TYND 42

Chungnip and Count Hagen, who’d been waiting outside, went in. Soon after, a shocked cry rang out, 

“What? That’s impossible!”

Theon’s senses snapped to high alert, his body tensing as he scanned the shadows of the night-filled city, convinced someone hidden there was targeting Rothy. But it was just paranoia—the city lay quiet and safe. 

“Theon… What’s wrong? Are you fine? Did I do something wrong?

The sensitive Rothy noticed something off about Theon’s state and shrank back. 

“No, you did nothing wrong. Rothy, let’s visit the nearby museum tomorrow. I’ve never been there either.”

“Mhm! I’d love to.”

Theon pulled Rothy into a firm but careful embrace, and the boy’s soft hair tickled his cheek. He was glad Rothy couldn’t see his face right then.

This is dangerous.

Rothy’s magic was dangerous. Having unlimited magical power and being able to use it without any backlash made him a walking target. 

If I’m not careful, I might end up depending on him too much.

Relying meant using him, and Theon refused to become like Yolone Sirin. The festival’s closing ceremony took place in Sourv. When a man in a black cloak stepped onto the platform in the square, the bustling crowd fell silent. The atmosphere hadn’t cooled—they were simply overwhelmed by the archduke’s presence. 

Theon Detre Falsen looked sharper than his portraits suggested, with a larger frame, colder eyes, and features hardened by years of war. As his gaze swept over the northerners below, a chill seeped into the air despite the day’s warmth. But when he spoke, the atmosphere changed. 

“I apologise for my long absence.” 

The first words from the man who’d loomed over the crowd like a tyrant were an apology. Whatever the reason, he’d been away too long and neglected his territory. Even though he’d multiple chances to visit his homeland, he’d refused and wandered the frontlines. It was an apology for his irresponsible behaviour as a lord who’d sworn to steward his land. 

“I know what you’ve suffered to protect Falsen and the North, and I thank you for your resilience, it humbles me. I pledge to rebuild this land so that the fiends at our borders will never again dare to encroach on northern soil. the north will shed its name as a frozen wasteland and stand as the empire’s safest bastion. I’ll accomplish all this within a year.”

His voice, devoid of any warmth, was gruff and heavy—yet the northerners felt oddly comforted.  

Huuuuzzah! Long live His Grace!

Seará, bless His Grace!

The fervent cheers continued. Theon waited for them to subside before speaking again.  

“As His Imperial Majesty declared, I’ve returned to this land with a young archmage. My spouse wishes to give a gift of gratitude for your welcome.”

Anticipation, curiosity, and excitement rippled across the Northerners’ faces. People were curious about Rothy, who was the only disciple of Yolone Sirin, and was the youngest seventh-grade archmage as well as Theon Detre Falsen’s very young spouse……

So Theon decided—if they were curious, he’d show them directly. 

The Northerners must love Rothy. 

Because only then could Theon protect him from being taken by PLEIN, Givarche, or anyone else. Days prior, they’d announced a magic demonstration by the youngest archmage on the festival’s final day. The northerners had eagerly awaited this finale. Theon stepped aside for today’s protagonist. Rothy mounted the platform, wearing a pure white mage robe and holding a staff taller than himself. It caused the crowd to stir at his appearance. 

“My word, he’s like a snow fairy.”

“So small and lovely.”

“He’s even more ethereal than the rumours said.”

Every Northerner grew up on tales of snow fairies from winter folklore, and at that moment, Rothy looked exactly like one. 

His white robe shimmered blindingly, as if woven with crushed pearls. A pendant symbolising the sun hung at his chest, another depicting the moon at his back. Gold thread embroidered the cuffs and hem, twinkling like scattered starlight.

He’d initially been meant to wear a fluffy white fur hat, but Theon vetoed it—Rothy’s snow-white hair made the accessory redundant. Instead, he wore earrings designed for those without pierced ears. The sapphire droplet earrings suited him perfectly. 

