I was reviewing the open notes while thinking about the encounter. The creature's ambush Ironwind experienced earlier wasn't unusual in terms of game structure. It existed mainly as background filler to explain why he took danger with more attention and why he became selective about allies later on.
In the game, this incident was never framed as a dramatic tragedy. Most of Ironwind survived. Garron gained experience, yet still lost some of his friends.
It was simply one of the first where Garron learned who paid attention and who didn't.
The lore suggested that Garron remembered people who warned him of danger or supported him during chaotic moments. Players who knew how to navigate that optional scene often gained extra dialogue, small trust boosts, or access to Ironwind's side quests. It wasn't essential to the main plot, but it made Garron far more open to cooperation.
" I was lucky to meet him this early "
In the future, Garron becomes one of the most respected figures. Not only does his mercenery group grow in size and power, but he himself was one of the few who reached the peak of martial prowess known as Aura.
That meant something important:
this was an early chance to establish a connection.
Garron was not yet hardened or distant at this stage of the story. He was still approachable, still willing to form bonds, still sharp but not closed off.
Ironwind's near-misstep also put Veinhelm in a favorable position. Garron would remember who had warned him. He would notice who understood things before anyone else. And he would pay attention to someone who seemed capable of spotting threats that others missed.
If I want powerful allies later, this was the natural time to start. And unlike other key figures, Garron was easier to approach now than he would be once the story progressed into larger conflicts.
*
*
*
Marianne sat curled against the window frame, the cool glass supporting her temple as the wine bottle slipped lazily between her fingers. She wasn't fully gone, just drifting in that warm, slow place where thoughts came unfiltered and tangled.
Elna, her trusted aide moved quietly around the room, adjusting curtains and gathering scattered fabrics, but Marianne barely noticed. Her mind kept circling the same point, returning to Veinhelm again and again, as if trying to catch hold of something that kept slipping through her hands.
He had spoken differently today. That much she knew. Calm, steady, unbothered. It didn't match the Veinhelm she had grown up with—the impulsive one, the emotional one, the one who reacted too quickly to things that barely deserved attention. That version made sense to her. She understood how to handle him.
But this new version…
She couldn't find the cause.
No argument had happened. No major news had reached the estate. No sudden burden had been dropped on his shoulders.
She tried to blame the wine for her thoughts, but even with blurry edges, the question kept rising in her chest.
What changed him?
Nothing fit. The shift was too clean, too controlled. It didn't feel like someone reacting to a problem. It felt like someone stepping out of a role. Someone who had been waiting for a moment to stop being who he had pretended to be.
A small breath escaped her.
Pretended?
" No way. "
The idea slipped into her mind before she could stop it.
What if his earlier behavior—his dramatics, his emotional dependency, his reckless outbursts—had never been the whole picture? What if she had taken those traits as proof that she knew him, when in reality she'd only seen the surface he allowed others to handle?
The wine blurred the room slightly, but the thought stayed sharp.
Did I ever actually understand him?
Or did I just understand the version of him that was easiest to manage?
That unsettled her more than the change itself.
She didn't like feeling behind. She didn't like realizing she might have missed something important. Veinhelm had always been predictable—infuriating, yes, but predictable. And now she couldn't even tell where the old him ended and this new version began.
Her gaze drifted toward the faint reflection of herself in the window. The image blurred, then sharpened again as she blinked.
If he was acting before… then who have I been talking to all these years?
And why did he stop now?
Marianne swallowed, her throat tight from a feeling she couldn't name. Not fear, not sadness—just a deep, hollow confusion.
She didn't know Veinhelm.
Not this one.
That realization lingered with her longer than the wine.
*
*
*
The storage-side chamber felt cramped tonight, lit by a lantern that flickered more than it burned. Three Drakan officials gathered around the small table, shifting their feet and glancing at the door far too often. Their posture looked more nervous than conspiratorial.
The oldest man tried speaking first.
"We really need to do something," he muttered. "That idiot is getting in our way again."
He scratched his beard anxiously.
The thinner official nodded a little too quickly.
"Yes, I know that," he said.
"But I have no idea how we actually remove him."
His voice cracked slightly with uncertainty.
The third man hovered a few steps behind them.
"Well, we cannot just keep watching him ruin our plans," he whispered stiffly.
" I got an ideal but I don't think any of us are trained for something like this."
He rubbed his hands together awkwardly.
They exchanged hesitant looks, none confident enough to take the lead properly.
The oldest man leaned closer to the table.
"We need Veinhelm to fail publicly somehow," he said.
"If he fails badly enough, the council will take control away from him."
His tone carried more hope than strategy.
The thin man frowned uneasily.
"What if he doesn't fail though?"
He swallowed loudly.
"He might actually handle things better now."
The third man sighed softly.
"We should find a task he cannot manage easily," he suggested.
"Something big enough to embarrass him, but not dangerous for us."
He sounded like he was guessing rather than planning.
The older official snapped his fingers suddenly.
"We could overload him with duties," he said.
"Just keep handing him problems until he collapses from the pressure."
His enthusiasm appeared misplaced and clumsy.
