Chapter 9: Heading to Night Dew Valley.

Post-migration, the greatest monarch? Nearly unanimous: Gustav, first emperor of the Vagrand Empire.

Some call him a cunning usurper. Vigil Year 343, Gustav leveraged Second Black Tide war merits, married the last Isgard Second Empire emperor’s daughter. Then in Year 350, seized the throne.

Some say cruel tyrant. After coronation, nobles purged under countless pretexts. Many ancient houses from pre-migration eras ended under his bloodied blade.

Some claim lustful addict. Obsessed with black-crystal honey and soul-dazing dreamflowers. Even in frail old age, his harem held dozens of beauties.

Others deem him a reckless madman. Thirty years, he drained treasury and folk, fortifying the thin lead wall into a dragon-like “Empire Wall” spanning Ismark Mountains, fully halting Black Tides.

Whatever posterity’s judgment, the fortress-lead Empire Wall withstood later tides, guarding the empire, losing no land.

This feat alone outshone his descendant, saint-canonized Empress Anna.

Yet centuries passed. Most of Gustav’s legacy dust.

Year 740, sixth Black Tide. Empire Wall sabotaged, collapsed. Vast North Ismark Basin and capital became Black Domain. Millions trapped, lost.

Northern nobles spared carved remnants. Vagrand Empire a hollow name, emperorless.

New lead line hastily rebuilt Year 746 under Nodaril Treaty. Church-led, warring lords shared costs, north of fallen basin, Aetheron south foothills.

Scale tiny, quality crude. Far from grand Empire Wall.

To guard this fragile two-thousand-kilometer line, bordering lands poured resources into scattered border outposts, praying tragedy never repeated.

…

True dusk fell, though sun still hung above horizon.

Degbrun team, guided by Chief Mocus and Renat, advanced rugged path to Nightdew Valley. Iceberry villagers gathered nearby hills, silently watching the vital convoy depart.

Lead pillars blocked fog spread but pitted under dark erosion.

Five years to theoretical seventh Tide. Fog barrier activity rose. Pillar decay quickened. Top concern for fog-edge dwellers.

Normally replaced every twenty years. Iceberry’s duty.

Cary, fully armed, hid behind stout ancient tree. Black eyes fixed winding valley convoy, gaze inscrutable.

“Cary, they didn’t spot us!” A deliberately hushed voice behind.

Cary sighed helpless, turned. Behind huge rock, Maren’s half-body peeked, face mischievous yet tense.

Seconds later, she darted deer-like to his side. Right hand shaded eyes from glaring sunset, gazing convoy fading.

“Maren, we’re different.” Cary adjusted hunting garb, serious, grabbed her arm. “Mom took me near lead walls young. I resist corruption well. Too dangerous for you.”

“But next month, my resistance test?”

Maren sat against trunk, eyed muddy boots, tense. “Please, Cary, take me… If I can’t approach now, doomed not Lantern. Better quit early.”

In Cary’s view, Maren treated him most “normally.” Other village kids, young or old, fawned visibly, instinctively in play. Grew worse with age.

Elders’ subtle influence. Befriending destined Lantern: chance for any Iceberry child.

But Maren sought equal “growth together.” Competitive, diligent, pure, fair. No false praise, no favors.

Not village prettiest, but her unflinching equality rare among peers. Her words showed mature reason. Perhaps prepared lifelong no Lantern tie.

At her downcast lids, Cary’s lips curved gentle, extended hand. “They move slow. Two hours to dark. Safe spot to hunt practice first.”

Girl ignored invite. Eyes caught glint on nearby stream pebbles.

“Cary! Look, what’s this?”

Under puzzled gaze, Maren rushed stream, bent, carefully fished tiny teardrop black crystal from clear water. Held high, face treasure-found joy.

“Drop it! Blackrot crystal!”

Cary paled, dashed, slapped it from her hand! Grabbed wrist, flipped, checked palm and fingers frantic.

Luckily, skin fair and pink, no corruption tint. Cary exhaled long, back sweat-soaked.

Fog blocked by wall, but deep Black Domain corruption seeped invisible miasma, eroding outside. Blackrot crystals: condensed from soil or water pollution.

“Cary…” Maren blinked, watched lingering anxiety, odd sweetness in heart. “Did… I pass fog resistance early?”

“No!” Cary shook head firm, adult-serious. “Just overflow condensed in stream! Brief touch fine, but prolonged risks sickness. Careful!”

He swiftly unhooked small bronze canister from belt, pinched crystal carefully with fingers, placed inside.

Opening, pungent scent wafted. Golden holy oil. Besides lighting Black Domain lamps, isolated Black materials.

“Use?” Maren curious at skilled moves, tiptoed peeking canister.

“Potion ingredient, or… Lantern Black weapon resonance amp.”

Cary explained expert-like, solemnly tucked canister in Maren’s hand. “You found. Yours to keep.”

“Valuable?” Maren gripped cool canister, felt hot, hesitant. “Renat teach you?”

“Yes, Mom sold some to Mr. Matt.” Cary nodded. “This small, low tier. Not worth much.”

He smiled, drew fine leather flask from belt, offered. “Drink some. Safer.”

Opened, fresh rain-grass-sun scent. Precious contents clear.

Holy water. Even with Finn’s letters, Iceberry bought two-three thousand milliliters yearly from Degbrun.

One crown per milliliter. Cary’s casual “some” squandered kilograms of grain. Maren flustered, cheeks warm.

Chief’s favored youngest, years’ pocket money barely twenty crowns.

“No!” Maren stepped back. “Can’t! Renat prepared for you!”

She avoided his eyes, clutched blackrot canister tight, strode fast away from stream, fleeing the unbearable gift.