The northern wind roared against the wood of the winged carriage, making every hinge creak like old bones. From above, a hatch opened with a dry thud, and Seti's face appeared, cut by the swirling snow that came rushing in.
"We'll have to land somewhere in the next twenty minutes."
He announced, his deep voice muffled by the wind.
"And continue the journey on foot."
Hans looked up, concerned.
"Are we already over the snow-covered region?"
"Yes, sir."
Seti narrowed his eyes toward the white horizon.
"Nothing flies around here. Not even Wyverns."
The silence that followed seemed heavier than the snow piled on the creature's wings. Hans only nodded, leaning back like someone who knows arguing would be pointless.
"I see. As you wish."
Discomfort had taken over the interior of the carriage. The first hours of the trip had been marvelous — an aerial spectacle that felt drawn from legend. But after more than 24 hours, the magic gave way to exhaustion. The cold seeped in even through the reinforced blankets, and the cramped space made every muscle ache. Lena, curiously, was the only one who seemed calm, as if the hardship were merely another trial to be endured.
Frida, on the other hand, was already fidgeting constantly, her legs restless, as if they wanted to leap out of the carriage and run alone through the snow. Even Hans, with all his professor-like composure, bit his lip in frustration, yearning for the moment they could touch the ground.
"Mister Hans… I think it's time you explain why we're heading North. I mean… why now?"
Lena's voice broke the silence, soft but firm. Her light eyes shone in the lamplight.
Hans was still closing the hatch Seti had left open, struggling to keep out the biting wind. The gesture bought him time to take a deep breath, but not enough to hide the tension on his face. His hands trembled slightly. He searched for saliva in his dry mouth and only then looked at Lena.
Frida, beside her, also turned her face, curious. But the difference between the two was clear: in Frida's eyes, there was only youthful curiosity; in Lena's, a suspicion was already growing like embers beneath the snow.
Hans knew that question would come. The question wasn't "if," but "when."
Hans crossed his arms, breathing deeply before beginning. His voice sounded heavy, as if each word were a brick he had to carry.
"Well… I think it's best to start from the beginning."
His eyes were fixed on Lena.
"To understand what's happening now, you need to understand what happened before."
He paused, shifting in the narrow carriage seat.
"Lena, tell me. How was, in your view, the war against the North? How did the Empire deal with them?"
The young woman frowned, searching her memories — both from the formal lessons she had on the subject and from the rumors and bard songs she had heard over the years.
"Well…"
She began hesitantly, as if even the words weighed on her tongue.
"The first expansionist emperor, Otto I, was the one who advanced against them, crushing their lines and pushing them into the icy, forgotten lands of the far North."
Of course, while many said Otto was the first to significantly expand our territory because of this war against the Northern people, others considered him reckless in his strategy. The North, boldly, adopted a tactic until then unknown — which we later came to call scorched earth.
As they abandoned their homes, they made sure to destroy everything, leaving nothing behind that could be used by the Empire: food was burned, water poisoned, and houses destroyed.
In the end, with the relentless pursuit into the North, we lost far more men than we expected, and the ravaged lands took years to become useful again.
She paused, catching her breath.
"In the end, with the difficulty the winged ones had in mastering the skies under those storms of cold and ice in the far north, combined with the huge losses of lives and land… I think even he realized. It was pointless."
Lena stared into the distance, as if reciting an old lesson, yet feeling the contradiction in each sentence.
"Pointless to keep fighting a people who were… too stupid to surrender."
An uncomfortable silence fell. Even Frida frowned at the words.
"So he decided to leave them there, trapped in that little piece of frozen land they had."
Hans let out a bitter laugh.
"Summed up like that, it sounds simple, doesn't it?"
His eyes gleamed, caught between irony and seriousness.
"Trap the enemy and forget them, even after everything they did to the empire. But the truth is never as clean as the books make it seem."
He leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees, his voice low and grave.
"Now tell me. How do you think we defeated the Gryphon Riders?"
Lena blinked, surprised.
"The Gryphon Riders?"
Hans nodded slowly, as if each word to come carried the weight of lead.
"Yes."
His voice cut through the air.
"Their people. You've seen Seti and Bastet. You can probably imagine why they're so sought after as mercenaries… and why they cost so much. After all, when you hire a Gryphon Rider, you're getting two for the price of one: a human trained for war and a beast forged to kill."
