"Young miss! Are you alright? What just happened? Who was that stranger?"
Mary's frantic voice cut through the lingering silence of the camp. The knights stood with swords drawn, their eyes darting wildly to the dark tree line where the midnight stallion had vanished.
"Calm down, Mary. I'll explain…"
Anastasia took a deep breath and began recounting the surreal events of the time-stop. She spoke of Allister Sinclair, the magical awakening, the warning about the imperial healer, and the miraculous artifact now resting around her brother's neck. As she finished, a heavy, awestruck silence fell over the knights.
"I've heard legends of wandering knights and ancient warriors," one of the veteran guards muttered, shaking his head. "But I'm thinking that... that was on another level entirely, wasn't it…"
"Yeah…" another knight added, wiping a bead of cold sweat from his forehead. "Good thing he wasn't an enemy. Just his horse probably would have beat our asses."
Anastasia looked down at her sleeping brother, whose breathing was completely quiet and regular for the first time in years. "Mary, would you please call for the doctor to check on Aurelian? I need to be absolutely certain."
"Right away, miss."
Mary sprinted toward the doctor's quarters. Minutes later, she led the elderly physician back to the anxious group. The doctor knelt by the campfire, gently pulling back Aurelian's collar to check his pulse.
As his diagnostic magic washed over the boy, a sharp gasp of utter disbelief escaped the doctor's lips.
"He... He is completely sound," the doctor stammered, his eyes wide. "It looks like both of you have had a very fortunate encounter. The young master's condition... it has completely vanished!"
A roaring cheer erupted from the knights, shattering the quiet night air. Shields clattered against armor in celebration.
Anastasia felt a profound weight lift from her shoulders. She looked toward the southern road leading to the Imperial City, then turned her eyes back toward their northern homeland. Allister's warning echoed in her mind.
"Then that means we have no reason to visit the capital," Anastasia declared, her voice firm and commanding. "We are heading back home. We leave for the North tomorrow at first light."
The knights roared in unison, their voices echoing off the trees.
"YES!"
The night passed peacefully, and the cold morning daylight broke through the canopy.
When Anastasia woke up, she felt incredibly refreshed, though the sheer surreality of the previous night made her wonder if it had all been a beautiful dream. She immediately turned to Aurelian, who was sleeping soundly beside her. The lantern necklace was still securely wrapped around his neck.
Rubbing the sleep from her eyes in pure relief, she sat up. That was when her gaze fell upon her nightstand.
There, glittering softly in the morning sun, lay the jade hairpin.
She picked it up, admiring the delicate, timeless craftsmanship of the lantern motif. A soft smile graced her lips. She carefully tucked the pin into her silver hair, got dressed, and stepped out to prepare for the long journey back to the northern frontier.
A while later, Aurelian woke up as well, rubbing his eyes to clear away the morning fog.
When the young master stepped out of his tent, he was greeted by a bustling, chaotic scene. Maids and knights were packing up tents, extinguishing fires, and loading heavy crates onto the transport wagons. At the center of the camp stood his older sister, seamlessly directing the chaos like a seasoned commander.
Before long, the convoy was packed, lined up, and ready to roll.
They made their way up to the frozen North. Days bled into weeks, and the landscape grew harsher, dominated by rugged mountains and biting winds. Finally, as they approached the border of their homeland, a monolithic structure greeted them.
It was a giant stone wall that stretched for as far as the eye could see—a historical wonder built millennia ago by the ancient progenitors who had first settled the harsh northern lands.
Adorning the weathered stone were massive, intricate carvings depicting the bloody, glorious history of the North. It was a marvelous display of timeless craftsmanship and endurance.
As the convoy approached, the grand wooden doors of the gatehouse swung open, welcoming them into the official territory of House Belessier. They still had a few more days of travel before they would reach the Palace of Belessier itself, so they pulled over at a familiar military campground along the wall to set up camp for the night.
While eating dinner and chatting away by the fire, Aurelian suddenly paused, staring intently at a section of the wall illuminated by the campfires. He tapped his sister's arm.
