The morning after Anna's awakening brought with it an atmosphere that the castle rarely saw during the Months of Demons: hope.
The confirmation from Arthur and William that the "Demonic Bite" wasn't an infernal curse, but merely the lethal accumulation of unreleased magical energy, had lifted a mountain off Nightingale's shoulders. For the first time in years, she breathed without the weight of the death clock ticking away her sisters' days.
William found her in the upper floor corridors, near one of the windows overlooking the snowy courtyard. She was watching the white storm outside, but there was a genuine and relaxed gleam in her golden eyes.
— "Packing your 'mental bags'?" — William asked, leaning against the stone wall beside her.
Nightingale turned, sketching a light smile. — "I need to leave as soon as possible, William. With what we discovered last night... I need to take this truth to the Association. Many of my sisters will face Adulthood this winter, so if I arrive in time, I can save them from being devoured by their own magic."
— "I know." — he uncrossed his arms and took a step forward. — "That's why I'm going with you to the Association's hideout in the Mountain Range."
Nightingale blinked, surprised by the promptness of the offer. She knew his strength and magic, knew he was a one-man army, but the mountain was a treacherous territory.
— "Are you sure about this?" — she asked, her tone heavy with tender concern. — "The path up there is absurdly long and narrow, William. The Impassable Mountain Range is unforgiving; the wind sweeps the cliffs and the snow hides entire abysses, not to mention the air up there is denser."
William broke into his characteristic smile, blending arrogance and charm.
— "Even better." — he replied, lowering his voice to a velvety murmur. — "That way, we'll be forced to walk very close to each other, and the longer and narrower the path is, the more time I can spend by my beloved's side."
The night before, or even a few days ago, Nightingale would have rolled her eyes, sighed, or turned her face away, hiding a red blush beneath her assassin's mask, but today was different. The revelation about magic, added to the various constant declarations he had made to her, had broken her last defensive barriers. She no longer felt like a hunted monster; she felt cherished, loved, and hopeful.
Instead of backing away or disguising it, Nightingale's smile widened, her eyes shining with a rare sweetness.
She took a step toward him, raised her right hand, and, with a disarming naturalness, intertwined her slender fingers with the warrior's calloused fingers.
She squeezed his hand firmly.
This time, it was William who felt his heart skip a beat; a slight and undeniable modesty crept up his neck.
He was used to being the provocateur, the man of cheap pickup lines and steely confidence, but seeing the woman he loved return his affection so openly and warmly caught him completely off guard. Internally, however, a wave of genuine happiness flooded him. This is the real Nightingale, he thought.
Free from shadows and fears.
But the beauty of the moment did not erase the harsh reality of what was to come. William squeezed her hand back, his face taking on a serious expression.
— "Veronica, listen closely." — he used her real name to emphasize the gravity of the matter. — "We are going up there, and we will only try to convince them to come to the town, but you have to promise me you'll keep your guard up, even against your own sisters. My 'prophetic vision' has a very clear warning about this trip."
Her smile wavered slightly, but she didn't let go of his hand. — "What did you see?"
— "The Association witches probably won't believe you." — William warned, his voice firm. — "They've been brainwashed for a long time regarding the legend of the Holy Mountain. Telling them that the sanctuary is here, in the lands of a Prince of Graycastle, and that the Devil's Bite is just a lack of using Magical Power... To some, it will sound like a lie, and to others, a mistake and deception. And worse: if you push too hard, if you try to force the issue to take them away, your leader... Cara... she might attack you."
Nightingale grew thoughtful.
The idea that her own sisters, the ones she lived with, could be complicit in her being attacked was rather painful information. She had some knowledge of the stubbornness and obsession of Cara, her mentor, with the 'Holy Book', but going so far as to attack one of their own, when so many of her sisters were already being killed by the 'Devil's Bite'?
Still, she looked at William. Every word he had said about the future so far had come true with undeniable precision, from the betrayal of the patrol guards to his old life that he had already buried, and he never lied to her.
In the end, Nightingale let out a resigned sigh and nodded, her eyes carrying a new layer of cold determination.