A cold, brief smile slipped from his lips.
"They're not just warriors. They're barbarians molded by a combat culture as brutal as that of the North."
He fell silent for a moment. The silence in the carriage was dense, almost palpable. Even the creaking of the wood, once constant, seemed to choke under the weight of the pause. Frida shifted uncomfortably in her seat, her eyes fixed on the floor, as if fearing what was to come.
Hans took a deep breath and spoke again. His voice, which once carried the tone of a patient teacher, now held something melancholic — as if old memories were scraping at his throat:
"And still… against such a fierce people, marked by unique traits, as similar to each other as steel is to the ice of the North… we won."
The words echoed like distant thunder in the narrow space of the carriage. Lena felt her heart race.
Hans leaned forward, his eyes narrowed, glowing with an intensity that burned more than it warmed.
"Our army didn't need their land."
He said, every word sharp and measured.
"The Gryphon Riders' homeland is barren. Nothing grows there. No minerals, no harvests. No strategic routes. To the Empire, it was a useless place."
He paused again. The wind slammed against the carriage windows, as if the night itself were holding its breath.
"And even so…"
He continued, lowering his tone as if confessing a sin.
"Our fleet entered. And destroyed everything. Every stone, every gryphon, every warrior. By god, we almost exterminated them."
The intensity in his eyes locked onto Lena, as if the question were meant for her alone:
"Can you imagine why it was different with the barbarian Gryphon Riders?"
Lena swallowed hard. Her mind raced in circles, trying to reach an answer that seemed both obvious and impossible.
"Why was it different with them?"
Hans repeated, his voice low, almost challenging.
"The North was pushed into the snow and forgotten. But the Gryphon Riders… they were almost entirely exterminated or enslaved, even when there was nothing left of value to extract."
"You've seen what those Bear Tamers can do against an adult wyvern. Do you really think the Empire sees them as weak and cornered, ready for the slaughter?"
The silence inside the carriage grew heavy. Only the creaking of the wood and the distant howl of the wind filled the space, as if even the air feared to answer. Hans's words didn't sound like a history lesson. They tasted like confession.
Lena broke the silence, her voice wavering but laced with thought:
"Thinking of it that way… maybe the North had a means of survival so brutal that the Empire didn't even dare challenge it… or maybe someone — someone very powerful — forced the Empire to retreat."
Her words fell like stones into a frozen lake. The carriage felt tighter, the air heavier.
She went on, steady now, even as her heart pounded:
"The North has the Bears, just like the East has the Gryphons. The ice protects them the same way the sea protected the Gryphon Riders on their island. And still… only one of the two managed to survive the Empire's full, unrestricted power."
Hans leaned back, studying her as if he had finally heard something he'd long been waiting for. His eyes glinted in the flicker of restrained satisfaction.
"So you see."
He murmured.
"A hundred years ago, the Emperor didn't retreat because the North managed to protect itself in the extreme cold. He retreated because insisting would've been too dangerous even for him."
Hans's voice grew grave, each word sounding like a nail driven into the silence:
"My theory is that there was — or still is — something in the North. Something someone feared… or coveted. Something more precious — and more dangerous — than frozen lands or human lives. That's why the matter was buried and silenced, and no one dared speak of it again."
Frida couldn't take it anymore. She clenched her hands in her lap, eyes wide, breath caught in her chest. The pressure inside the closed carriage felt suffocating.
"What are you suggesting?"
Her voice came out trembling, as if she feared the very answer.
The wind blew hard against the windows, making the vehicle creak. Hans's silence after the question was even more terrible than his words.
He averted his gaze, as if even the shadows inside the carriage might be listening. He lifted the hatch and cast a quick glance outside, making sure Seti and Bastet were focused on the path. Only then did he turn back to the girls, his eyes more serious than ever.
"I believe… it was the Benefactors of the Mountains who forbade the Emperor from attacking."
The words fell like a stone on the girls' hearts. It was the piece that made the puzzle fit — and at the same time, opened an even deeper abyss beneath their feet.
Even with that revelation, the feeling remained that every answer only made room for more questions. The silence stretched until Frida spoke again:
"But… Didn't Otto III's deceased son try to take the North? What changed? What made him defy his grandfather's wishes and grow bold again? Wouldn't the Benefactors have stopped him?"