"Sis! Doesn't the man on the horsey, look exactly like one of the sculptures on the wall?"
Hearing what the boy said, the lively chatter of the camp instantly died out.
Anastasia's fork halted halfway to her mouth. "What do you mean, Aurelian?"
A seemingly trivial detail that everyone had overlooked for generations suddenly sparked a friendly, competitive curiosity among the guards. Eager for a distraction, several knights launched off on their horses, riding along the base of the massive stone wall.
Aurelian rode up front with Anastasia, eagerly guiding her horse toward the specific carving he had spotted.
And sure enough, there he was.
Carved deep into the ancient stone at one of the very first, oldest points on the wall was a pristine sculpture depicting a towering warrior with a familiar, casual overcoat and a majestic steed. Unlike the surrounding history blocks, which were weathered and covered in moss, this specific sculpture was immaculate—as if some invisible force always came to look after it.
The trailing knights caught up to the pair, pulling their reins as they looked up at the carving. A collective gasp rippled through the ranks.
While the guards stared in awestruck silence, Aurelian's sharp eyes noticed something else. He pointed a small finger toward the statue's stone hand.
"Look at that slot near the sculpture's hand! Doesn't that shape look exactly like your hairpin, sis?"
Anastasia's breath hitched. "You're right…"
"Young miss," Captain Murdoch stepped forward, his eyes gleaming with a mixture of caution and curiosity. "Why not try putting your hairpin into the slot? Perhaps the ancient stranger prepared something specifically for you."
"Should I?" Anastasia murmured, her fingers tracing the jade ornament in her hair.
"Yeah! Yeah! Try it, sis!" Aurelian cheered.
Wanting to unlock the secrets of the enigmatic wanderer, Anastasia drew the jade hairpin from her silver locks. With the knights watching intently, she stepped up to the base of the monolith and slid the hairpin perfectly into the stone slot.
Click.
The moment the mechanism engaged, the world violently shifted.
The dark night, the campfires, and the surrounding forest disappeared in a flash of blinding light. The sudden transformation left only the ancient stone wall intact. When the light faded, the sky above them was bright blue, and they were standing in a vast, untamed grassland under the blazing sun of high noon.
"Uh… Young miss? Young master?" a knight whispered, his voice trembling as he gripped his spear. "I think… I think we've been transported to the past."
The guards scrambled, instantly forming a defensive perimeter. Luckily, the seasoned Captain Murdoch was accompanying them. He stepped to the front, kneeling down to crush the vibrant, unfamiliar grass between his armored fingers.
"Young miss, young master, looking at the terrain, it seems we are in the exact same geographic location," Murdoch analyzed, his jaw tight. "Just... an entirely different era. I've heard the Patriarch tell stories about the ancient history of our land. Before the cities were built, the Belessier territory used to be a wide-open, endless grassland. Just like this."
"Are you certain, Captain Murdoch?" Anastasia asked, her hand resting on the pommel of her sword as she kept Aurelian behind her.
Before the captain could answer, the ground beneath their boots began to violently rumble.
Thoom. Thoom. Thoom.
Low, rhythmic tremors echoed through the earth. On the distant horizon, a massive dust cloud billowed into the sky. Massive caravans, flanked by long, unending trains of armored wagons and thousands of mounted soldiers, were moving toward them like a conquering army.
"Knights! Iron Wall Defense!" Captain Murdoch's voice boomed across the plain. "Don't let them harm the young heirs of House Belessier! Young miss, young master please stay behind us!"
The elite guards moved as a single entity, locking their heavy gauntlet shields together to form an impenetrable iron wall. They drew their broadswords, breathing in unison, fully prepared to fight to the death for their lords.
The roaring rumbling of the approaching convoy slowly ground to a halt a few hundred yards away. The knights slowed their breathing, narrowing their eyes through the slits of their visors, bracing for an imminent confrontation.
Suddenly, a few mounted leaders broke away from the massive caravan, charging directly toward the small defensive formation. However, as the riders got closer, they caught sight of the banners and crests held by Murdoch's men. The riders skidded to a violent halt, stared in absolute disbelief, and immediately wheeled their horses around, racing back to the main convoy to report.
