From the rugged path leading from the castle into the forest, Freyja emerged, a plump wild pheasant dangling from her hand.The fortress of House Green crouched upon the border like a beast of stone, but unlike when she had departed, its gates now stood flung wide.Three ornate carriages, drawn not by common steeds but by splendid white warhorses, stood arrayed before the entrance. Upon their sides gleamed the sigil of a purple hibiscus, while a cluster of unfamiliar coachmen idled nearby in low conversation.
Warhorses for a carriage? Who displays such extravagance? Freyja's brows lifted in surprise at the sight of the noble beasts."Whose carriage is this?" she asked, approaching the men.At the sight of her noble attire, their chatter ceased at once. One of them stepped forward, bowing respectfully."My lady, these belong to Viscount Berta."
Viscount Berta? Freyja frowned slightly. She knew the man well enough: by rank, the direct superior of her father the Baron, and lord of the neighboring fief. Yet the strength of the Green household and its private soldiers had long ensured a tacit balance—neither house trespassing upon the other's domain. What business brings Berta here now?
She ignored the coachmen and strode into the castle.Within, it was plain to see that the halls had been hastily tidied, the usual clutter swept away. Step by step, she moved toward the great hall, where muffled voices reached her ears.
"Why has Baron Green not arrived yet?" an impatient, unfamiliar voice."The Baron rode to the iron mine at noon, my lord. He has been informed—it is not far, he should return shortly," answered Mary, the stewardess, in tones Freyja recognized."So there is no one of standing in this castle? Tch. A backwater indeed—no proper tea, no servants worth the name.""My apologies. Only young Master Eric is present. If perhaps—""You mean this worthless boy?" the stranger cut her off with a sneer. "He counts as nothing."
Freyja's steps stilled on the stair. A shadow passed across her expression. Clearly, besides Mary, her younger brother Eric was also within."What is happening here?" Her voice, cool and sharp as steel, rang through the hall.
She swept in, frost upon her features, her golden hair lifting slightly in her stride.Upon a sofa lounged a young man in pristine white attire, insolence in his gaze, four armored guards looming at his back.Mary stood nearby, pale but steady, while Eric hung his head, face bloodless, lips sealed in silence.
"And who are you? Has House Green's hall become open ground for mongrels to wander in?" Freyja's eyes cut toward the stranger like blades."You!" he sputtered, springing halfway from his seat before his men restrained him. "I am Olysses, second son of Viscount Berta! How dare a base-born woman insult me—even if you are the Baron's daughter—"Before his bluster could mount further, Mary hastened to interject, "This is Lady Freyja, the Baron's second daughter."
But Freyja had already turned away, passing her game to a maid without a glance, her cold regard now upon her brother."Eric. I care little how much you wallow in despair, but you are my brother. With Father absent, you are the only man of House Green. And yet—today, you have disappointed me utterly. Hear me well: if a man cannot summon the courage to resist when his dignity is trampled, then he differs not at all from a rotting corpse."
Her words fell like ice upon the trembling youth. For a heartbeat, her stern gaze overlapped with the memory of their father's, and something in Eric stirred. Tears welled in his hollow eyes; his slackened fists slowly clenched."I… I understand, Sister!" His voice cracked, yet a spark of resolve lit within it. Wiping his tears roughly with his sleeve, he turned and fled toward his chamber.
Watching his retreating back, Freyja sighed inwardly. She knew well the roots of his weakness, yet the shackle upon his spirit was his alone to break. She had merely struck the first crack. The rest must come from him.
Only when Eric was gone did she face the still-seething Olysses, her voice calm, almost indifferent."Aunt Mary, it seems Lord Olysses is rather fatigued. Pray, see him to a chamber. My father will return shortly."Still rattled, Mary blinked before nodding quickly. "Y-yes, my lady."
Dragged off in fury by his guards, the Viscount's son disappeared into the guest quarters.Freyja's expression remained impassive. She cared little for having provoked him—titles were but painted masks in this distant land. True strength lay in the force one commanded, and House Green, born from steel and war, was not to be cowed by a family of merchants.
Her true concern lay with her brother. Worthless he might be, but worthlessness without the will to rise was an unforgivable flaw. Blood of the Baron flowed in his veins, and that was burden enough.
Her gaze softened faintly as she recalled the look in his eyes. May this lesson rouse him at last.
Her hand strayed to the hilt at her waist. The day was yet young; she resolved to visit the training chamber once more. For though she drilled relentlessly, she felt her growth in strength begin to falter. Perhaps her foundational forms had reached their limit.
Is it time to attempt a higher style? she mused as she walked. Should I seek Father's counsel?
Meanwhile, in the reception chamber, chaos reigned. Furnishings lay askew, servants hushed."No one—no one has ever dared speak to me so! Not even my father!" Olysses' voice cracked with fury, his face twisted, eyes wet with humiliated tears. "That wretched girl—how dare she—!"