Inside Roland's office, the air was thick with the scent of dried parchment, iron-gall ink, and the faint, lingering smell of coal smoke from the fireplace. The large oak desk, once used for signing trivial decrees and wine orders by the previous Prince, was now buried under a mountain of new markings. Maps of Border Town were pinned down by heavy brass weights, showing a bold, jagged line that connected the jagged cliffs of the North Slope to the churning, grey banks of the Redwater River.
Roland leaned over the drafts, rubbing his temples. His engineering mind was calculating volumes of stone, tons of limestone, and man-hours, but the math kept coming up short. He had the "what" and the "how," but he lacked the "who." He needed a foreman, a master of stone who didn't just follow orders but understood the soul of a structure. The pressure of the ticking clock—the impending Months of Demons—was a physical weight on his shoulders.
Arthur stood a few paces back, his arms crossed, observing the Prince's frustration. He knew exactly what piece was missing from this industrial puzzle.
— "Your Highness, a wall is only as strong as the man who oversees its foundation," Arthur commented, his voice calm and measured. — "To finish this project before the first snow falls, you need more than just laborers. You need a master mason who understands the geometry of defense and, more importantly, someone whose heart is actually in the work. Someone trustworthy."
Roland looked up from a sketch of a kiln, his eyes tired but sharp. — "Trust is a rare commodity in Border Town, Arthur. Most of these people look at me like I'm a wolf in silk clothing. Who do you have in mind?"
— "There is a man living among the commoners named Karl van Bate," Arthur said. — "He was once a masonry leader in the capital, a talented scholar who understands the principles of architecture. But he's more than just a builder, Roland. He is a man of conscience."
Roland leaned back, his interest piqued. — "A scholar-mason hiding in a mining town? Why him specifically? There must be others with experience."
— "Because Karl was Anna's teacher," Arthur revealed, watching Roland's expression change. — "He taught her to read, to write, and to think. He deeply mourned her when the news of her 'execution' spread. If he sees that you have not only spared her but protected her, his loyalty won't just be bought—it will be forged in iron. He is the missing piece to transform that grey cement into an impassable barrier."
Roland hesitated for a moment, weighing the risks of bringing another "outsider" into the inner circle of the castle. Finally, he nodded and signaled for Commander Carter Lannis to fetch the man.
As Carter left, a heavy silence fell over the office. Arthur walked toward the window, his eyes scanning the shadowed corners of the room. A sudden, inexplicable chill ran down his spine. His pulse quickened. I know the next move, he thought, his mind racing through his knowledge of the original timeline. I know about Nana Pine. I know she's a healer, and I know Roland needs her.
He opened his mouth to speak, to tell Roland about the carpenter's daughter, but he caught himself. He felt a strange sensation—a ripple in the air, as if the space around them were being observed by an unseen eye.
No, Arthur thought, his eyes narrowing as he looked at a flicker of shadow near the bookshelf. I don't know exactly when Nightingale arrived to scout the castle. At this very moment, she might be standing right there, hidden in the Mist World, watching us. If I reveal too much—if I start listing witches who haven't even been discovered yet—I'll look like a Church inquisitor or a high-level spy. I can't risk Nightingale thinking I'm a threat to her sisters. Better to let the events flow organically.
Ten minutes later, the heavy door creaked open. Carter Lannis returned, followed by a middle-aged man whose clothes were stained with stone dust and whose hands were thick with callouses. Karl van Bate entered the room with his shoulders hunched, his gaze fixed firmly on the floor. He looked like a man walking toward a chopping block, expecting the worst from a Prince who had a reputation for cruelty and decadence.
However, as he crossed the threshold, Karl froze. The air seemed to leave his lungs in a sharp gasp.
There, standing beside the Prince's desk, was a young woman with vibrant orange hair. She wasn't in chains. She wasn't crying. She was holding a set of technical drawings, handling the delicate papers with a quiet dignity and a focus he had never seen in a prisoner.
— "An... Anna?" Karl's voice cracked, a fragile mixture of terror, disbelief, and sudden, overwhelming hope.
Anna looked up from the blueprints. A small, soft glint appeared in her usually stoic blue eyes. — "Master Karl," she replied with a short, respectful nod.
Karl's knees gave out. He didn't fall out of royal protocol or fear; he collapsed out of pure, unadulterated shock. He stared at her, then at Roland, then back at Anna. The crushing weight of guilt he had carried since her arrest—the belief that he had failed his favorite pupil—seemed to shatter instantly. He realized in that heartbeat that the rumors in the town square were wrong. This Prince did not serve the Church; he was defying it.
— "Your Highness... I thought... everyone said..." Karl stammered, his eyes watering as he looked at Roland with a newfound, trembling reverence. — "If you are protecting her... if you have kept her safe from the fire... then what you are doing here is more important than any wall. Know that it is not just Anna... there is another. Another student of mine, little Nana, the carpenter's daughter... she has also shown signs. I've been trying to hide her, to keep her from the guards, but..."
Roland exchanged a long, meaningful look with Arthur. Arthur merely nodded in silence, masterfully feigning surprise at the revelation, though his heart hammered against his ribs.
— "We will speak of the girl soon, Karl," Roland said, his voice firm but surprisingly kind. He gestured for the mason to stand and join them at the table. — "But right now, I need your hands and your mind. We have the cement—a material that hardens like stone itself. We have the limestone from the North Slope. And we have exactly three months before the monsters arrive. Show me how we are going to bridge the gap between these mountains and the river. Show me how we build a future for everyone in this town."
Karl stood up, wiping his eyes with a dusty sleeve. The apprehension was gone, replaced by the burning fervor of a builder who had finally found a cause worth dying for. For the next several hours, the four of them—the Prince from another world, the transmigrator with forbidden knowledge, the master mason, and the witch of fire—pored over the maps. They argued over foundations, calculated the slope of the terrain, and traced the line of a structure that would forever change the fate of Graycastle.
Outside, in the castle yard, William continued his grueling physical training, his sword whistling through the autumn air as he pushed his body to its limits. He was the shield, but inside the office, the sword was being forged.
And within the invisible, swirling grey mist of a parallel dimension, a pair of watchful eyes observed every movement. Nightingale stood just inches from the table, her hand resting on the hilt of her dagger, her breath held. She watched the unlikely alliance grow stronger, her initial suspicion slowly turning into a confused, hopeful wonder. The Prince was truly protecting them. The world was changing, and for the first time, the witches of the Association were not the only ones fighting for a place to belong.