out a deep blue long dress.

This was one of her few formal outfits. The last time she wore it was for the Academy’s annual ceremony.

“I’m going with you,” Lyra said again.

“Mm.”

The carriage drove over the hills of the Northern Frontier, through fields, through villages, toward that resplendent Imperial Palace.

Freya leaned against the inner wall of the carriage, her eyes closed.

Lyra sat beside her, clutching that piece of Purple Crystal Stone in her hand—

Ever since awakening her magic, she had kept it with her almost all the time, saying it “helps stabilize the mana.”

The sound of the wheels rolling was monotonous and dull, thumping one after another, like a heartbeat.

“Boss,” Lyra said very softly.

“Mm.”

“Will the Emperor make things difficult for you?”

Freya opened her eyes and looked at Lyra’s red eyes filled with worry.

“No.”

“Why?”

“Because he still needs me.”

Lyra blinked but didn’t ask further.

She looked down at the Purple Crystal Stone in her palm, watching it refract ever-changing light in the sunlight.

“Boss, no matter what happens, I’m on your side.”

Freya looked at her, at that earnest face, at that little wolf fang slightly pursed from nervousness.

“I know.”

The Imperial Palace was as majestic and cold as ever.

The carriage stopped at the entrance of the Main Palace. Raymond led them through the long corridors, past one palace gate after another.

The first time Lyra came, she hadn’t looked carefully. Now she realized just how enormous this palace was—

Every corridor stretched endlessly out of sight, every pillar was carved with intricate patterns, and every lamp was inlaid with gems.

Her eyes didn’t know where to rest.

“Boss, this place is so big…” she whispered.

“Mm.”

“Way bigger than Grandfather’s house.”

“Mm.”

“Don’t people get lost living here?”

Freya paused for a moment.

“They do.”

Lyra wanted to say more, but Raymond stopped.

“We’ve arrived.” He pushed open the heavy oak door.

“Your Majesty, Miss Freya is here.”

The Great Hall was very quiet.

Saelis sat on the throne, his golden hair casting a dim glow in the candlelight.

Deep, dark circles hung under his eyes. He looked a decade older than the last time they met.

Seeing Freya enter, he straightened up, a flicker of complex emotion passing through his red eyes.

“Freya.” His voice was a little hoarse. “Come here.”

Freya stepped forward and stopped at the foot of the steps.

Lyra stood one step behind her, her red eyes warily fixed on the Emperor.

Saelis looked at her, looked for a long time.

“Do you know why I called for you?”

“No.”

“The Seal of the Evil God is about to give out.” The Emperor’s voice was very soft.

“The Theocrat says we have at most another month.”

Freya’s eyelashes trembled slightly.

“The Holy Sword still hasn’t found its master. And you haven’t made your choice.”

The Emperor stood up, walked down from the throne, step by step, until he stood before her.

“Freya, I’m not here to pressure you. I just want to know—what are you waiting for?”

Freya raised her head and looked at him.

At those tired, bloodshot red eyes.

“I’m not waiting,” she said.

“I just don’t want to choose.”

The Emperor’s brow furrowed.

“Don’t want to choose?”

“I don’t believe I’m the one who should make that decision. And I don’t believe that just because a sword happens to stop over someone’s head, that person has the right to decide the fate of an entire continent.”

Silence. The hall was so quiet you could hear the faint crackle of candle flames.

The Emperor looked at her, at those calm, unruffled pale purple eyes.

“You’re very much like your mother,” he said suddenly.

“She was just as stubborn.”

Freya said nothing.

“But Freya, sometimes stubbornness can’t save anyone.”

Saelis turned and walked back to the throne.

“I won’t pressure you. But remember—whoever you choose, I hope that person can carry the responsibility.”

He paused. “And watch out for Irina. There’s something unclean about her.”

Freya was silent for a moment.

“I know.”

The Emperor waved his hand.

“You may withdraw.”

Freya bowed slightly, turned, and walked toward the door. Lyra followed behind her.

When she reached the door, the Emperor’s voice came from behind.

“Freya.”

She stopped.

“Your mother never had a chance to choose.”

The Emperor’s voice was very soft.

“You do. So choose well.”

The door closed behind them.

Freya stood there, gazing at the sunlit window at the end of the corridor, standing for a long time.

“Boss,” Lyra’s voice came from beside her.

Freya snapped back to the present.

“Let’s go.”

They walked out of the Imperial Palace. The sunlight was blinding.

The carriage was still waiting at the entrance. Raymond stood beside it, opening the door for them as they emerged.

The carriage drove out of the palace, heading back the way they came.

