Chapter 213: FIVE LETTERS
By the following dawn, Lucian Sudrath was already seated in his study before the sun had fully risen.
Four sheets of blank parchment lay spread before him—no, five. He stared at the stack, then at the open bottle of black ink on the right, and finally at the dry quill in his hand. Outside the window, a light snow fell, dusting the rooftops of Iron Hearth in a soft layer of white. The city was silent. Only the occasional whisper of the wind whistling through the stone crevices broke the stillness.
The door opened without a knock.
Roland entered, carrying a coffee pot and two cups. He wore a long-sleeved white shirt—having not yet put on his formal coat—and his hair was slightly disheveled. Traces of sleep still lingered in his eyes. "Morning, Father. I heard you haven’t slept."
Lucian didn’t answer. He simply stared at the parchments.
Roland set the tray on a side table and poured coffee into the two cups. The bitter aroma wafted through the room, mingling with the scent of ink and old paper. He handed one cup to his father. "I can help draft the wording. At least for Draconia and the Emerald Union. As for the other two..." He offered a thin smile. "You probably know the tone better than I do."
Lucian took the cup. Its warmth seeped into his palms. He took a sip before setting it down. "Aethelgard."
"Starting with the most difficult one." Roland sat in the chair across the desk, crossing his legs. "What do you want to convey?"
Lucian didn’t immediately reply. He stared at the blank parchment—its surface pristine and unstained. Like the newly born Northreach. He dipped the pen into the ink. His hand paused for a moment above the paper. A single drop of ink fell, leaving a small blotch in the corner of the parchment. Lucian watched it, then began to write.
"To King Edward IV of Aethelgard..."
The quill moved slowly. Every scratch sounded like a whisper in the silent room. Roland didn’t interrupt. He simply sat, sipping his coffee, waiting.
After a while, Lucian stopped. He re-read his writing, then added one final sentence at the end. "Respect our sovereignty, or face the consequences."
Roland whistled softly. "No pleasantries, then."
"Edward isn’t the type to appreciate pleasantries."
Roland nodded slowly. He didn’t argue.
The second letter—to Draconia—was written in a different tone. Roland helped craft an opening that was warm yet formal. Lucian dictated, Roland typed on his crystal tablet, and together they polished it.
"As allies, we wish to inform you that our status has been elevated to a kingdom," Roland read the draft from his tablet. "Our alliance remains strong. How’s that, Father? Enough?"
Lucian read the draft. "Tharazion will appreciate the directness."
Roland went quiet for a moment. His eyes wandered out the window—toward the east. "Seraphina... will be pleased. I think."
Lucian didn’t press further. He picked up the third parchment.
The letter to the Emerald Union was the easiest. Roland dictated nearly the entire content—a neutral business tone, emphasizing that all trade agreements would remain in effect. "Our esteemed trade partners. The Kingdom of Northreach will honor all previously agreed-upon contracts." Lucian merely added his signature and seal.
"Valdris won’t care as long as the gold keeps flowing," Roland commented. "Vernazza might even smile."
"You sure?"
"Vernazza always smiles when there’s money involved."
The fourth letter—to the Beast-Kin Khanate—was the shortest. Lucian wrote it himself in just a few sentences. "We are your new neighbor. The Kingdom of Northreach upholds peace. Respect us, and we shall do the same."
Roland read the letter. "Short. But sufficient."
"They don’t need flowery words. They need clarity."
Lucian sealed the fourth letter with red wax. He pressed the Sudrath Wolf seal—the same emblem that once meant almost nothing, now the symbol of a kingdom. He placed it beside the other three.
"Aethelgard, Draconia, Emerald, Beast-Kin." Roland counted on his fingers. "That’s all of them."
Lucian nodded. "That is enough."
Roland tidied the stack of letters, but his movements slowed. "Father..."
Lucian looked at him.
"There is one more." Roland met his father’s gaze. "Luminara. The Holy See."
Lucian frowned. "They aren’t a kingdom. They are a theocracy."
"But they are the heart of the Church. Archbishop Alexander was merely a subordinate. If we send letters to every major power on this continent except them..." Roland shrugged. "It could be seen as an insult. Or worse—an admission that we truly are their enemy."
Lucian brooded. "What difference does it make? They will still view us as demons."
"I don’t know." Roland stared at his father. "But we’ll never know if we don’t try."
Silence hung between them. Lucian stared at the stack of sealed letters. Finally, he reached for the fifth parchment—the one he hadn’t intended to touch.
"Fine." He dipped his pen again. "One more."
The fifth letter was the hardest. Lucian wrote and erased, wrote and erased. Roland offered suggestions, but even he looked hesitant. In the end, they composed a short, neutral letter, devoid of threats or pleas.
"We are the Kingdom of Northreach. We seek no enmity with Luminara. Respect our sovereignty, as we respect your faith."
Lucian sealed it. Five letters now lay on the desk—each neatly folded, sealed with red wax bearing the image of the Wolf.
He pressed the bell on his desk. Moments later, Grimm entered with a steady pace. The old butler wore a crisp black suit, his white hair combed back perfectly.
