The golden gate rose before Lena like a slumbering guardian. In the sunlight, its structure gleamed with majesty; now, wrapped in the mild night, its color seemed dead, dull, devoid of the splendor the city's inhabitants swore they could see. To the girl, it wasn't just the gate that had lost its charm — she herself felt out of place, a foreign body in that world of marble and gold.
She did not wear the neat, clean uniform of the noble students who crossed that path daily. Instead, she wore simple clothes, and on her back she carried an enormous backpack that weighed heavily on her frail shoulders, hanging down to her thighs. Beside it, another more modest bag, hand-stitched, swung with each movement, stuffed with something that made the fabric stretch to its limits. Sweat trickled down her forehead, plastering strands of blonde hair to her face, revealing the superhuman effort it had taken to get there. Even so, her eyes burned like embers — steady, determined, unbreakable.
She stood motionless before the closed gate. The metal seemed to mock her waiting, each second stretched like an eternity. Her hands were sweating so much she nearly lost the strength to hold the backpack's strap. She was about to let it fall to the ground when, finally, a metallic creak echoed. The gate opened slowly, and the night swallowed the remaining golden glow.
"You must be Miss Lena. Come with me."
The voice was harsh, but not cruel.
Lena followed the old woman who awaited her. Her footsteps echoed on the smooth stones, and soon the girl realized she was about to enter a world forbidden even to her teachers. Sigurd College was immense, but beyond the classrooms and dining halls, there were secrets few dared to describe. They passed through unexpected areas: fertile fields where out-of-season fruits and vegetables grew, enchanted groves where the trees bowed to the presence of passersby, and cold stone corridors that seemed carved straight from the bowels of a mountain.
Lena lost track of the path. The streets became illogical corridors, as if with each turn the world reinvented itself to confuse her. The gates succeeded one another, each less heavy and ornate than the last, creaking as if guarding ancient secrets. With each passage, Lena felt the air change — from the smell of earth and iron to increasingly rare aromas, of spices, incense, and flowers that would never bloom of their own accord in that mild autumn climate.
Until, after what felt like an endless march, the labyrinth revealed the destination.
The building that emerged before her was immense and imposing. It was not a school. It was not a watchtower. Nor a war castle. And yet, it bore characteristics of each. In the end, it could only be described — inadequately — as a poorly designed mansion.
Four floors full of windows rose with the cold elegance of something that had never needed to defend itself. The light stone walls reflected the moon's pale glow as if they were ivory. Tall, arched windows of polished glass displayed heavy curtains that barely fluttered. The silence there was not empty — it was dominion, the calm of those who believe the world belongs to them.
What shocked Lena the most was not the structure itself, but what surrounded it. The ground, until then undistinguished and ordinary, had given way to an artificially sculpted plain, covered in an impossible garden. Crimson roses and white jasmine bloomed in the freezing night, perfuming the air with a sweet and almost intoxicating scent. Small magical flames hovered over the flowerbeds, warming the blossoms with a golden glow.
The contrast hurt her eyes.
For someone used to monotony, that seemed like another dimension. An affront.
Lena stopped before the main door, feeling the weight of her backpack nearly drag her to the ground. The cold sweat on her back betrayed the effort, but her eyes still burned with that stubborn fire.
The old woman said not a single word as she led her to the monumental 3.5-meter-tall door that led into the mansion. The cold metal seemed to breathe like a trapped beast. Lena's heart beat so fast she could barely hear her own thoughts.
And then, when the door opened, the fatigue, the sweat, and the nervousness turned into something indescribable. Her eyes finally calmed before the sight —
"At last… you've arrived, Lena."
The gate made for giants closed behind her as if sealing a fate. The room ahead, lit by bluish flame torches, smelled of fine incense mixed with old parchment and oxidized iron. Lena could hardly believe what she was seeing: among tables covered with maps, rolled-up banners, and weapons mounted on the walls, sat Hans.
His presence and his clothes, when seen there, seemed strange — too formal. But there was no mistaking it: those unkempt curls falling over his forehead and, above all, the cheap cologne that lingered in the air gave him away.
"Mister Hans... yes, I've arrived."
He stood up, the fatigue evident in his slouched shoulders, but he offered a warm smile.
"My God... you brought all this by yourself? Bastet, help her, please."
Lena blinked, stunned. Only then did she realize they were not alone. There were others in the room, unknown figures who, by their uniforms, left no doubt.
"Grifeiros."
The word escaped her lips like a whisper, almost a reflex. Even so, it echoed in the silence.
"Yes. That's right." — replied a female voice, firm and filled with pride.
Lena flinched. The woman who approached was the embodiment of a storm: bronzed skin, muscles chiseled like marble, and a body that seemed almost provocatively exposed. She wore only a short leather skirt and a fine, translucent linen veil partially covering her breasts. Lena instinctively brought her hand to her chest, trying to shield herself from that overwhelming presence.
But it wasn't the body that made Lena recognize the woman who held her gaze — it was the helmet.
Forged in blackened golden metal, it seemed molded not only to protect but to terrify. Angular lines framed her face with cruel precision. A sharp beak descended from the forehead, hawk-like, covering part of her nose. From the sides rose stylized wings, metal blades curved like hardened feathers — symbols of the speed and majesty of birds of prey.
The eye slits were narrow, designed to intensify the wearer's gaze. And within them was something not human — a glow reminiscent of embers or the predatory coldness of a hunting eagle.
The metal still reflected flashes of the bluish light but bore deep battle marks. Scars engraved in the alloy, burns, scratches — as if each mark were a fragment of history, of forgotten wars and bloody victories.
More than an artifact, the helmet was a mystical symbol, an icon of her lineage. It revealed her race: ancient, proud, and fierce.