Tinkle……

The ornate ceremonial staff, impractical for daily use, tinkled delicately with every movement. 

Huzzzzaaaah!

The cheers burst forth naturally, without any prompting from the clappers Theon had planted in the crowd. 

Until now, Rothy had never appeared in public, and the Northerners—who’d only heard rumours of his striking looks—erupted into jubilant cries the moment the boy emerged like a snow fairy. Though a saying claimed Northerners didn’t judge by appearances, their sense of beauty was no different from others’ in practice.  

“Rothy.”

“Yes……”

Rothy was looking visibly nervous. As advised, he kept his eyes downcast to project a quiet, composed image, but his eyelids trembled constantly. Even without that tell, his racing heartbeat revealed his intense anxiety. Theon stroked Rothy’s hair, then bent close to whisper.

“Win their hearts.”

“Yes……”

“It won’t be hard. You’ve already won mine.”

“……!”

Rothy jerked his head up, and seeing Theon’s faint smile, the fear in his emerald green eyes dissolved into burgeoning joy and confidence. Theon stepped back from the podium as Rothy took centre stage, and before the expectant crowd, the boy raised his staff high while verdant magic surged around him.

Rothy’s magic was naturally colourless, but people needed to see it, so Chungnip had strongly recommended green, making Rothy an archmage with green magical power. As he swung the staff, a warm gust soared skyward, and right on cue, Chungnip pulled the lever of the climate-control tremuhle, splitting the clouds to reveal the hidden sunlight. As the temperature rose, the ice coating the ground began to melt, and ice crystals in the clouds, too heavy to stay afloat, began to fall.

“Snow… It’s snowing!”

“It’s heavy snow!”

“The barrier! The barrier’s working again!”

People had anticipated this when they announced the closing ceremony would be in Sourv, featuring the mysterious youngest archmage. They’d hoped he’d reactivate the barrier. With their expectations met, the cheers grew louder, everyone was chanting Rothy’s name.

The North had been shrouded in darkness and cold since the Great Northern Mine’s collapse. Days without spring and summer visiting had worn down the people’s spirits. Still, they’d endured together by rationing food and reducing consumption, holding on until the ice finally thawed and spring returned. Rothy stood in the snow-blanketed square, relieved by the crowd’s cheers—until shouts cut through the noise.  

“Everyone quiet! Let His Grace speak!”

“Everyone, stop!”

“Quiet down!”

Neither Theon nor Rothy had expected this response. The cheering crowd gradually fell silent, and stillness settled over the square as they looked up at Rothy with expectant eyes. Rothy turned to Theon with trembling, tearful eyes. Theon pressed his fingers to his temples. 

They want a speech from my spouse. 

Given Rothy’s shyness, they’d planned to catch the crowd’s attention with the magic display then let him leave the stage. Naturally, they didn’t prepare any speech. As Theon stepped forward to mount the stage—

“Hnnnggh.”

Hnnng… Nggh… Hnng… 

Faint stifled sobs can be heard echoing across the square, and Rothy bolted towards him only to trip with a—eep!— and fell flat on the stage. Theon, momentarily frozen, rushed to the stage and scooped Rothy up. 

“Rothy, are you hurt?”

Hnnng.

Rothy clung to Theon’s neck and buried his face against it. Theon patted his back then scanned the stunned crowd where some gaped, others blinked rapidly, and one spat out their drink. Their shock transformed into cheers and laughter the moment he carried Rothy off stage. Hearing their cries of ‘so cute’ and ‘so precious’, Theon’s lips curved up. There was a slight fumble at the end, but overall, it was a success. 

Rothy’s well and truly a part of the North now.

Northerners clung fiercely to what they’d claimed, as evident by how they clung to Cerlouvins, who’d lived here barely five years before his death. Falsen’s people—hardened by generations in the harshest reaches of the North—now saw Rothy as their archmage, the one who restored their spring. Even if their marriage ended, PLEIN would never dare lay claim to him. At the thought, the smile vanished from Theon’s face, his jaw tensed. 

Divorce.