"Summon five of our best couriers. I want them to depart before sunset."
Grimm bowed. "Immediately, Your Majesty." He turned and left without a sound.
Five couriers stood in the castle courtyard an hour later. They were young soldiers chosen for their speed and endurance—not for combat, but to reach their destination as quickly as possible. Each was given one letter, a route map, and the best vehicle Sudrath could provide.
Lucian stood before them, Roland at his side. The evening wind brushed against their faces, carrying snowflakes that began to fall more heavily.
"You know what you carry," Lucian said. His voice was low, but every word was clear. "These letters will determine the future of our kingdom. Do not let them fall into the wrong hands. Do not stop unless forced."
The five couriers nodded in unison.
"Go."
Five vehicles were prepared in the courtyard. Not horses—Northreach had long abandoned such ways. These vehicles were black SUVs with the Wolf emblem on the doors. Their engines hummed softly, ready to devour the road no matter the distance.
The couriers climbed in one by one. They weren’t knights in shining armor. They were trained drivers, chosen for their ability to keep a vehicle moving even through the harshest terrain.
Five engines roared at once. Snow dust kicked up as the vehicles sped out of the gates—heading north, south, east, west, and southeast.
Roland watched the five dots grow smaller in the distance. "Now, we wait."
Lucian didn’t answer. He simply turned and walked back into the castle. But at the threshold, he paused for a moment, looking southeast—toward Luminara.
Then he went inside.
That evening, the family room of Iron Hearth Castle was livelier than usual. Aurelia sat in a chair near the fireplace, cradling a book she wasn’t reading. The fire danced, casting soft shadows on the stone walls. Rianor sat on the sofa, his crystal tablet glowing with sketches of the Seruni School—but tonight, he wasn’t fully focused. Occasionally he looked up toward his father, then back at his tablet.
Riven stood by the window as usual, arms crossed, staring out. The snow was still falling. "Finally," he said softly, more to himself.
Rhea sat in an armchair, cradling a fast-asleep Ana. The baby’s face was peaceful, oblivious to the affairs of the kingdom. Her tiny hands were clenched over the blanket. Rhea stroked her daughter’s head gently. "As long as no one bothers my child, I don’t care if we’re called a duchy or a kingdom."
Roland chuckled from his sofa. "That is a very... practical attitude."
"Practicality is the only way to survive." Rhea looked at her brother. "You should learn that."
Roland raised both hands in surrender. "I’ve learned. I just choose not to show it."
Rumina sat at a small table in the corner, her ledger open, pencil in hand. But tonight, she was more silent than usual. "I have to recalculate the kingdom’s budget," she said finally, without looking up. "A new title means a new administration. A new administration means new costs." She looked at Lucian. "Father, please don’t increase spending for at least the next six months."
Lucian almost smiled. "I can’t make that promise."
Raveena sat on the carpet, leaning against the base of Aurelia’s chair. She looked at her father. "Does this mean we will be safe?"
Lucian looked at his daughter. "Safe is a relative word, Raveena. But we will be stronger. That is for certain."
Raphael sat beside her, playing with a small wooden sword. He stopped his play. "Will I be a prince?"
Riven turned from the window. "You will be a prince. But you still have to train every morning."
Raphael let out a dramatic sigh. "So there’s no difference then."
"There is." Riven stared at his brother. "Now you train as a prince. It’s harder."
Raphael groaned. Raveena patted his shoulder in sympathy—though she couldn’t hide her smile. "You could ask Father for a break."
"Father won’t give one." Raphael glanced at Lucian.
Lucian shook his head slowly. "Riven is right. Training continues."
Raphael slumped onto the carpet, staring at the ceiling. "I’ll be the first prince to die from overtraining."
"You won’t die." Rhea looked at him. "At most, you’ll faint."
"Even worse."
Soft laughter filled the room. Even Rianor—who rarely laughed—let out a quiet snort.
Aurelia finally closed her book. Silence slowly descended as the fire crackled softly. "We did it."
Every eye turned to her.
"We started from zero. From this dining room, with debts that nearly drowned us." She looked at Lucian. "And now... we’ve come this far."
Lucian walked over to her, taking her hand. Their fingers intertwined—the same hands that had gripped each other tight when they first woke up in this alien world, confused and terrified. "We did it together."
Aurelia squeezed his hand firmly. "Yes. Together."
The night grew late. One by one, family members left the room—Rhea first, as Ana began to fuss, her cries breaking the silence. Raphael yawned wide and stood up, followed by Raveena who guided him to his room. Rianor and Roland walked out together, debating quietly about something likely trivial—Roland laughing, Rianor shaking his head.
Rumina was still in her corner, but her ledger was now closed. She just stared at the fire. After a moment, she stood, grabbed her book, and walked out silently.
Lucian and Aurelia stood at the window, looking out. The snow was still falling—thin, soft, covering the city that never truly slept. The lights of Iron Hearth flickered in the distance, like stars that had fallen to earth.
"There is no turning back," Lucian whispered.
Aurelia rested her head on her husband’s shoulder. "No, there isn’t. Just enjoy life in this world."
They stood there in silence, gazing at the future they had created with their own hands.