CH511 · Rewrite
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Chapter 511: Whispers at Nightfall

Nightingale lay by the window and watched the city breathe in darkness.

Dim shapes spread beneath the night, tracing King’s City’s walls in overlapping tones. Nearest was the palace wall—light gray, lit by burning resin torches—a jeweled belt where light and shadow pressed against each other. Beyond it, the inner city wall ran gray-black like a long snake circling the city. Even under new rulership, the Inner City had kept its splendor; this was the first place Nightingale had seen that was livelier than Border Town. The short fierce war had left the noble and the rich untouched. They still danced. They still sang.

Beyond that wall, the sky went suddenly dark, as though all brightness had been swallowed. The outer city’s bluestone walls caught only a scatter of moonlight. Silence, stone, and shadow. The Inner City’s warmth looked small from here. For no reason she could name, Nightingale found herself thinking about how humanity had been cornered into this one sliver of continent while the rest of the Land of Dawn was being slowly devoured—demons and evil beasts pressing inward, most people utterly unaware, still dancing in their little circles of light.

“Phew, I’m beyond tired.” Wendy’s voice broke through her thoughts. The red-headed witch rubbed her shoulders and lay down beside Nightingale by the window.

“Have they fallen asleep already?”

“Finally.” Wendy yawned. “I don’t know where their energy comes from. They flew around on hydrogen balloons the entire day and still demanded a story before bed.” She paused. “You should thank His Majesty for that. If he hadn’t punished them with three sets of exercises, I doubt they’d have listened at all—they’d have gone out to explore the night instead.”

Nightingale turned to peer through the gap between the balcony and the bedroom. Maggie had curled over Lightning, white hair spilling across the smaller girl like a drift of snow. “Those two really hit it off.”

The rooms in the royal palace were generous, each living area flanked by two bedrooms. The witches who had followed Roland on the expedition were settled four to a room—the most splendid quarters in all of Graycastle. Carpets and bedding of velvet and silk; other materials Nightingale had never encountered before.

“Yes.” Wendy smiled gently. “I heard from Lady Tilly that Maggie used to turn into a pigeon and sleep perched on the rooftops. Any small sound would wake her. She only kept to pigeon form to escape any danger that might come. Now she sleeps like a normal little girl.” A pause, then Wendy’s voice filled with something quiet and full. “We’re very lucky.”

Nightingale said nothing. She didn’t need to. Every witch from the Cooperation Association who had survived would feel it the same way: when they had teetered between life and death, it was the Lord of Border Town who reached toward them and promised a new world. Their sisters had found hope. That new world was no longer distant—it was here, within reach. The Holy Mountain they had chased for hundreds of years had become real. Gratitude like that could not be compressed into words.

A long silence settled between them. The midnight bell rang from somewhere far away, low and even.

“Do you…” Wendy hesitated. “Do you want to go back? For a visit?”

Nightingale blinked. “Go back where?”

“Silver City.” Wendy pointed south. “It’s only half a day’s journey. If you let Maggie carry you, it wouldn’t take an hour. You do have a little brother living there, right?”

The question found her off-guard. After a moment she shook her head. “While we restore the city’s order, there are potential enemies everywhere. I can’t leave His Majesty now. And when everything in Graycastle is settled, I’ll have plenty of opportunities to visit. There’s no hurry.”

“I thought you’d say you’d already cut yourself off from the Gilen family,” Wendy said, relief in her voice. “Like you used to. But it sounds like you don’t hate your brother anymore?”

“Without his betrayal, I never would have met you. Or His Highness.” Nightingale smiled. “You always tell me: getting rid of the past nightmares doesn’t mean separating yourself from the past. I think I finally understand the second half of that. It’s enough to live a better life than before.”

“That’s rather a fine proverb to piece together.” Wendy raised an eyebrow. “I didn’t know you had such literary skills.”

“So I won’t be sneaking out. You can sleep in peace.” Nightingale took Wendy’s hands in hers. “It’s late.”

“Uh-huh.” The two of them settled onto the broad bed, and Wendy summoned a small breeze to blow out the candle. “Good night.”

“Good night.”

When she was sure Wendy’s breathing had deepened into sleep, Nightingale rose, stepped into the Mist, and walked to Roland’s room.

Now was her time.

Darkness was on her side.


The next morning, Iron Axe brought Roland both good news and bad.

The good news: after a night of interrogation, High Priest Ferry had finally admitted Hermes’ plan—secretly replacing Wimbledon III and issuing the Royal Decree on the Selection of Crown Prince.

The bad news: the Church had been scheming this war for years, engineering it precisely to bleed Graycastle’s military strength and accelerate the occupation. They had already taken the two southeastern provinces. If Roland had not traversed time to become Prince Roland, the plan would likely have succeeded.

“Did you hear all of that?” Roland turned to Theo, who stood at his shoulder. “Go spread the news. Especially the Church’s true intentions and Timothy’s collaboration with them—every detail, the more the better. I want every citizen of this city to know what they’ve done.”

“Yes, Your Majesty.”

Roland turned back to Iron Axe. “Send out another paddle ship. Bring Barov and Kyle Sichi here.”

Iron Axe looked faintly embarrassed—an unusual expression on him. “Fetching the director is no problem, Your Majesty. But the chief alchemist… will he really agree to leave the lab? The journey alone costs him a week.”

“I’ll write to Kyle myself.” Roland frowned, then something lit in his expression. “There’s a saying: if you don’t return to your hometown when you’ve made something of yourself, it’s like wearing a fine suit in the middle of the night—what’s the point if nobody can see it? When a man has mastered impressive skills, he doesn’t mind showing them off. Kyle spent his career competing with the Alchemist Workshop in King’s City. Two of a trade never agree. Now he has a chance to beat his old rival on their home ground. I don’t believe he’ll refuse.”

He reached for a pen. “This is also a good opportunity to enlist all the alchemists in King’s City at once and bring them into my service.”

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