— "I understand." — she replied. — "I trust my sisters, but I'm no fool. I will stay on alert, and if Cara tries to put the Association at risk for the sake of her own ego... I will do whatever is necessary to convince the others to safety."
William smiled, relieved. — "Perfect. Let's go tell the others we're leaving."
.
.
.
Half an hour later, the castle's inner courtyard was bustling with morning preparations.
The snow fell sparsely, but the wind remained biting.
Roland and Arthur were waiting for them near the stables, where two strong snow horses were already saddled and equipped with saddlebags full of supplies.
— "Be careful out there." — said Roland, adjusting his fur-lined cloak against the cold. — "Since this is a momentary and urgent departure, William, I will leave Iron Axe in command until your return. And Nightingale, if the witches of the Witch Cooperation Association agree, I want you to bring them all here. Border Town needs them to build the new era, and I intend to make this Town the sanctuary they have always sought."
— "We will bring them, Your Highness." — Nightingale gave a slight bow, gratitude evident in her voice.
Arthur, who was leaning against the wooden fence with his hands stuffed in his overcoat pockets, looked at the pair and told them:
— "Go on horseback." — Arthur instructed, his usual pragmatic tone cutting through the emotion of the moment. — "I know your agility in the mist, Nightingale, gives both of you mobility far superior to any individual, but you are theoretically going to rescue a group of exhausted, hungry, and cold women. So, you might end up needing beasts of burden to bring the weakest ones back, or to carry some supplies. Use logistics to your advantage."
William mounted his horse with ease, adjusting the reins. — "The dark suit is right. We'll take the horses as far as the forest allows."
Arthur watched his longtime friend and the assassin prepare for the journey.
For a moment, the purely mathematical-minded strategist seemed to hesitate. His cold posture yielded by millimeters.
— "William and Nightingale." — Arthur paused, his gaze fixed on them, his voice losing a bit of its usual metallic monotony. — "Return safely."
William tapped two fingers against his forehead in a relaxed salute. — "I'll be back, bro. Buy some roast meat for when we return."
With a snap of the reins, the two left the castle gates, advancing against the blizzard and gradually disappearing into the white vastness toward the Impassable Mountain Range.
Roland stood watching the gate for a few minutes. He let out a deep sigh, white steam rising in the freezing air, and turned to walk back to his office, accompanied by Arthur.
— "This changes a lot of things." — Roland commented, rubbing his gloved hands together. — "If they bring dozens of witches at once, the castle definitely won't have enough space to house all of them. I'll have to focus entirely on building a large dormitory in the southern sector as soon as the ground thaws a bit."
The Prince looked at his advisor and flashed a playful smile.
— "Therefore, my friend Arthur, I'm afraid that comfortable house I promised to build for you after the wall is finished is going to have to wait a little longer."
Arthur, walking beside the monarch with his impeccable posture, kept his eyes fixed on the snow ahead.
— "Maybe yes, maybe no." — Arthur replied, his tone enigmatic, offering no concrete confirmation or denial.
Roland stopped walking, frowning; he knew that tone.
As someone who also came from Earth, Roland was beginning to understand his strategist's speech patterns and the way his mind processed the world.
— "Why do you say it like that?" — Roland asked, narrowing his eyes suspiciously. — "Does this have something to do with the future? One of those visions you and William share?"
Arthur kept walking calmly with his hands in his overcoat pockets.
His mind was a labyrinth of probability calculations: Cara's possible fanatical resistance, the chance of a demonic attack and even demonic beasts that he had chosen not to momentarily prevent, and the inevitable deaths by the cold that would decimate part of the group before they even reached Border Town. There were too many variables that would cause the need for housing for "dozens" of witches to be drastically reduced.
But he wouldn't burden the Prince with probabilistic tragedies.
— "It's nothing serious, Your Highness." — Arthur said, his voice returning to its smooth and unfathomable surface, not wanting to speak further on the matter and abruptly ending it. — "Just statistical fluctuations of winter. Let's focus on the offensive plan for when the snow melts."
And without waiting for more questions, Arthur resumed walking, keeping the shadows of the future strictly to himself.