Embers of fire help us get through the cold winter

The terrace of the villa on the hillside offers a superb vantage point overlooking the city of Marmorea.

Gaius Varro stood here, his gleaming military boots clicking on the smooth marble floor. The celebrations in the city continued in the distance, the sea breeze carrying intermittent music and cheers across the hillside.

Marcus Drusus, a portly imperial elder nearing fifty, was raising a jewel-encrusted gold cup to toast several "merchants" from the United Kingdom of Saint Norrian. Gaius recognized the insignia of the Holy Flame Knights on the cuffs of one of them.

Finally, the butler led the guest inside. Marcus turned around, his plump face beaming with the rosy glow of alcohol and self-satisfaction.

"Ah, our loyal Centurion Varo," Marcus's voice carried its usual, slightly exaggerated enthusiasm, "the fresh air of the harbor is far more invigorating than the aged wine this old man prefers, isn't it? You've had a hard time during the celebrations."

"It is my duty, sir," Gaius replied in a deep voice, cutting straight to the point without any pleasantries. "I have an urgent report to give regarding the 'East Moon Trading Company' team at the port."

Marcus raised an eyebrow, signaling him to continue, while he strolled to the edge of the terrace to admire his city.

Gaius described it in a concise, clear military tone: near-perfect documents, the porters' unusually long hands and feet with calluses on their fingers and palms—traces of long-term, high-intensity use of bows and arrows or reins, as well as their pale skin and eerie discipline.

"My lord," Gaius concluded gravely, "based on our assessment, this is no ordinary caravan. They are most likely disguised intelligence agents. Considering they come from the Far East, I suspect they may be connected to the 'Pale Calamity' that has been occasionally rumored along the border in recent years. We should immediately detain the personnel, thoroughly investigate the goods, and strengthen security at the port and surrounding area."

A brief silence followed, broken only by the rustling of the grapevines by the terrace in the breeze.

Marcus took a slow sip of his drink without turning around.

"Gaius, Gaius..." he sighed and shook his head. "You're always like this. Spending too much time on the border makes everyone seem like an enemy. A few long-limbed Eastern laborers, some merchants curious about the empire... and they become an army in your eyes?"

He turned around, his smile still on his face, but his eyes had lost their warmth. "The documents are perfect, which means they abide by the law, or they have a knowledgeable agent behind them, which is a good thing! As for skin color and discipline... some tribes in the East are born that way, it's just something to be surprised about."

"But sir, those calluses..."

“Enough.” Marcus’s tone hardened slightly. He took a few steps closer, lowered his voice, but carried an undeniable pressure. “Listen, I’m committed to building stronger ties with our ‘friends,’” he glanced towards the room, “and that requires a stable, prosperous, and open image for the Southern Territory. During the Harvest Festival, you detained a fully documented caravan that brought in tax revenue based on some unfounded ‘suspicion’? What message does that send? Suspicion? Isolation? Foolish!”

He patted Gaius's sturdy arm armor with considerable force. "I admire your loyalty and vigilance, but use them wisely. The 'battlefield' is here now," he pointed to his temple, then to the bustling city below, "in the Senate's votes, in the flow of gold, in the trust of our allies. Not in wasting energy on a few insignificant Eastern traveling merchants and creating unnecessary panic."

Gaius knew he could no longer persuade the other party. The chessboard of those in power and the land they saw were never on the same level.

"Oh, right," Marcus added, as if just remembering something, "that guy you sent to check the accounts... what was his name again? He was found drowned this morning after falling into the harbor's drainage ditch. What a tragedy. There's always a little trouble during the harvest festival. I'll have the mayor give his family a compensation payment."

Gaius's heart skipped a beat, but his face remained stiff and calm, typical of a soldier. "...Yes, sir. I...understand."

"Good, I understand." Marcus nodded in satisfaction, his attention seemingly already drifting away as he looked back at his city. "Go and enjoy the celebration, Varo. Don't waste this beautiful weather and the blessings of the 'Mother of Abundance.' Oh, before you go, go to the steward and collect your 'hardship fee.'"

Gaius gave a crisp military salute, turned, and left the terrace, the sounds of Marcus and the guests chatting about the future empire echoing behind him once more. Gaius walked through the corridors adorned with mosaic murals and marble statues, feeling utterly out of place in this magnificent world.

At the entrance, he met Marcus's butler, who handed him a small bag of coins: "The master said this is a 'trouble fee' for you, so you can enjoy the celebration and not overwork yourself."

Gaius walked out of the villa and stuffed the money pouch into his pocket. As if carrying a stone of shame, he walked step by step down the mountain towards the clamor he could no longer understand or truly protect.

As the sun set, it turned the snow on the summit of Mount Marmorea into a golden hue.

It was golden, just like the prosperous and wealthy city of Marmorea.