A Journey Unwanted N Chapter 466 - 455: Threat

Chapter 466: Chapter 455: Threat

[Realm: ??lfheimr]

[Location: Quadling Country]

[Glinda’s Castle]

Imagine a space filled to the brim with stars—an endless spread of celestial bodies burning across an imasurable dark. So shine fiercely, their light cutting through the void, while others flicker more softly, less imposing but no less present. You would notice the difference, of course. Anyone would, if they cared to look long enough. But in the end, a star is still a star, no matter how brightly—or dimly—it burns.

Now imagine sothing else within that sa vast expanse.

Not a dim star or a fading one.

An absence.

A place where sothing should be, yet there is nothing. No glow, no flicker, and no sign of light at all. A body that does not shine, that does not even attempt to. Sothing that exists where existence feels misplaced—like a hollow carved into the natural order of things.

And yet it persists.

It does not burn, does not fade, nor does it behave as it should. It simply is. To itself, perhaps, that state is normal. There is no awareness of lacking sothing it never had. But to everything around it—to every other star that knows what it ans to shine—

It would not feel natural.

No.

It would feel wrong.

Unsettling in a way that words could not quite capture, eerie. That creeping sense of sothing being out of place lingered in the room long after the thought had ford.

She sat at the edge of the bed the Good Witch had provided, posture straight. The room itself was expansive, carefully curated. A chandelier hung from above, its light steady, reflecting off any polished surfaces. Beneath her feet stretched a rich red carpet, and against the wall stood a large wardrobe, its craftsmanship evident even at a glance, and beside it, a neatly arranged rack of books—spines aligned perfectly.

It was a room ant to put people at ease.

She felt none of that.

Her cold blue eyes remained fixed ahead, unfocused, as though she were looking through the walls rather than at them. One pale hand rose slowly, almost absentmindedly, until her thumb rested against her lips. The gesture was habitual—sothing she did when her thoughts began to circle too frequently.

"That man..." she murmured, the words forming without much emotion. "...no, that thing, it isn’t sothing that should exist."

Her gaze sharpened, the smallest tightening at the corners of her eyes betraying the shift in her thoughts.

("In the nine realms, everything is saturated with mana. It is not sothing that was introduced—it is sothing that has always been there. Even before the Goddess of Magic touched any of the realms, mana existed as a constant, as natural as air and as fundantal as existence.")

Her fingers pressed slightly firr against her lips.

("There are exceptions,") she continued inwardly. ("Dragons, beings entirely devoid of mana, yet capable of adapting beyond reason. They exist outside that natural balance, not as part of it but as sothing entirely separate. And perhaps the humans of Gods’ realm as well.")

A small crease ford between her brows.

("But here, within the nine realms, those exceptions are limited.")

Her mind did not often linger on uncertainty. She did not allow it to. Yet now it persisted.

("Even in ??lfheimr,") she continued, her thoughts spiraling further, ("where mana is stripped from ordinary people to sustain the leylines, even here, no one is ever completely empty. There is always sothing left.")

Her gaze lowered slightly, though it did not lose its focus.

("It has beco normal.") And that was precisely why it unsettled her. ("Sothing that completely lacks mana...") she thought. ("There is only one conclusion that should follow from that.")

Her expression hardened.

("...it should not exist.")

Her mind moved quickly, shifting through possibilities, rejecting them almost as soon as they ford.

("Dragons are extinct,") she reasoned. ("Aside from those damned brood brothers, there should be none left.") A pause in her thoughts followed. ("...and yet, extinction has never been absolute, has it?")

Her fingers lowered slightly from her lips, though her hand remained near her face.

("There could be survivors. Hidden, altered, sothing preserved beyond expectation or worse—sothing that was recreated.") Her gaze narrowed slightly. ("Artificially made. If that were the case...") A quiet exhale left her rosy lips, it was almost imperceptible. ("...then the Doctor would know.")

The thought lingered.

("Or...") she considered, though her tone inwardly shifted, less convinced even before she finished the thought, ("...he could simply be a human from Gods’ realm.")

Her eyes sharpened again imdiately.

("No.") That answer ca too quickly and firmly. ("No human carries a presence like that,") she concluded. ("There was sothing else there. It did not align with anything I’ve encountered before.")

Her hand lowered fully now, resting lightly against her lap.

It irritated her.

Not fear—never that.

But uncertainty.

Too many unknowns and too many inconsistencies. She did not like gaps in her understanding, especially not when those gaps involved sothing that might pose a threat beyond her current grasp.

And if there was even the slightest chance—

("...that he is sothing akin to a dragon,") she thought, her gaze cooling further, ("then allowing him to exist unchecked is not an option.")

Her decision settled firmly.

There was no hesitation after that.

"Wolf," she called, her voice calm but carrying authority. "Get in here."

The response was imdiate.

A burst of movent at her side, sudden but swift, as if space had folded to accommodate his arrival. One mont there was nothing, and the next he was there. Towering, his presence obvious in the room, though he made no effort to soften it.

"Yes, Lady Mortifer?" he responded, his voice rough, edged with a habitual lack of refinent that bordered on indifference.

She did not look at him imdiately.

"While I understand," she began, her tone dull, "that your ability to recall even the most basic details is lacking..." A small pause followed. "...I trust you at least rember the armored man from yesterday."

It was phrased as a question, but she did not wait for an answer.

"His na," she continued, her eyes narrowing slightly as she spoke it, "...was Grimm." There was sothing about it. A small, almost imperceptible sense of familiarity that brushed against her thoughts.

But for now she ignored it.

"Return to base," she ordered, her voice firm, leaving no room for interpretation. "Submit a request to Petrosinella. I want a full search conducted on that individual." Only then did she turn her gaze slightly toward him. "And do not limit the search to this realm."

