A few days after the evening in the dining hall, while the June summer still bathed the imperial school of Mor in a golden light, Ki gathered the group in her suite with dark red walls adorned with golden floral patterns. Seated near the silver samovar that stood on a low table, she placed a delicate hand on an ancient map, her fingers tracing the outlines of a vast northern territory. "I invite you all to my kingdom," she announced with a discreet but proud smile. "The kingdom of Qit, in the North."
The name echoed in the room like a whisper from the far reaches of the Empire. Qit, a gigantic kingdom, occupied a third of the imperial lands, its borders stretching over endless plains, dense forests, and mountains with mist-veiled peaks. Once independent, it had been integrated into the Empire through a strategic marriage between the emperor and the last heiress to the throne of Qit, a union that sealed an alliance as powerful as it was symbolic. Now, Qit reigned over all the northern lands, a bastion of power and traditions anchored in a harsh climate and abundant resources—precious minerals, robust wood, and thick furs.
Mero felt a wave of excitement at this announcement. He imagined the vast northern expanses, snowy plains swept by cold winds, forests of pines and birches stretching as far as the eye could see, their needles quivering under the pale June sun. He already saw the rivers of ice snaking between gentle hills, and perhaps, in the distance, the imposing silhouettes of mountains whose slopes harbored ancient legends. Qit was not just a territory; it was a historical power, a kingdom whose political influence rivaled its austere beauty. The marriage that had bound it to the Empire was not merely an anecdote but a decisive pivot, an act that had redrawn maps and ambitions.
Mandarine, seated next to him, crossed her arms with a smirk, her black eyes sparkling with enthusiasm. "A journey to the north, huh? That reminds me of the icy seas we sometimes skirted with my father. It could be fun." Mero sensed that she saw it as a chance to reconnect with a part of her roots, she who had grown up between the waves and storms, in a world where the harshness of the climate forged souls as much as bodies.
The others seemed just as intrigued. Dorian, still marked by the mourning of his father, nodded thoughtfully, as if a change of scenery could soothe the shadows that followed him. Eléonore, by his side, sketched a fragile smile—a journey far from the painful memories of Mor could offer them respite. Sven, always ready for adventure, clapped his hands with a thunderous laugh. "Northern lands? I hope they have good taverns up there!" Hélène, the imperial princess, remained silent, but a calculating gleam shone in her eyes. Mero suspected that she saw in this invitation an opportunity to extend her influence, to forge ties with a key region of the Empire.
This invitation was not a simple gesture of hospitality, he understood. It was an open door to the diversity of the Empire, a chance to discover the customs of Qit—so different from those of the imperial center—and to better grasp the stakes that united these disparate kingdoms. For Ki, it was a way to share her origins but also, perhaps, to strengthen the bonds between them all. Mero wondered how this adventure would influence their relationships, their future choices, and his own vision of the world he thought he knew.
The acceptance was unanimous, sealed by nods and enthusiastic murmurs around the table. Even Hélène, with her usual aplomb, invited herself on the journey, an announcement that raised a few eyebrows but that no one dared contest. "I wouldn't miss an opportunity to visit Qit," she declared in a light tone, as if her presence was a given. Ki exchanged an amused look with Mero, and he understood that one could not refuse the imperial princess what she had already decided.
The journey promised to be fascinating, a dive into a kingdom as mysterious as it was imposing. Mero imagined the trip, crossing lands of varied cultures—golden fields, rolling vineyards—before entering the north, where the landscapes would become wilder, more austere. It would be an escape from the noisy parties and stifling exam halls of Mor, a chance to discover another face of the Empire and to better understand the dynamics that united these kingdoms. Ki, visibly delighted to bring this group together, radiated a discreet pride, her northern roots seeming to vibrate in each of her gestures.