Hans lifted a smile, not of joy, but of someone who appreciates when the student finally hits the right point. He took a deep breath, rested his chin on his hand, and spoke with the calm of a storyteller by a campfire:
"That's right, Frida. Now, I'll tell you a story. I don't want you to believe it — just listen."
His voice dropped, almost solemn.
"Once upon a time, there was a man considered weak. A man who lived in the shadow of his ancestors' deeds and who would never rise to power, for despite his lineage, he was not the firstborn."
"But it wasn't enough to live with the burden of not being the eldest — nothing he did seemed worthy. Nothing seemed grand enough to carve his name into history… except to take what wasn't rightfully his."
"But how?"
"Then, in a moment of clarity — or madness — he had an idea: he would conquer what his ancestors had failed to take — or had abandoned — the North."
"However, he knew it would be impossible without help. And so, in an act of boldness… or desperation, he decided to climb the Mountain."
"He climbed to the highest halls of the Benefactors — and asked them directly for help."
Hans's gaze drifted for a moment, as if he could see the scene.
"The Benefactors, who for nearly a century had ignored pleas and even censured his ancestors, listened. And for the first time in a long while — with no apparent reason — they accepted."
Hans took a deep breath, as if every word had to be carefully measured.
"He prepared himself and, after almost two years, marched on the North."
Hans's voice now sounded heavy, weighed down by memories and dark rumors.
"What reached the public was that imperial rebels intercepted them on the way and took the life of the youngest heir and his retinue, with the prince's body disappearing without a trace."
But there were reliable reports — even from captured rebels like Friedrich and Heinrich — that this ambush never happened. And more: that they had actually seen the king's youngest son reach the North.
But if that was true… then something happened. Something terrible. Excessive. Something no one survived to name — and all traces of the enemy vanished with him.
"Of course, believing prisoners was never the Empire's strong suit. At the time, I myself went to the North and saw the bodies — soldiers of the Empire and the North piled near the last imperial city before the border."
"Honestly, it was the most horrifying thing I've ever seen: guts, blood… almost no one was in one piece."
"But I can say with certainty: the man who led that expedition was not among the dead."
In truth, it was as if he — and some of his men — had simply vanished into thin air.
The fact is, this event was erased from history, and not even the highest houses of the Empire — or those closest to the king — dare to speak of what might have really happened.
He leaned forward, his gaze grave, as if the very carriage were too small to contain the weight of that revelation.
"Strange, isn't it? That even knowing of the disappearance of his own son — Otto III, the "Bold" — he did nothing."
Hans nearly spat out the nickname.
"They say that ever since, in every war council, he repeats the same phrase:"
"The North must be forgotten… or brought to our side. These are the orders of the Benefactors."
Frida widened her eyes — even for her, that was new information. Lena swallowed hard. The idea that the Empire — proud and overwhelming — feared anyone seemed absurd.
Hans continued, his voice lower now, almost a whisper — a sound that seemed to be stolen by the wind:
"Curious, isn't it? The Benefactors who, together with the Empire, wiped out races, destroyed lands, and burned skies for mere whim… now hesitate."
"Do nothing — or worse — wish to ally themselves with the very race that humiliated them in every possible way… and possibly killed one of the crown's descendants."
He paused. Then, with a cold half-smile, he added:
"So, girls, the official answer to your first question about what we're doing here in the North is simple: we're here seeking an alliance."
However, the answer felt incomplete. Hans cast another glance outside the carriage, clearly worried someone might hear what he was about to say. When he was finally sure they were alone — and that both gryphon riders were busy searching for a place to land — he turned back to them with an expression more serious than they had ever seen.
"But what I really want to do here is much more than seek a simple gentleman's agreement — and I say this with all caution."
"In truth, there is something far darker behind the story between the Empire and the North."
"A question that no one dares speak aloud, but which, to me, is the centerpiece of this puzzle — and that can only be answered here."
Hans made one final pause, as if preparing to play his final card. There would be no turning back after saying what he was about to reveal — whether considered heretical or innocent, he would never be seen the same again after committing imperial perjury before those girls.
"What the Benefactors of the Moun—"
Hans shook his head, as if trying to dispel the word he was about to utter. He wanted to use their true name — it was the least his honesty owed those girls.
"What, in this world, could make dragons feel fear?"