Chapter 198: NIGHT IN THE CITY PARK
Night in Iron Hearth was never truly dark.
The mana-electric streetlights flickered to life in unison as the sun dipped below the horizon, bathing the black asphalt in a cool, bluish-white glow. From a distance, the city looked like a carpet of stars fallen to earth—beautiful, cold, and sleepless. Factory chimneys still exhaled thin plumes of smoke, and the rhythmic pounding of foundry machines hummed in the distance like the heartbeat of a slumbering giant.
But in the Iron Hearth City Park, those sounds faded into a distant backdrop.
The park was one of Aurelia’s first projects after the Sudrath family rose from the ashes of bankruptcy. Once, this area had been nothing but a muddy field that grew swampy every time the snow melted. Now, natural stone paths meandered through meticulously groomed grass, and small-roofed wooden benches lined the rows of pine trees planted to provide shade. In the center of the park, a small fountain bubbled with water that refused to freeze—thanks to a mana-heater Rianor had installed two years ago.
On one of those benches, a black-haired girl sat alone.
Raveena Sudrath hugged her knees, her chin resting on her folded arms. Her grey wool gown was thick enough to ward off the chill, yet she shivered—not because of the temperature, but because of a cold that no clothing could warm. Her small notebook lay beside her, closed. For the first time in a long while, she had no desire to record anything.
News of the war had already saturated the castle.
Raveena didn’t know exactly where it started. Perhaps from the servants whispering in the corridors. Perhaps from Silas, who had accidentally mentioned something while passing her room. Or perhaps from Raphael, who had walked into her room earlier that afternoon, pale-faced, and asked, "Sister, are we going to war again?"
Whatever the source, the news had become a monster far more terrifying than anything she had ever faced in the laboratory.
Three months.
The Kingdom of Aethelgard. The Church. Highgarden.
The names swirled in her head like a formula she couldn’t solve. She had tried to calculate probabilities, analyze military strength, and compare technologies—all the things that usually soothed her. But this time, the numbers offered no comfort. They only made everything feel more real, colder, and more terrifying.
"You’re not sleeping?"
Raveena startled. She turned to see Caelus standing a few paces away from the bench. The seventh prince wore a dark grey wool coat that made his blonde hair look even brighter under the park lamps. He held two steaming clay cups in his hands.
"I... I just wanted some fresh air," Raveena answered, her voice smaller than she intended.
Caelus didn’t respond immediately. He walked over and sat beside her—not too close, but near enough that their shoulders almost brushed. He offered one of the cups to Raveena.
"Chamomile tea. I asked the kitchen staff for it before they turned in."
Raveena accepted the cup. Its warmth radiated from her palms through her entire body. She took a slow sip. The tea was a bit too sweet—Caelus must have added more honey than necessary—but for some reason, that was exactly what made it perfect.
"Thank you," she whispered.
They sat in silence for a long time. The night wind blew softly, swaying the pine branches and making shadows dance across the grass. From afar, the sound of a freight train passing on the magnetic rails sounded like the mutterings of a passing giant.
"I couldn’t sleep," Caelus said finally, breaking the silence. His voice was low, almost a whisper. "Every time I close my eyes, I see..." He stopped, swallowing hard. "I see my father. My siblings. All of them."
Raveena turned, studying Caelus’s profile illuminated by the park lights. There was something on his face she had never seen before—not sadness, not fear, but a sort of confusion so profound it almost resembled a physical wound.
"They are coming," Caelus continued. "The royal army. And I..." His voice cracked. "I am here. On the side they are going to attack."
Raveena set her tea cup down on the bench. She turned her body slightly, facing Caelus fully.
"I know," she said softly. "I’ve been thinking about the same thing. Your family... is my family’s enemy."
The words hung in the air between them, heavy and cold like snow that refused to melt. Caelus looked down, his hands gripping his teacup tighter.
"I don’t know which side to take," he whispered. "I left Sol-Regis because I couldn’t stand the court intrigues. Because I hated the way my mother—I mean, Queen Eleanor—manipulated everyone. But they are still my flesh and blood. Leonardo... he’s my brother. We weren’t close, but he was never cruel to me. And now I have to take up arms against him?"
Raveena listened without interrupting. She knew exactly how Caelus felt—not because she had experienced it, but because she had seen similar conflicts often enough in the history books she read. Civil wars. Betrayals. Divided families. But reading about it and living it were two entirely different things.
"I can’t tell you which side to choose," Raveena said eventually. "I don’t have that right."
Caelus lifted his face, looking at her. His blue eyes were glassy, though he didn’t cry.
"But I can tell you this," Raveena continued. Her voice trembled slightly, but she forced herself to remain steady. "I’m scared. I’m so scared. What if we lose? What if Brother Rianor... Brother Riven... everyone..." She couldn’t finish the sentence.