A short while later, the small scouting group returned, joined by two prominent figures from the caravan. They rode carefully toward the locked shields.
Anastasia, peering through a gap in the armor wall, noticed something snapping violently in the wind. The two mounted riders were holding high a flag that bore the distinct, noble crest of House Belessier—but the design was raw, ancient, and slightly different.
"Hold! That's close enough! Reveal your name and purpose!" Captain Murdoch shouted, his voice laced with killing intent.
"Sir…" one of Murdoch's veteran knights whispered, his eyes wide. "That's the crest of House Belessier. But it's an ancient variant. I've only ever seen it carved in the deepest halls of the Order's sanctuary."
"Stay sharp," Murdoch snapped, never lowering his blade. "We still don't know if they are friend or foe."
The two foreign riders dismounted, stepping away from their horses. They held their flags and open palms high in the air, signaling they had no intention to fight.
"We are the Storm Knight Order of House Belessier!" the leading rider called out, his voice echoing across the grass. "Who art thou to bear our sacred crest?!"
Captain Murdoch stepped through the shield wall, his gaze piercing. "We are knights of the Storm Knight Order, Judgment Hall! I am the Captain of the Judgment Hall Honor Guard."
The foreign rider's eyes narrowed dangerously.
"Men! Swords ready!"
Clang-clang! The Knights behind Murdoch bared their weapons.
"Easy now, easy! We are not here to fight!" One of the riders raised a hand, trying to prevent a paradox.
"Then reveal your name and your rank." Murdoch commanded.
The leading rider stepped forward, pulling back his hood to reveal a face that made Captain Murdoch's skip a beat. The man possessed the exact same chiseled jaw, the same scar across the brow, and the same commanding stance as Murdoch himself.
"I am Gabriel Murdoch, First Captain of the Storm Knight Order," the man declared. "What of you?"
A collective gasp rippled through Anastasia's guard line. One of her younger knights practically choked on his breath. "Sir! I knew he looked familiar... He's the First Captain! The legendary founder of the Storm Order!"
Gabriel Murdoch looked at the strangely armored knights with deep suspicion. "Show us the Storm Crest. All true captains of the Order carry their identification token."
Without a word, Captain Murdoch reached into his armored waistband. He pulled out a heavy, metallic token engraved with a roaring tempest and tossed it across the grass.
The historical knight closest to the token quickly scooped it up and handed it over to Gabriel Murdoch. Gabriel inspected the flawless, futuristic craftsmanship before stepping forward. He focused his energy, injecting a sharp current of his internal Aether straight into the metal core.
Hummmmm—
The crest instantly erupted in a brilliant, blinding gold light, signaling absolute truth. The artifact recognized the matching bloodline and Aether.
Gabriel's eyes widened to the size of saucers, a profound bewilderment overtaking his face, but he accepted the reality of the magic. "Well now... this is strange indeed."
Seeing the crest activate, Captain Murdoch turned to his unit. "Front ranks! At ease!"
The front line of modern knights lowered their heavy gauntlet shields and put their weapons away, though the rear guard remained tense, keeping their blades ready to protect the heirs.
However, in the confusion of the supernatural meeting, the knights failed to notice that another small, rogue contingent had split off from the massive historical caravan. Sneaking through the natural dip of the valley, they had successfully scouted around to Murdoch's flank.
"Sir, it seems those strange knights behind them are protecting a real beauty!" a rogue scout whispered, peering through a brass spyglass.
"Let me see that—"
The leader of the detachment snatched the binoculars out of his subordinate's hand, focusing on Anastasia's striking silver hair and crimson velvet gown.
"Oh my! What do we have here?" The leader's lips curled into a predatory grin. "It does seem like a high-born prize! Why don't we go over there and have a friendly chat, huh? Boys, charge!"
"HEYA!"
