The northern wind carried the scent of smoke and baked clay through Sikone. Evening shadows stretched long across the village walls as Jared sat in his chair, one leg hooked lazily over the other, chewing on a piece of dried meat while watching Lucy sweep ash from the hearth.

She glanced at him. "You've been sighing for five minutes straight. That's a new record."

"I'm practicing my noble impression," Jared muttered.

"Let me guess—the one coming to visit?"

He nodded. "Apparently Simon opened his oversized mouth in the capital. Now some fancy brat from House Elros wants to see 'the savage north.' His words, not mine."

Lucy tossed the ash outside and shut the door with a little more force than necessary. "He's actually coming here? Physically?"

"He's probably never even touched dirt before."

[The goddess of trades snorts at the irony.]

[The god of loyalty raises a mug.]

"I bet he thinks we sleep on rocks and bathe in soup," Jared continued. "Or that we're going to sacrifice him to a tree spirit."

Lucy leaned on the broom. "You're not helping your nerves by imagining him fainting every time a lizard man walks by."

Jared blinked. "Oh gods. The lizard men. They're still stationed at the south hills."

"Didn't you send them there with the four mechas?"

"Yes. Because we have no idea how to use the mechas properly yet, and the lizards are too proud to ask questions."

Lucy dropped into the seat beside him. "Do we even want a noble here? The villagers aren't exactly… diplomatic."

"No, they're honest."

"They call Ravana's people 'soft skins.' What do you think they'll call a noble?"

Jared shrugged. "Decorative?"

Lucy grinned, then sobered. "Kiara should know."

"She does. She laughed. Then told me if the noble touched her sword, she'd break his hands."

"She's doing well, by the way," Lucy added. "Kiara. With the soldiers."

"Yeah." Jared leaned back, arms folded. "She's turning them into something halfway competent. Not bad for someone who thought 'strategy' was just a fancier way to say 'stab.'"

Out the window, a group of new recruits ran past the training yard, half-dressed and laughing. Kiara shouted after them, mock-threatening to shave their heads if they were late again.

Jared smirked. "See? Discipline."

"They fear her more than actual war."

"As they should."

The next day arrived faster than Jared liked.

Simon met him at the gate, dressed finer than usual. His cloak was brushed clean, his boots polished. He looked almost like a noble himself—if you ignored the knife tucked visibly into his belt.

"He's here," Simon said.

Jared stared at the dusty carriage rolling into view, pulled by two overly groomed horses that already looked offended by the dirt road.

A small entourage followed—two guards with decorative spears and a servant holding a parasol over the guest's head.

Lucy muttered, "This looks like a comedy skit."

Jared straightened up and stepped forward as the carriage stopped. The door opened, and out stepped a young man in a deep purple coat, gold trim shining against the plain northern light.

He looked around once, eyes squinting at the village walls.

"Charming," he said.

"Welcome to Sikone," Jared greeted. "I'm Lord Jared."

The noble raised a brow. "Lord, is it? I didn't realize titles were used in places without stone roads."

Lucy's jaw twitched.

Simon stepped between them. "My lord, may I introduce Lord Bellas of House Elros. He's traveled far to see our… rustic charm."

"I thought the north would be colder," Bellas said as he fanned himself unnecessarily. "And less… alive."

"Sorry to disappoint," Jared replied dryly.

He gestured to the square. "You'll find Sikone is small, but we do things our way. Come. Let me show you where we pour our soup over rocks."

Lucy snorted but covered it with a cough.

The tour was, predictably, painful.

Bellas sniffed at the marketplace, wrinkled his nose at the smithy, and refused to shake the hands of the local guards.

One of the lizard men happened to walk by in full gear—tall, scaled, weapon strapped across his back. Bellas turned ghost white.

"Was that… thing… a soldier?"

"No," Jared answered. "That's Yogg. He runs our southern defense."

"With the others?"

"Yes. All lizard men. You might not have heard, but they eat nobles."

Bellas stared at him.

"Joking," Jared added.

Lucy didn't correct him.

They ended the tour in Jared's personal quarters. A bottle of village-brewed wine was placed on the table. Bellas sniffed it but didn't drink.

"Lord Jared," he began, adjusting his cuffs. "I'll be direct. The capital has no record of this village. No official charter, no tribute, no military registry."

"That's because we've never needed them," Jared said calmly.

"Which is exactly the problem. You've grown—dangerously so. There are whispers that you've begun producing arms, forging alliances, and employing… non-humans."

Bellas leaned forward slightly. "The House of Elros is offering you a chance. An opportunity. If you agree to register Sikone as a protectorate under the capital, you will receive funds, recognition, and security."

