Chapter 226: Chapter 226 – The Gate of Anarats and the Long-Awaited eting
The night air was still filled with fine snow when Sylvia’s carriage stopped directly before the gates of Anarats. Gray stone walls lood, sheathed in a thin glaze of ice that reflected the torchlight. Yellow flas trembled atop iron posts, as if struggling against the northern chill.
City guards stood in a tight formation before the main gate. Their armor glinted dully, dusted with clinging snow. Long spears with keen iron tips were leveled forward, barring anyone approaching along the white-draped road.
One of them, a man with an open-faced helm and cheeks reddened by the cold, stepped out. His eyes narrowed at the black carriage that had halted without a driver. "Halt. State your purpose for entering Anarats." His voice was firm, though a hint of uncertainty bled through.
Sylvia opened the carriage door. The iron hinges spoke clearly, answered by the sigh of the night wind. Her boots pressed into the snow with a rasp as she dismounted in a fluid motion. A fur-lined black mantle swept about her a stark contrast to the pale skin that seed to glow under the torches.
The guards stared, equal parts wary and awed. This was no ordinary traveler; there was a cool, commanding aura about her that beckoned a bow for no reason at all.
"I intend to enter," Sylvia said flatly, her voice quiet yet cutting clear. She raised a hand, and from within her mantle a thin, silver-gleaming card slid between her fingers.
The guards turned, torchlight skating over it. They recognized it at once as a Hunter Guild card, pure silver, finely engraved. At its center: the na Sylvia Hortensia.
A silver card was no trinket. It marked a Rank B hunter, an upper tier achieved by few. Most never rose above Rank C or D; ascending to B required high-risk missions, top-class monsters, and a guild master’s direct recomndation.
"Rank B..." one guard breathed, astonished.
The watch captain straightened and saluted. "Honored hunter, forgive our earlier stance. Please, enter the city. Anarats welcos accomplished hunters."
Sylvia inclined her head the faintest bit. Her gaze swept once across the spears now dipped in respect. She had no desire to prolong the exchange.
But as she turned away, one guard kept frowning at the black carriage. "Is that... carriage driverless?" he muttered, almost to himself.
The undead horse at the traces nickered softly, lifting its head as if to answer the stare. Vapor gusted from its nostrils, and its eyes glowing faint red picked up the torchlight.
The guards tensed at once. Though they didn’t na it undead, sothing about the coach felt wrong as if it moved with a will of its own.
Sylvia didn’t reply. She reentered the carriage and closed the door gently. From within, her voice ca even and cool: "Proceed."
As if it understood, the horse set off again, drawing the carriage through Anarats’s main gate. Iron-rimd wheels murmured over packed snow, leaving the guards staring after it, trying to shake the unease from their hearts.
The main thoroughfare stretched ahead, lined with stone houses under pitched roofs laden with snow. Oil lamps hung by doorways, spreading a holy glow. Though late, the city still breathed tal rang in a distant forge, patrol boots thudded past, and muted laughter carried from within a tavern.
Sylvia’s coach took the road without hesitation, guided by the undead horse as though it knew every turn. Sylvia watched through the window. Anarats hadn’t changed a living fortress of a city, hard yet full of vigor.
At the far end of the main street rose a house every resident knew: the residence of Velthya, Anarats’s leader and protector.
The building stood solid in old gray stone, its walls etched with wolves that seed to watch every guest. Great torches burned in the front court, throwing light across a double line of fully ard guards.
When the black carriage drew up at the gate, the guards imdiately lowered their spears toward the horse.
"Hey, stop right there!" one shouted.
The undead horse scread, its eyes flashing brighter. The vapor of its breath ca like a rough beat, and its hoof struck stone hard enough to scatter crusted snow. The vestigial fighting instinct within it flared, tensing its body to strike.
The air went taut. Spears thrust forward in unison, while the horse arched its head, jaw quivering as if to bite.
Sylvia’s voice sounded calm, from inside the carriage. "Do not attack."
At once the undead horse froze and then stilled. Its breathing still stead heavy in the cold, but its head slowly lowered. The guards kept spears poised in the air, yet the imminent clash bled away.
The carriage window slid open. From behind velvet drapes appeared Sylvia’s pale face. Her red eyes glinted faintly; her dark hair fell loose; her expression never wavered.