The thin man looked uncertain about everything.
"And if he does not collapse?" he asked.
"What if he starts doing better than before?"
His worry lingered plainly in the air.
The third official exhaled with frustration.
"We just need him to look bad," he said. "Rumors should help with that part easily enough."
But even he did not sound convinced.
Their conversation lacked direction.
They whispered ideas, abandoned them, then picked them back up again.
Nothing they proposed sounded organized or confident.
Finally the oldest man shrugged tiredly.
"We will think of something later," he said.
"This is harder than I expected, honestly."
He rubbed his temples in mild embarrassment.
The three men slowly filed out of the chamber, each of them looking more confused than dangerous.
Their plot technically existed now, but only in the loosest terms.
No one left the room feeling prepared.
Only committed to trying again.
*
*
*
I had just set the invitation aside when a firm knock sounded at the office door. Alexander rarely hesitated when he needed something, and the rhythm matched his usual manner. I straightened the documents on my desk before speaking.
"Enter."
Alexander stepped inside with the same composed posture he always carried, though his eyes scanned the room briefly, as if checking whether I had slept properly. He stood before the desk and bowed.
"My lord," he began, "all preparations for the Winter Gala have been completed."
I nodded for him to continue.
"The carriage has been inspected. The attire you selected has been cleaned and adjusted. The household has been informed of your absence. The estate steward will handle daily matters while you are away." He paused only briefly. "Additionally, the security detail has undergone full review. No issues were found."
Efficient, as expected.
Alexander always handled preparations with almost rigid thoroughness. He never left room for errors, and he rarely asked questions unless something genuinely concerned him.
"Anything unexpected?" I asked.
"No, my lord," he replied. "Everything is in order for your departure tomorrow morning."
I leaned back slightly in my chair.
Tomorrow.
The Winter Gala would begin the moment I stepped into the imperial hall, and with it came the quiet evaluations of every noble present.
Alexander remained standing, waiting for any further instructions.
He had followed the old Veinhelm through years of disorganization, impulsiveness, and scattered priorities. The fact that he continued doing his duty now, without hesitation, spoke to his loyalty more than anything else.
I regarded him for a moment.
He, unlike the estate officials, had no hidden motives.
No ambitions tied to my mistakes.
Only clear loyalty and a sense of responsibility stronger than most retainers.
"Good work," I said. "I'll review the last details today. Make sure the evening remains undisturbed."
Alexander bowed again.
"As you command, my lord."
He turned to leave, but paused halfway to the door.
"My lord… may I ask one question?"
I raised an eyebrow. "Go ahead."
He hesitated, which was rare for him.
"It concerns the nobles expected to attend. Should I prepare additional briefing notes? There are several who may seek contact with House Drakan."
He was being careful.
He wanted clarity, not assumptions.
"No need," I said. "I intend to keep interactions limited. The empire only needs to see our composure, not hunger or interest."
Alexander accepted this with a small nod.
"Then I will ensure the staff understands the boundaries."
He left the room quietly, closing the door behind him.
I exhaled as the silence returned.
The preparations were finished.
The path to the imperial hall was set.
Now I simply needed to decide how much of myself the empire would see.
*
*
*
The Winter Gala drew nearer, and with it came the steady rise of gossip that always preceded an imperial gathering. Taverns near the capital filled earlier than usual, and quiet corners of noble estates buzzed with whispers no one wanted to claim responsibility for.
Among those whispers, Veinhelm's name appeared more often than expected.
At first, the rumors were mild.
A few nobles remarked on the sudden change in House Drakan's policies.
Some wondered aloud whether the new head lacked experience.
None of this was dangerous—just typical court chatter.
But within two days, the tone shifted noticeably.
Servants in the capital spoke about Veinhelm's "instability."
A few merchants claimed they heard Drakan officials discussing frequent mistakes under his leadership.
One instructor at the academy joked that House Drakan might not survive another winter with such a reckless new head.
None of these claims had clear sources.
None were backed by proof.
Yet all of them spread with surprising speed.
The origin, however, was not random.
It traced back to Lathias influence—softly applied, carefully disguised.
A cousin of the Lathias house whispered to a friend during a carriage ride.
That friend repeated it to a minor noble during tea.
The noble passed it along to a guild representative, who spread it across the lower districts without realizing the implications.
The first major rumor took shape by the afternoon:
"Lord Veinhelm is unfit for leadership."
The second followed shortly after:
"House Drakan is losing control within its own walls."
The third, more vulgar than the rest, circulated among common circles:
"The new head of Drakan collapsed under pressure and dismissed the fiancée out of panic."
Even nobles who disliked gossip found themselves listening.
Rumors moved faster than truth in the empire, especially when timed just before a major gala, when everyone watched for signs of weakness.
The Lathias family never mentioned Veinhelm directly.
They did not need to.
A few well-placed nudges were enough.
By evening, the whispers had grown filthy, exaggerated, and strangely consistent.
Each one chipped away at Veinhelm's image before he even arrived in the capital.
And the Lathias agents settled back quietly, satisfied with how efficiently the empire carried their work for them.