Northern and his mother walked side by side, and the moment they descended from the ship, an entourage of guards was already waiting for them. A covered carriage sat at the ready, lifted by men positioned at all four corners.

Northern hesitated.

Internally, he felt a slight discomfort at the thought of being carried by other people. It wasn't as though Ryugan was some backwards nation stuck in an ancient era. How did they even still practice customs like this?

"It's formalities… don't overthink it." Eisha said to him with a knowing smile, as if she could see exactly what was churning in his head.

Northern sighed. "Okay, ma. You first."

He held out his hand to his mother like a gentleman and helped her climb in, then followed after her.

The chariot itself was not as large as the conventional royal carriages he'd seen, but it was spacious enough for four to sit inside, provided they faced each other. The interior was lined with cushioned seats covered in fabric that felt expensive against his palms—smooth, cool, clearly woven by skilled hands.

The exterior had a beautiful blue design, with swirling patterns that seemed to depict clouds. Or perhaps mist. Northern couldn't quite tell which, but the craftsmanship was undeniable.

The men grabbed the extended edges and easily lifted the carriage off the ground. They moved with such efficiency and stability that Northern was almost certain he was floating. He didn't know if they had studied some particular footwork art, but their movement couldn't possibly be natural. It was too smooth. He didn't feel any gallop at all, none of the usual rhythm of being transported.

It was like being carried by the wind itself.

Through the short journey, passing through the middle sector of the nation, Northern couldn't help but admire their movement. Even in places where he had expected a gallop—uneven cobblestones, slight inclines, the transition between districts—the motion was muted somehow. Seamless. As if the ground beneath them had been smoothed by invisible hands.

'There are vast people, and vast resources in this world. The effectiveness of what these various kinds of people and resources can achieve... it's truly limitless. Even I cannot see or determine it all.'

Northern was thinking about what this meant for him, specifically.

If there were so many forms of mastery in the world, so many techniques and skills perfected by people he'd never meet, then in that same manner, there was no true limitation to his own power. His effectiveness, the forms he could copy—it was all truly endless. He couldn't fathom the totality of what he might become.

In his new plateau of strength, his mind had become his greatest weakness. The bottleneck wasn't his body anymore. It was his imagination. His understanding of what was possible.

He shook his head slightly at the irony, and the motion caused Eisha to focus on him.

"What's wrong, son? Are you worried about something?"

Northern smiled, the expression coming easier than he expected.

"Worry? No. But I am a little concerned about the Queen. I really want to be able to help her situation."

She smiled back, her eyes softening with something that looked almost like pride.

"Have more faith in yourself, and in your mother. I've been alive for two hundred and seventy-nine years—aren't you underestimating my capabilities a little too much?"

Northern chuckled. "Right…"

'...right.'

His mind took a bit more time than he expected to process that number. Two hundred and seventy-nine. He'd known his mother was an elf, had always known she'd lived far longer than any human could hope to, but somehow the specific figure hit differently now. He looked at her and tilted his head, a question forming before he could stop it.

The moment she saw his face, she could tell something was coming.

"What do you want to ask?"

Northern hesitated. He probably shouldn't. This was going to be awkward. But when had that ever stopped him?

"Well… it's nothing really. I was just observing, and you know how they say age is just a number. And true, age is indeed just a number, but how exactly did both of you cope?! Two hundred and seventy-nine against what? Forty-four?"

Eisha giggled, and Northern realized it was his facial expression of genuine confusion that she found truly comical.

"Actually, we'd been together ten years before we met you…"

Northern's eyes widened. He shifted back slightly, mock horror spreading across his features.

"You're a… pedophile?"

Eisha shook her head, still smiling, though she rolled her eyes at his dramatics.

"I'm not sure what that means, but it really isn't about the years I've lived. It's hinged more on two things—the significance of my age within elven society and culture, and my appearance."

She paused, then continued with a patient smile, as though explaining something simple to a child.

"It's nothing new that elves truly mature when they are a hundred and fifty years old. We age almost thirty times slower than humans. Our puberty, our development—everything grows at a different pace. So two hundred years for an elf could actually be considered someone in their twenties. It's not far-fetched to say your father and I were essentially age mates."

So she said. But Northern was still finding it difficult to buy that story entirely. The math felt convenient. Instead of pressing further, he just nodded.

Of course, he understood the baseline reasoning. And even if what Eisha explained wasn't perfectly accurate, he wouldn't have judged them. If love had made them overcome their differences in age, that was their business. He'd seen stranger things.

But more importantly—this had all been to tease his mother. To see her squirm, just a little bit.

Northern suppressed a grin. He really was a terrible son sometimes.

The carriage stopped a few seconds after he nodded, and the guards stepped forward, donned in blue light armor that caught the afternoon sun. The door was opened, and folding stairs were arranged at the entrance for them to climb down.

They had arrived at a different quarter of the palace. This section was as large as the main throne room, but structured more like a mansion—sprawling, with several windows dotting the facade. Northern estimated there had to be at least a hundred rooms inside, maybe more.

The carriage had stopped before a fountain where the statue of a man atop a rearing horse was built. Water spread from the horse's mouth and cascaded into the basin around it, the sound gentle and constant.

But the fountain had nothing to do with Northern's attention.

What truly surprised him was the thoughtfulness they had put into welcoming him and his mother. He hadn't even told the King that Eisha would be accompanying him—this reception wasn't planned for her presence. And yet here they were, greeted as if both of them had been expected all along.

Two rows of guards and palace maids faced each other, forming a corridor of honor. At the entrance stood the royal family themselves: the King, his Crown Prince, Roma, and—

Northern's eyes narrowed slightly.

The Queen.

'Why?'

She was standing, and she looked pale. Fragile. But despite that, there was an elegance to her that illness couldn't diminish—her blonde hair falling over her shoulders toward her front, a scarf draped around her to ward off some chill only she could feel. There was an obvious fragility about her frame, something that made Northern want to tell her to sit down, to rest.

And yet through it all, she wore a smile, warm and welcoming. As if she hadn't dragged herself from a sickbed to be here.

Eisha saw her too. Her expression shifted instantly—something protective and urgent flickering across her features—and she moved hastily forward. Northern had no choice but to follow quickly, matching her pace.

The moment Eisha reached the royal family, she bowed respectfully to the King and Queen.

Northern hesitated.

Before, he had been reluctant to bow to the King. That reluctance had been intentional—a way to establish hierarchy, to silently communicate that he saw himself as something more than a subject.

He believed himself to be on the path to becoming a ruler in his own right. This entire visit, this whole charade of diplomacy and assistance, carried that underlying purpose.

Moreover, he had to maintain the expectations of his subordinates. There was a particular scorn that someone like Revant would use against him if word got out that Northern had bowed to another sovereign. "You kneel to kings? Then you are not one yourself." He could practically hear the mockery.

As much as Northern wasn't doing any of this for anyone but himself, these people held him to extremely high standards. He had to hold himself even higher.

But now, standing behind his mother, watching her bow with natural grace and respect…

Northern was very unsure.

Eisha, however, seemed to sense his hesitation. She glanced back at him. Her eyes were flaming—not with anger exactly, but with that silent maternal instruction that bypassed his pride entirely and went straight to some primal part of his brain that still remembered being a child.

'Bow. Now.'

His entire body felt threatened.

He lowered his head and bowed—shyly, reluctantly—to the King and the Queen.

'Crap… how did she do that?'

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