The guards went rigid. They knew that face the chill poise, the unquestionable authority.
"L-Lady Sylvia...?" one guard choked, eyes widening.
The whisper raced through their ranks. Spears dipped at once, so guards bowing in a rush.
"Forgive us! We didn’t know it was you!" cried the captain.
Sylvia gave a single nod and shut the window. silver
The guards scattered into motion. "Quick, inform Lord Velthya! Lady Sylvia has arrived!"
The mood flipped at once from bristling threat to bustling deference. The great gate opened, and the black carriage rolled into the residence grounds.
The undead horse was led to a reserved stand beside the manor, where rows of normal steeds and noble coaches were already stabled. When the carriage halted, Sylvia alighted with unhurried grace, her black mantle sweeping snow.
The undead horse still quivered, but Sylvia lifted a hand and stroked its mane. "Be still. Your task is done."
The horse bowed its head deep, then stood motionless, statue-still. The dangerous aura faded, replaced by an uncanny calm.
The guards who had nearly faced it down could only swallow, eyes full of awe.
Word of Sylvia’s arrival spread swiftly. Inside the manor, a girl with silver hair, pointed ears, and golden eyes hallmarks of a lycanthrope started when a servant ran in.
"Milady! Lady Sylvia... has co!"
Velthya, the young leader of Anarats, rose from her chair. The stern lines of her face broke into a wide smile. "Truly?! After so long "
She nearly sprinted out, her silver tail swaying with delighted flicks. Her steps rang through stone corridors past servants bowing in confusion at their normally composed leader beaming like this.
At the front hall the great doors opened. There, in torchlight washing the stone walls, stood Sylvia calm, cool, as ever.
But to Velthya, this sight was more than the arrival of an honored guest. It was a dear friend returning at last.
"Sylvia!" Velthya cried, her voice trembling between relief and joy.
It rang through the hall, warmth cutting against the cold drifting in from outside. Velthya jogged the last steps, silver tail flashing in the light, pale-gold hair swaying with her hurry. Her golden eyes shone like twin moonbeams full of gladness.
Sylvia turned her head. Her gaze stayed tranquil, but the corner of her lips curved small, rare; an expression she saved for a very few. "Velthya."
Velthya didn’t hold back. She wrapped Sylvia in a tight embrace, as if afraid her friend would vanish again. Her body was warm, the opposite of Sylvia’s chill but the two fit together without resistance.
"At last... after so long," Velthya whispered, voice rough. "You truly ca. I thought you were too busy with... everything out there."
Sylvia let the embrace linger before she answered, softly, barely above breath. "I have been busy. But I couldn’t forget Anarats... or you."
Velthya slowly released her, though both hands remained on Sylvia’s shoulders. She studied that pale face, as if to prove to herself this wasn’t a mirage conjured by longing.
"Your face... hasn’t changed," Velthya said, smile widening. "Calm, cold but... I can see your eyes are a little more tired."
Sylvia didn’t deny it. She lowered her gaze a mont, then t Velthya again. "A long road. And too much on my mind."
Velthya exhaled and clasped Sylvia’s hand warmly. "Then tonight, forget all of it. You’re in Anarats, in my ho. There’s no reason to shoulder it alone here."
The servants who had been frozen along the hall finally moved at Velthya’s signal. They bowed deeply to Sylvia and quickly opened the way to the main room.
"Please, co in," Velthya said, her voice now gentle worlds away from the firmness of a city ruler. "Think of this as your own ho."
The manor’s main room was warm. A great fire burned in the stone hearth, casting amber light up into carved wooden beams. Thick carpets covered the floor, patterned with wolves and crescent moons. A savory spice scent drifted in from the kitchen, woven with the fragrance of burning wood.
Sylvia settled into a cushioned chair by the hearth. She set her black mantle over the back, revealing a simple but elegant dark inner dress. Her long black hair still damp from snow dried in the fire’s heat.
Velthya took the seat opposite, but leaned forward, plainly unwilling to let distance creep between them. The warm smile never left her face. "I still can barely believe you’re here. Whenever I asked after you beyond the city, the answer was always the sa ’Sylvia is busy,’ or, ’No one knows where she is.’"
Sylvia watched the fire, its orange caught in her eyes. "They weren’t lying. I have been busy. The world leaves little ti for peace."
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