The detached group of rogue riders violently kicked their mounts, surging out of the valley hideout. They crested the grassy hill at a full gallop, their heavy lances leveled straight at the rear guard.
"Enemy attack! Deploy shields!" a rear guard knight screamed, spotting the glint of steel just in time.
The rogue riders charged directly for the back line where Anastasia and Aurelian were positioned.
CRASH!
The thunderous collision of lances against reinforced shields echoed across the plains. But these were the elite Honor Guards of the future. Shrouding their bodies and shields with dense, refined Aether, they stopped the cavalry charge completely cold.
The sheer kinetic backlash flung the rogue attackers violently from their horses, sending them crashing into the dirt.
Seeing the unprovoked assault, Gabriel Murdoch's eyes flashed with anger, and his hand instinctively flew to the hilt of his sword—
Sshhhk.
Before Gabriel could even draw an inch of steel, Captain Murdoch's broadsword was already resting firmly against his throat, the razor-sharp edge pressing into his skin.
"Uh, sir knight…" Gabriel stammered, his body freezing in place as he looked into the cold, murderous eyes of his future descendant. "There has been a terrible misunderstanding."
"Explain," Captain Murdoch commanded.
It was a short, clipped word, but it carried a suffocating weight of absolute bloodlust. The edge of his broadsword pressed fractionally tighter, drawing a thin, single bead of crimson blood from Gabriel's neck.
On the hill, the remaining rogue attackers scrambled to their feet. "Grab the girl!" one of the dazed adversaries yelled, drawing a dagger and lunging toward Anastasia.
"Honor guard! Defend and execute!" Captain Murdoch ordered, his eyes never leaving Gabriel.
The modern knights shifted their defensive formation flawlessly. Another loud crash echoed through the grassland as the attackers were thoroughly overpowered, their weapons shattered by superior Aether-reinforced strength.
"Kill the assailants!"
Following Murdoch's ruthless command, the guards showed no mercy, swiftly executing the rogue faction who had dared to threaten the heirs of House Belessier.
Gabriel Murdoch, feeling the cold steel against his throat and watching these strange, elite warriors dismantle his men with terrifying efficiency, swallowed hard. He raised his hands high in the air and roared to the distant convoy.
"All of you, stop! Don't you dare make another move! They aren't enemies! Go get the Commander, right now!"
The grassland fell into a tense, heavy silence. But it didn't last long.
Galloping across the vibrant plains, a lone rider tore away from the massive convoy. The man was clad in blinding, pristine white armor that shimmered like freshly fallen snow under the midday sun. Seeing that distinctive, legendary radiance instantly calmed Captain Murdoch. His heart hammered in his chest as he recognized the mythical armor from the oldest portraits in the estate—this was the First Patriarch of House Belessier.
The Patriarch pulled his horse to a smooth halt and dismounted, his heavy boots pressing into the dirt.
As he fully came into view, the sheer genetic legacy of the northern lineage became undeniable. He was a man whose very presence seemed to drop the surrounding temperature by several degrees.
A magnificent, heavy mane of frost-silver hair fell over his broad shoulders, completely devoid of the dullness of age, glittering like ice. His face possessed a sharp, lethal aristocratic geometry—a razor-edged jawline, a straight, prominent bridge of his nose, and high, sculpted cheekbones that looked as though they had been chiseled directly out of a glacier. Framed by thick, pale lashes, his eyes were a piercing, violently cold amethyst, holding a chilling, calculating intellect.
Yet, his features were hardened by decades of brutal military conquest. A neatly trimmed, silver-dusted beard traced his formidable jaw, adding a rugged weight to his terrifyingly handsome visage. Draped over his white armor was a battle-worn cloak of deep crimson velvet—the signature wine-red color of their high house—with heavy silver embroidery tracing his shoulders like jagged icicles. He looked every bit the winter-born monarch.
He looked over the modern soldiers, his eyes wide with genuine astonishment.
"Hahaha… That man never ceases to amaze me," the Patriarch muttered to himself, a faint, razor-thin smile gracing his crimson-tinted lips.