That caught his attention.

"All the way back?" Wolf asked, a hint of disbelief creeping into his tone despite himself. "We only just arrived here yesterday. That’s—"

He stopped.

Not because he had finished speaking.

But because her gaze had shifted fully onto him.

Those blue eyes, cold and unforgiving, sharp enough to pierce like a blade.

"Do you believe," she asked quietly, her voice lowering just enough to make it more dangerous, "that I am asking for your opinion when I give an order?"

The air in the room seed to tense further.

Wolf stiffened, the beginnings of a scowl pulling at his expression before he forced it down. His jaw clenched, but he said nothing further.

He knew better.

"...At once, Lady Mortifer," he replied, the words rougher now, dragged out more than spoken.

She did not respond and in the next instant, his form blurred, movent too fast to follow cleanly as he vanished from the room, leaving the space as abruptly as he had entered.

Silence returned.

Snow remained where she was, her gaze drifting forward once more.

"Grimm..." she thought quietly, the na settling.

Whatever he was, she would find out.

Her thoughts lingered, circling back on themselves with each pass, but there was no resolution to be found in them now. Not without more information.

That much, at least, she understood.

"...This is pointless," she concluded quietly to herself, her gaze lowering just a fraction as if acknowledging the futility of continuing down the sa path. "Speculation without substantial leads leads nowhere."

But her mulling would have to wait until her Legatus returned with sothing tangible that could be examined and understood. Only then would those thoughts serve a purpose.

With that, she rose.

The movent was smooth as the mattress gave a slight shift beneath her weight as she stood. Without another glance at the room, she turned and approached the door, her hand reaching for the handle without pause.

The door gave way soundlessly as she stepped through.

And just as quietly, it closed behind her.

The vast hallways of the castle greeted her once more—wide and lined with careful design ant to impress. Snow barely acknowledged any of it. Her attention had already shifted inward again, though her pace remained steady as she moved down the corridor.

("The Good Witch invited

for breakfast...") she reminded herself, the thought carrying a trace of reluctance. ("...and while I would much rather not waste ti on sothing so trivial, it is necessary.")

Her lips pressed together slightly.

("Relations matter. Even if the setting is inconvenient.")

There was no real interest in the al itself, nor in the gesture behind it. To her, it was simply another interaction to be managed in a broader web of necessity.

But even as she reasoned through it, her thoughts refused to stay there.

They drifted.

Pulled, almost involuntarily, back to him.

That armored man.

Her gaze remained forward, but there was a small shift in it, a tightening that betrayed where her mind had gone.

("Dragons...") she thought.

Beasts.

That was what they were.

Wild, unrestrained creatures that existed only to destroy, to consu, and to leave ruin in their wake. There were those who argued otherwise—those who spoke of intelligence, of sentience, of sothing more than instinct.

She dismissed that without hesitation.

("Those people,") she thought flatly, ("have never seen what a dragon can do.")

Her stride did not falter, but her expression hardened.

("They have never stood in the aftermath. Never watched what remains when sothing like that passes through.")

There was a reason they were gone.

A reason their existence had been brought to an end.

("The Great War did not spare them,") she continued inwardly, her thoughts steady. ("Countless forces and individuals, all contributing to their annihilation.")

And rightly so.

("They were too dangerous to be allowed to persist,") she concluded. ("Too unpredictable and destructive.")

Her fingers flexed at her side, the motion almost absent.

("With so many contributing to their demise...") she mused, ("...it is hardly surprising they were wiped out.") She allowed for a small pause. ("...if they truly were.")

Her brows drew together ever so slightly, the only visible sign of her unease.

("They were never anything more than animals,") she continued, though there was a sharper edge to the thought, as if reinforcing it to herself. ("Stronger and smarter, perhaps. But animals all the sa.")

Her steps continued idly, though her gaze was unfocused. Her thoughts shifted once more.

("The Good Witch...") she considered, her thoughts redirecting as her path continued through the hallways. ("As a mage, she should have noticed it imdiately. The absence of that man alone should have been impossible to ignore.")

But there had been no reaction or tension on her part.

Nothing.

Her frown deepened.

("Does she not find it disturbing?") Snow wondered. ("Or does she simply choose not to acknowledge it?")

Neither answer was particularly satisfying.

Her pace remained the sa, but her thoughts sharpened further.

("She is not soone I can easily read,") Snow admitted inwardly, her gaze lowering slightly as she passed another stretch of corridor. ("Even the reports we have gathered on her offer little of value.")

That in itself was unusual.

("Powerful,") she acknowledged without hesitation. ("Undeniably so. There is no questioning that.")

But power alone was never the full picture.

("But despite that...") she continued, ("...she has done nothing of note with it.") Her brows furrowed slightly. ("Beyond maintaining order within her own country, there is little to speak of.")

That did not align.

Authority and power naturally seek expansion, influence, and then control beyond imdiate borders. That was the pattern. That was what she had always seen, always understood.

("She does not act,") the Mortifer thought, the frustration beneath the observation becoming clearer. ("Not in any aningful way. at least.")

Even within her own domain.

("Leyline disturbances continue to occur,") she recalled. ("Issues that should be addressed. Problems that demand intervention, and she does next to nothing.")

Or at least nothing visible.

Snow exhaled slowly.

("I suppose,") she admitted after a mont, though the acceptance was reluctant, ("there is little use in attempting to understand the mind of soone like her.") It was not a problem she could solve now, not without more information.

Still, her frown did not fade.

("Careless,") she thought. ("That is what it feels like.")

She was certainly not weak or incapable, but she was careless.

("To possess that level of power,") she continued, her gaze steady once more, ("and not use it to properly safeguard what lies under your care...") Her fingers curled at that. ("...is a waste.")