Without thinking, Caelus set his cup down and reached for Raveena’s hand. His warm fingers enveloped her cold ones.
"I am here," he said. His voice was raspy but firm. "I’m not going anywhere. I might not know which side to be on, but I know one thing: I won’t leave you. No matter what happens."
Raveena stared at their joined hands. Warm. Her heart beat faster, but not from fear. She didn’t pull away.
"I know," she whispered. "I know."
They sat like that for a long time—two young souls caught in the center of a storm they didn’t create, holding hands under the cold light of the park lamps.
Meanwhile, in another wing of the castle, the Treasurer’s Office was still brilliantly lit.
Rumina Sudrath hadn’t moved from her desk since that afternoon. The stacks of paper around her were growing taller—contracts, invoices, reports, proposals, and now, pages filled with figures she had written herself. Her eyes ached, her back was stiff, and she had already finished three cups of black coffee without sugar.
But she couldn’t stop.
Every time she tried to set her pen down, her mind drifted to the next three months. To the marching armies. To the bullets that would be fired. To the tanks that would be destroyed. And to the gold coins she had to provide to fund it all.
"One million," she muttered, staring at the number in front of her. "At least one million gold for a three-month war effort. And that’s not even counting the emergency funds."
The door creaked open slowly. Rumina didn’t look up—she already recognized the footfalls.
"You’re not sleeping yet?" Aurelia’s voice was soft, but carried a hint of a reprimand.
Rumina finally looked up. Her mother stood at the threshold, carrying a small tray with a teapot and two cups. She wore a simple nightgown of light blue silk, her hair, which had begun to grey, left loose. Even in her simplicity, the Duchess of Northreach radiated an aura of authority that made anyone feel safe.
"I can’t, Mother." Rumina rubbed her eyes. "There’s just too much to calculate."
Aurelia walked over, placing the tray on a corner of the desk not covered in paper. She poured tea into the two cups, then pushed one toward Rumina.
"Drink first. Rest a moment."
Rumina accepted the cup. Chamomile tea—the distinctive aroma immediately soothed her frayed nerves. She took a slow sip, letting the warmth spread through her chest.
"I’m afraid, Mother," she whispered finally. "I’m afraid we won’t have enough money. I’m afraid we’ll lose. I’m afraid..." Her voice choked up.
Aurelia didn’t answer immediately. She pulled up a chair and sat beside her daughter. Her soft hand reached out to take Rumina’s cold one.
"You know," Aurelia said softly, "back before we came to this world, your father was once on the brink of bankruptcy. His company was nearly taken over by creditors. I remember nights like this—your father sitting in his study, staring at numbers, not sleeping until dawn. And I could only sit beside him, bringing him tea, just as I am doing for you now."
Rumina listened, her eyes fixed on the teacup in her hand.
"I couldn’t help him with those numbers," Aurelia continued. "I wasn’t like you, or Rianor. But I knew one thing: your father needed someone to remind him to rest. Someone to say, ’Tomorrow is another day. You don’t have to finish everything tonight.’"
Aurelia squeezed Rumina’s hand tighter.
"You are the treasurer of this family, Rumina. You are the guardian of our hearth. Your task is heavy, and I am proud of you. But you are also my child. You are allowed to be afraid. You are allowed to be tired. And you are allowed to rest."
Rumina bit her lip. The tears she had been holding back finally fell—one drop, then two, wetting her cheeks.
"I just want to protect everyone, Mother," she sobbed. "I want to make sure we have enough to survive."
"You already are." Aurelia stood, hugging her daughter from the side. "You’ve already done more than enough. Now, drink your tea. Then sleep. Those numbers won’t run away. Tomorrow morning, I’ll make chicken porridge for you. You like that, don’t you?"
Rumina chuckled through her sobs. "Mother, you always know how to bribe me."
"Of course. I am your mother."
They sat like that for a long time—a mother and her daughter, in the cold treasurer’s office, surrounded by stacks of paper and war figures. But in the midst of it all, there was a warmth that no bad news could destroy.
The night grew deeper.
In the City Park, Raveena and Caelus finally stood up. Their tea was finished, the dregs cold at the bottom of the cups. The wind blew harder, making Raveena shiver.
"Let’s head back," Caelus said. "You’ll catch a cold."
Raveena nodded. They walked side by side along the path, out of the park, toward the castle gates looming in the distance. The streetlights still shone brightly, keeping the city alive even though the hour was late.
At the entrance to the East Wing, they stopped. Raveena turned to Caelus.
"Thank you," she said. "For the tea. And for... everything."
Caelus smiled—a small smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes, but was sincere nonetheless. "Whenever you need it."
Raveena opened the door and stepped inside. Caelus stood outside, staring at the closed door, then turned and walked to the West Wing—to his own room.
That night, no one knew what would happen in three months. But at least, for the next few hours, they could sleep with the feeling that they were not alone.
And in this city that never slept, that was more than enough.