Bastet lifted Lena's backpack as if it weighed nothing, the contrast between the two women — the exhausted student and the imposing warrior — was almost painful. Lena felt small, yet unable to look away. She had never seen someone so beautiful, so intimidating... so impossible.
"Mister Hans, I think with this girl we're ready to depart."
The firm voice brought Lena out of the daze she'd fallen into since Bastet had walked up the stairs carrying her luggage as if it were light as air. The image of that warrior still burned in her mind, and that was why she didn't notice right away the man who remained in the room.
When her eyes finally landed on him, the air seemed to thin.
He was tall, lean, with defined muscles and the posture of someone born for battle. His sharp face and dark hair fell loose over broad shoulders, each feature carved as if sculpted from stone. To Lena, he didn't just look like a man — but a god walking among mortals.
The blush rose to her face instantly.
Hans, noticing her discomfort, hastened to speak:
"Lena, this will be one of our protectors on the journey north. I want you to meet Seti."
The man took a step forward. His eyes, deep and serene, settled on the young girl with an intensity that made her hold her breath. Then, he bowed his head slightly in greeting.
"A pleasure, Miss Lena. I see you've already met my wife, Bastet. We will both be your protectors on this journey."
The words were like a blade slicing Lena's fantasy in two. Wife. The word echoed in her mind with brutal force. The enchantment that had taken over her gave way to a bitter mix of inferiority and sorrow. Bastet wasn't just the most beautiful warrior she had ever seen… but also the partner of that perfect man.
Hans watched the girl's reaction and couldn't suppress a discreet smile at the corner of his lips, perhaps because he himself knew exactly what it felt like to feel small in the presence of people like them.
The three of them climbed together up a narrow spiral staircase, the stone walls lit by flickering torch flames. The sound of footsteps echoed like a ritual, each strike on the floor reminding Lena that she was crossing an invisible threshold.
When the heavy wooden door opened, a cold wind hit her face. The mansion's terrace revealed itself wide and open, the night sky dyed deep blue and sprinkled with stars. And there, standing like a vision out of legend, was a black wooden carriage reinforced with glowing runes.
But it wasn't the carriage that held Lena's gaze — it was the creatures pulling it.
Two magnificent beings, larger than any warhorse, lazily flapped their wings, sending gusts of wind that stirred the torches and raised the girl's hair. Their large, sharp claws gleamed under the moonlight, and their golden eyes sparkled with a predatory intelligence. Their leonine manes blended with the metallic shine of feathers, every muscle taut as if made of living steel.
Lena brought her hands to her mouth, unable to contain the shock.
"A-are those…"
Hans chuckled quietly, satisfied with the impact.
"I figured that after seeing the Grifeiros, you might have guessed how we'd travel. But yes… Lena Vogel, before you stand the famous children of the eastern wind. Griffins."
The girl's heart pounded erratically.
The man pulled something from inside the carriage — a darkened golden helmet, similar to the one the warrior Lena had already seen, a symbol of war and antiquity. The metallic shine reflected in the terrace flames when, suddenly, the carriage door swung open with a dry thud.
"Hey! Everyone's here already? Can we go?"
Lena's eyes widened.
"Frida?"
Her friend appeared smiling, swaying slightly before speaking:
"Well, did you really think I'd let my best — and only — friend go alone to the North? Never!"
"— she laughed loudly, playful as always."
Lena's heart warmed. For a moment, all the anxiety of the journey vanished. She wouldn't be alone anymore. Seeing Frida there gave new meaning to that impossible step.
Maybe this… won't be so bad.
Turning to Hans, she spoke firmly:
"But what will she get in return, sir? Frida deserves the same benefit as me!"
Hans hesitated, embarrassed. But it was Frida herself who replied, still laughing:
"Relax, Lena. I've already got enough credits. After what I saw yesterday… I'm more curious than anything else. Seeing the barbarians up close is going to be amazing!"
Her youthful enthusiasm contrasted with the gravity of the moment. Lena knew: Frida could bring lightness even to the heaviest moments.
"Yes… thank you" — Lena murmured, moved.
"That's right, thank me a lot!" — Frida shot back with a cheeky smile.
"— My dad almost had a heart attack when I said I was going to the North. But… after a few concessions, he allowed it."
"Concessions?" — Lena frowned.
Frida merely pointed discreetly to the couple adjusting themselves atop the griffins — Seti and Bastet.
"I see…" — Lena sighed, her heart racing.
The man finally turned to Hans, now wearing the same helmet as his wife.
"Sir, at your command."
Hans looked awkward in front of the warrior.
As renowned a scholar as he was, respected across the Empire as one of the greatest experts on foreign tribes' culture and politics, the truth was… he was still an academic. The kind of man who knew more of scrolls than swords, more of books than of blood. And in the presence of someone like Seti, his eloquence always seemed to falter.
Words stumbled in his throat, his gaze shifted — as if the warrior's martial presence made every sentence feel inadequate.
Then, before the silence could grow awkward, Frida's clear and bold voice broke the moment:
"Mister Seti… we're ready on our end."
Teacher and student entered the carriage, settling beside Frida. Within moments, the two griffins, now under the command of their riders, spread their wings. In a matter of seconds, the mansion and Sigurd College were left behind, shrinking under the moonlight. The cold night air cut across Lena's face as she watched the Empire's ground fall away. Her eyes welled up at the thought of her mother, the promise, the tears.
I will return, mother. Wait for me.
"To the North!" — shouted Frida, arms raised outside the flying carriage, laughing as if she owned the sky.
Hans and Lena exchanged a silent glance. Her heart beat between fear and hope.
And above the clouds, destiny opened wide.