He stepped forward, his gaze locking directly onto the high-tier craftsmanship and the emblem engraved on Captain Murdoch's sword.
"This is the year 204 of the Yhesen imperial calendar," the Patriarch noted, his voice booming with a smooth, terrifyingly calm authority. "What year did you come from?"
"We are here from the year 1857 of the Yhesen imperial calendar," Murdoch answered calmly, keeping his posture rigid but respectful.
"So, sixteen hundred years in the future, it seems," the Patriarch replied, his cold amethyst eyes gleaming with immense curiosity. "Well then, aren't you going to introduce yourself, Captain?"
"I am Captain William Murdoch of the Storm Knight Order, Judgment Hall Honor Guard."
The Patriarch gestured casually toward Gabriel's neck. "Why don't you put that scary-looking blade away, Captain? It seems like you were sent here by Sir Sinclair, were you not?"
Hearing that name, William paused, his eyes shifting over to the young miss for confirmation. With a firm, subtle nod from Anastasia, he smoothly withdrew his broadsword from Gabriel's neck and sheathed it, stepping back into a defensive stance.
Gabriel exhaled a sharp breath, rubbing the thin crimson line on his neck where the steel had just been resting.
The Patriarch watched the exchange, his cold amethyst eyes softening slightly as a realization dawned on him. He looked down at Captain William Murdoch, then over toward Anastasia, a warm, knowing grin breaking through his silver-dusted beard.
"Then these must be my descendants," he murmured, his gaze locking onto the modern captain's familiar jawline. He then turned his attention fully to the silver-haired girl in the crimson gown. "Will you introduce yourself, my lady?"
He asked politely with no malice, but the air around him thrummed with an intense, boundless curiosity.
Stepping forward to shield her brother, Anastasia maintained her aristocratic poise. "My name is Anastasia Belessier, my lord," she introduced, her voice smooth and steady. She gently gestured to the boy beside her. "And this here is Aurelian Belessier."
She offered a calm, graceful smile, though her posture remained perfectly guarded.
The Patriarch's eyes drifted down to the young boy, instantly locking onto the quiet, unassuming lantern ornament resting against Aurelian's chest. A sharp chuckle escaped his lips.
"So that's why that bastard took my necklace," he muttered to himself, shaking his head in fond exasperation.
Looking back up at the two heirs who were still standing rigidly under his immense pressure, his expression softened into one of genuine warmth. "It's alright, children. Relax your shoulders. It seems we share a fate woven intricately by time itself."
Then, the warmth vanished from his face in a single heartbeat.
Turning his attention toward the rogue scouts scattered across the dirt, the Patriarch's tone dropped into a heavy, frost-laden baritone. He looked directly at Gabriel.
"Captain Gabriel. Throw all those who attacked just now into the deepest dungeon...if they are even still alive," he ordered, his eyes glinting with a brief, terrifyingly murderous aura, a stark reminder of the winter-born monarch's ruthless rule. Gabriel saluted sharply, immediately ordering his men to drag the broken bodies away.
As the bloody business was handled, the Patriarch's lethal presence melted back into grand nobility. He spread his arms wide, looking back at the modern knights of House Belessier, his crimson velvet cloak snapping in the wind.
"Where are my manners?" the Patriarch boomed, his voice echoing across the endless grasslands. "Everyone, I sincerely welcome you to 'Celestia-Belessier!'"
"Whoa!"
A collective exclamation of sheer excitement and disbelief erupted from the modern knights. The heavy, formal discipline of the Honor Guard briefly cracked as they looked around at the vast, historic expanse of the ancient territory. To stand in the presence of the First Patriarch, at the very dawn of their great lineage—it was a legendary tale brought to life right before their eyes.
The Patriarch laughed, a hearty, booming sound that resonated with the strength of the northern wind. He gestured for the convoy to fall in line behind his own personal vanguard.
"Come, children," the Patriarch commanded warmly, mounting his massive white stallion with effortless grace. "Let us head inside the gates. You have traveled sixteen hundred years to get here; it is only right that House Belessier throws a feast worthy of the future!"