Jared stared at him for a long moment.

"Are you offering or threatening?"

"I'm advising," Bellas said. "The capital does not like unknowns."

Jared leaned back in his chair. "We're not an unknown. We're just out of reach."

"And if the capital reaches in?"

"Then I'll remind them," Jared said slowly, "that the south is protected by thirty lizard men and four armored mechas. All of which answer to me."

Bellas stiffened. "You would declare war on the capital?"

"I would declare confidence."

"I shall write this down."'

Bellas lingered near the doorway, gloved fingers brushing against the parchment tucked into his sleeve.

"Write carefully," Jared said again, voice low. "The ink might bite."

Bellas looked over his shoulder, offering something close to a smile. "Oh, I'm not writing yet."

He turned fully, stepping back to the table, eyes now scanning the room with a different kind of interest. Slower. Measured.

"I didn't come just to scold your independence," Bellas said. "I requested Simon to escort me north… because of a particular item."

Simon shifted in his seat but said nothing.

"You're talking about the phone," Jared muttered, not bothering to act surprised.

"I've never seen a mirror that responds to touch," Bellas replied. "Or tells the time in five languages."

Lucy tilted her head. "I thought people in the capital dismissed it as a novelty?"

"Most of them did." Bellas walked along the bookshelf wall, trailing a finger along the edge. "But not the right people. Not the quiet ones. One item sparked interest. Two made them suspicious. But three…"

He turned back to Jared. "And suddenly, there was a whisper: someone in the north has a god's relic."

"I never said it was ours."

"You didn't have to." Bellas glanced at Simon, then to Jared again. "He only brought me to one village. That was your mistake, not his."

Jared didn't reply.

Bellas took a seat again. "Let me guess. You sell them through Simon in Ravana's neutral zones. Then he ships them farther south to the capital in plain crates marked as 'curiosities.' It's clean. Controlled."

Jared leaned back. "That would be smart."

"It is."

[The goddess of combat nods from her balcony.]

Bellas exhaled, brushing a speck from his coat. "I've studied a bit of northern history. Not the fairytales the capital spins. The real version. You people were left to rot after the Eastern Flame War, weren't you?"

Jared's jaw tensed slightly.

"Borders were closed. Trade routes abandoned. Kingdoms reshaped. And the north—your north—was written off as ash."

Lucy's gaze darkened. "We didn't burn ourselves."

"No," Bellas admitted. "But the capital wasn't innocent either."

There was silence for a moment. Outside, the wind knocked gently against the wooden panels of the room.

Bellas looked around again.

"No city. No army. No funding. But here you are. A functional village. Blacksmiths, magic tools, lizard men, mechas. All in a place the world declared dead."

He leaned forward.

"That's not just impressive. That's dangerous."

Jared gave a lazy shrug. "Depends on who you ask."

"To the wrong people, you're a miracle. To the right people, you're a threat."

Jared tapped his fingers on the edge of the table. "And to you?"

Bellas held his gaze. "An opportunity."

Lucy raised an eyebrow.

Bellas continued. "I'm not interested in taking your village. I'm interested in avoiding war. And unlike most noble families, my house isn't run by half-dead bureaucrats and overfed cowards."

Jared smiled faintly. "Good sales pitch. You want me to be impressed?"

"No," Bellas replied. "I want you to listen."

He placed a small, rectangular box on the table. Wooden, smooth, sealed with wax and carved runes.

Jared's eyes flicked to it.

"I bought this from a collector in the capital three months ago," Bellas said. "Paid six gold eres for it. And it doesn't even work."

He opened the box. Inside, resting on a velvet lining, was one of the early phones Jared had sold to Simon—screen cracked, battery long dead.

"It's useless," Bellas added. "But they treated it like a holy artifact. Priests offered to cleanse it. Nobles offered to duplicate it. Scholars said it might be the last relic of a forgotten era."

Jared remained silent.

"So I came here. Not to control you. Not to demand loyalty. But to understand what I'm dealing with."

"And?"

Bellas snapped the box shut and stood. "I understand."

He walked toward the door again but paused before opening it.

"I won't report your exact location. That's not how I work. But the fact that something is rising in the north? That I will report."

Jared rose from his seat. "Then report this too: If the capital sends swords, we send metal. If they send gold, we send goods. If they send lies, we send silence."

Bellas turned back, studying him one last time. "Sikone may survive, Lord Jared. But survival isn't always the same as peace."

Jared didn't flinch. "No. It's better."

Bellas nodded once.

Then he left.

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