Freya leaned against the inner wall of the carriage, her eyes closed.

Lyra sat next to her, clutching the Purple Crystal Stone, her red eyes gazing at the scenery whizzing past the window.

“Boss.”

“Mm.”

“What did the Emperor mean by that last line?”

Freya opened her eyes.

“Which line?”

“The one about your mother never having a chance to choose.” Lyra turned her head. “Who is your mother?”

Freya was silent for a long time.

“A very good person.”

Lyra blinked.

“Then she…”

“She died.” Freya’s voice was very calm.

“Many years ago.”

Lyra opened her mouth, wanting to say something, but found she couldn’t utter a word.

She just reached out and took Freya’s hand.

That hand was a little cold. She wrapped it in both of hers, warming it bit by bit.

“Boss, I’ll always be with you.”

Freya lowered her head, looking at the hands holding hers, looking for a long time. “Mm.”

The carriage continued onward. The sound of the wheels rolling was monotonous and dull, thumping one after another, like a heartbeat.

In the distance, the hills of the Northern Frontier grew hazy in the twilight, and the lights of the estate flickered far away like tiny little stars.

She pushed open the door. Sunlight flooded in, falling on her light purple hair, warm and pleasant.

That night, Freya didn’t come downstairs for dinner.

The cook made her favorite cream of mushroom soup. The Old Steward personally brought it up, then brought it back down untouched.

Calanso sat at the head of the dining table, staring at the bowl of cold soup, silent for a long time.

Lyra sat across from him, fork in hand, the meat on her plate untouched.

“What did she say?”

Grandfather’s voice was a little hoarse.

Lyra shook her head.

“Boss said she was tired and wanted to sleep early.”

Calanso put down his chopsticks, stood up, took a few steps toward the stairs, then stopped. He stood there, his silhouette looking especially aged in the candlelight.

Then he turned and walked back to the table. He didn’t sit down, just looked at Lyra.

“What happened at the palace?”

Lyra hesitated.

“The Emperor said the Seal of the Evil God is about to give out, at most another month. He also said that Boss’s mother never had a chance to choose, but Boss does, so she should choose well.”

Calanso was silent. His aged face showed no expression, but Lyra saw his fingers slowly tighten around the back of the chair.

“Grandfather,” Lyra asked softly.

“What was Boss’s mother like?”

Calanso looked at her, looked for a long time.

“You want to know?”

Lyra nodded.

Calanso released the chair back and turned around.

“Follow me.”

Calanso’s room was at the far end of the second floor, separated from Freya’s by a corridor.

Lyra had never been inside. When she pushed open the door, she froze.

The room was large but remarkably austere.

A wooden bed, a desk, an armchair, a wardrobe—nothing else.

No paintings on the walls, no plants on the windowsill, not even the rug was anything but plain gray.

Calanso walked to the wardrobe, pulled open the bottom drawer, and took out a thick photo album.

The album’s cover was of deep brown leather, its edges worn white, as if it had been flipped through countless times. He placed it on the desk and opened the first page.

Lyra looked down—and saw Freya.

No, not Freya.

It was a woman who looked almost exactly like Freya.

The same light purple hair, the same pale purple eyes, the same cool features.

But she smiled more than Freya—

In every photo, she was smiling.

Smiling while holding Freya, smiling while standing in the garden, smiling while riding on horseback.

That smile was as radiant as sunlight, as a winter fireplace, as everything warm and bright.

“This is Cecilia,” Grandfather’s voice came from behind her, very soft.

“Freya’s mother.”

Lyra reached out and gently touched the photo.

In the photo, Cecilia was probably in her early twenties, wearing riding gear, mounted on the horse named Big Fur—

No, not Big Fur. It was a different horse, its coat darker, its eyes brighter.

She waved at the camera, laughing with abandon and spirit.

“Cecilia was the most renowned Mage on the continent back then.”

Calanso sat down beside her, his voice hoarse and slow.

“Extremely talented, very strong in combat. People from other countries would show respect the moment they heard her name. She traveled to many places—the eastern deserts, the southern rainforests, the western mountains, the northern ice fields. She loved freedom and hated being constrained.”

Lyra turned the page.

In this photo, Cecilia stood before an ancient ruin, dressed in traveling clothes, her hair slightly mussed by the wind, but her eyes shining like stars.

“Then the Emperor insisted she marry Freya’s father.” Grandfather’s voice suddenly turned cold.

“Not because she loved him, but because the Castor Family needed her. Needed her strength, needed her reputation, needed her to stay here and stop going to those ‘dangerous places.’”

Lyra’s brow furrowed.