For Mero, it was also a personal opportunity. Seeing Qit meant approaching a facet of power he had never touched, a world of politics and traditions forged by centuries of resilience. With Mandarine by his side, he could share this exploration, strengthen their bond in a new setting. Dorian and Eléonore, despite their grief, might find a breath of peace in these distant lands. Sven, with his boundless energy, would bring his enthusiasm, while Hélène, with her impenetrable airs, would undoubtedly weave her own plans in silence. This journey, Mero felt, would not be a simple escapade—it would carry within it seeds of change for all of them.
Three days were granted for preparations, a period that passed in a whirlwind of activity. Suitcases piled up in the suites—light summer clothes, but also thicker capes in case the north held climatic surprises. Mero checked his belongings in his room, stowing his exam notes in a drawer and adding a blank notebook to record this journey. Mandarine, with her pirate pragmatism, packed her bag in a flash, slipping a dagger into a side pocket "just in case." Ki coordinated the details with calm efficiency, while Sven joked about the weight of Dorian's bags, filled with books.
On the day of departure, the train company deployed the imperial train, a marvel of luxury and power that did not go unnoticed. The carriages, painted a gleaming black accented with gold, evoked a rolling palace, their windows adorned with delicate stained glass that filtered a soft light. Inside, the compartments were furnished like sumptuous lounges: red velvet armchairs, polished mahogany tables, thick carpets with floral patterns. A private compartment was reserved for their group, more intimate with its semicircular benches and a small central table, but Hélène arrived with a discreet escort—two guards in imperial livery and a silent attendant—who occupied an adjacent carriage. Mero exchanged a glance with Mandarine, a smirk forming on their lips. "She spoke to the emperor, for sure," she murmured, and he nodded, convinced that the princess had orchestrated this special treatment.
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The departure was solemn, almost theatrical. The capital slowly receded behind them, its towers of blond stone and verdant gardens giving way to vaster plains. The train, en route, stopped at the stations of other capitals and major cities to drop off other passengers. At each stop, the crowd thinned, until only seven of them remained in the private compartment: Mero, Mandarine, Ki, Sven, Dorian, Eléonore, and Hélène. The carriages, once buzzing with conversations, fell silent. As the train gained speed, the landscape transformed. The golden fields gave way to wooded hills, then to rougher expanses—the tundra and taiga of the north, flat and endless under a pale blue sky. Mero scanned the windows, surprised by the absence of snow. To his great dismay, there was no snow. June had transformed Qit into a summer kingdom, far from the images of glaciers and flakes he had conjured. The train crossed the tundra, a flat and arid expanse where dry grasses quivered under a light wind, dotted here and there with stunted bushes and eroded rocks. Further on, the taiga opened up, an endless forest of pines and birches whose slender trunks formed a green sea under a washed-out sky. Everything was flat, even more so than the ocean he knew so well—an endless horizon, featureless, oppressive in its monotonous immensity.
Mero pressed his forehead against the window, observing this landscape that seemed frozen in austere eternity. He had hoped for legendary northern lands, snowy peaks, and frozen lakes, but summer had stripped Qit of this winter magic, revealing a rugged and stark beauty. The sky stretched out, immense and empty, a pale blue streaked with a few wispy clouds, and the sun, low on the horizon, cast long, thin shadows over the land. Mandarine, beside him, gazed at the same spectacle, her fingers drumming on the bench. "It's like a sea without waves," she murmured, and he nodded, sharing her sense of strangeness.
Ki, across from them, seemed soothed by this scenery, her eyes following the lines of the taiga with a serene familiarity. Dorian and Eléonore exchanged perplexed glances, while Sven muttered something about the lack of "real action" in this landscape. Hélène, true to herself, remained indifferent, her hands folded on her lap as if this flatness was an obvious fact to accept. Mero realized that this journey, in these isolated lands, was a test of patience as much as an adventure—a test of their ability to find meaning in the unexpected.
It was Ki who broke the silence, with a gesture as unexpected as her words. She reached out and took Hélène's hand, their fingers intertwining in a natural movement that startled everyone—except Dorian and Hélène herself. A murmur of astonishment ran through the compartment, and Mero felt his eyes widen. "We are cousins, in the third degree," Ki declared with a softness that contrasted with the tense atmosphere, her clear voice piercing the silence. "This journey is no longer a matter of state or a simple escapade. From now on, it is an adventure among friends. That is how we must see it, and that is how we must act."
The revelation hit like a wave, dispelling some of the confusion but raising a cascade of new questions. Mandarine blinked, an eyebrow raised, while Sven let out an incredulous "What?" Mero stared at the two women, searching for clues in their complicit gazes—Ki, calm and assured, Hélène, satisfied and almost relieved. Dorian, relaxed for the first time since their departure, nodded as if it were all obvious. "I learned it at my father's funeral," he explained, his voice low but firm. "Ki confided in me there, in a moment of calm."
Eléonore, after a moment of reflection, spoke up, her words bringing welcome clarity. "It makes sense. Ki's ancestor married an emperor centuries ago. These unions have woven blood ties between the royal houses. It's logical that they are connected, even if it's distant." She crossed her arms, a discreet smile forming on her lips. "Our families are a complex web, full of invisible bridges."
Mero felt the pieces of the puzzle coming together. This was not a Machiavellian secret but a historical legacy, a connection buried in the annals of the Empire. The journey took on a new dimension—a gathering of lineages, a blend of friendship and dynasty. Ki looked at them all, her smile widening. "It is important that we remain united, not only as individuals but as a family, even if it seems strange to some." The group's dynamic changed, roles redefining themselves under this new light, and Mero understood that this adventure could have repercussions far beyond a simple stay in Qit.
To chase away the boredom that threatened to set in, Mero reached into his bag and pulled out a deck of pirate cards, a mischievous smile on his lips. "How about a game?" he suggested. Mandarine winked at him, her eyes sparkling with challenge. An expert at this game, she settled next to him with natural confidence, shuffling the cards with a dexterity that betrayed years of practice on the decks of ships.
"So, ready to lose, Mero?" she teased, a touch of mischief in her voice, and he laughed, determined to hold his own despite his slim chances. The rules were subtle—a mix of bluff, strategy, and luck—and the cards, worn and yellowed, bore drawings of ships, treasures, and storms. The group came to life, their gazes focused on the hands being played. Mandarine quickly dominated, her precise gestures and taunting laughter punctuating each victory, while Ki, less at ease, squinted as she calculated her moves. Sven attempted bold but clumsy bluffs, provoking bursts of laughter, and Hélène, intrigued, observed more than she played, an enigmatic smile on her lips.
Then it was Dorian and Eléonore's turn, who brought out a board game from their kingdom, a wooden box containing delicate pieces—miniature warriors, ivory towers, fragile bridges. "It's a strategy game," Dorian explained with his usual calm, while Eléonore, more animated, detailed the rules: move units to control areas, anticipate opponents' moves, accumulate points. The board, adorned with engraved maps, became a miniature battlefield, and the group threw themselves into it with enthusiasm. Mandarine, focused, rivaled Eléonore, whose sharp tactics quickly took the lead. Ki and Hélène, novices but curious, made mistakes that sparked laughter, and soon, the competition turned into joyful chaos, strengthening their camaraderie.
Sven, refusing to be outdone, revealed a skill game from his country, inspired by jacks but with metal balls and circles drawn on a board. "You have to aim well," he said with a mischievous smile, throwing a ball that landed precisely in a distant circle. The goal was simple but demanding: place your balls in the farthest zones without touching the lines or dislodging those of others. The first attempts were hesitant—Mandarine excelled from the start, her reflexes hitting the mark, while Ki narrowly missed, provoking a burst of general laughter. Dorian and Eléonore quickly adapted, their measured gestures contrasting with Sven's enthusiastic throws, which sent a ball off the board with a comic curse.
The compartment filled with laughter and teasing, the monotony of the landscape forgotten. The tundra and taiga still stretched out, vast and impassive, but inside, these games became a refuge, a way to forge stronger bonds in this isolation. Time passed, carried by the lightness of these moments.
