A few days after the visit...

"Start Your Farm: The Guide to Becoming a Sustainable Farmer."

Alaric furrowed his brow, reading the title aloud. A strange name for a book, indeed, and even stranger that it wasn't bound in leather. His rough, calloused fingers traced the smooth, glossy cover as he gingerly picked up the unfamiliar object. Vivid, lifelike images seemed to leap at him, their colors unnaturally bright and varied—a stark contrast to the muted, earthy tones he had always known.

The tome contains nearly a thousand pages detailing animal husbandry, field irrigation, fertilizer formulation, and crop rotation—half the names foreign to him. In several pages, Alaric spied intricate illustrations of metal contraptions—drills and plows—seemingly born from the minds of the College's brightest maesters and crafted by the Empire's greatest smiths.

Alaric's breath hitched as he pondered the sheer magnitude of knowledge contained within. The reams of white paper, uniform text that would shame the works of the finest scribes, and the letters seem stamped into the page rather than written. He shook his head in disbelief. The damn thing was better bound than anything in old Fraud's personal collection.

He couldn't help but feel a pang of inadequacy. How could a simple farmer ever hope to grasp all this? And what did it say about people when they had books on farming that were better studied and written than those records of his family?

The lord of Frosthaven sighed in his seat, a growing occurrence of late. He had taken his evening meal with his family only to retreat into his private chamber. The room was silent but not empty. His steward knights Bjorn and Maester Fraud kept good if disgruntled company. The knight intently studied the curiously named World History 101 as if willing the pages to ignite under his gaze.

As for the old scholar, he had forsaken the chair instead of kneeling on the floor, eyes darting between three others' open tomes. Every long while, he would about-face, scribble illegibly into a scroll, and resume his reading. The maester had done little else save drink and bathe–and only with prompting–since the group returned the evening before, books in hand.

"Old Fraud, you home yet?"

Alaric broke the silence as the candles burned low, hailing Luwin as if the maester had returned from a wild dream. The maester in question stood, gaze somewhat distant.

"I still remember clearly the first time I secretly read Hancock's book when I was a student at College," Fraud picked up the books and gently placed them on the table. "The ancient civilization before the Eights Divines and One, older than the Old Gods. Lands where mortals like us rule over sky and sea. Weapons that could put magic to shame," he shook his head. "I could feel the seriousness and passion through the words alone, yet his work was always worth a good laugh."

"But now..." He made his way to one of the far corners of the room, hands reaching for ale rather than water. "I think the man is not mad; it was us all along. And to think, we, the frozen land, belong to the outcasts, now know more than the Middle States and Empire combined."

The steward offered the maester an apologetic smile and retrieved a cup. Fraud had forbidden food or drink within ten paces of the books, an edict he ably enforced despite his lack of lordship.

"Donald."

Bjorn turned to the young knight who stood vigilantly beside the door. Donald Rodricken, eldest son of Bjorn, his squire, and the newest addition to Alaric's circle. The knight only nodded before stepping out of the room; no words were needed to speak.

"My lord, I dare say before us now are the greatest blasphemy in the Seven Kingdoms, more so than Hancock's curse legacy." He looked upon the books sprawled about with guarded reverence, "If I bring this back to the College, I fear the Archmage would chain me down at the deepest of the Frozen Pit."

"Not to mention the Church, right?" Bjorn turned to him, earning from the old scholar a worried nod.

"Worst," Alaric added, "a full-scaled expedition from all Seven Kingdoms." Scary as it sounded, the other two couldn't deny that possibility.

The Misty Woods.

An enigma shrouded in perpetual fog, whispering about in hushed tones throughout the realm. Legends abound of countless souls, from intrepid adventurers to the formidable forces of the Empire, all seeking to pierce its veil. Yet, despite their many attempts, failure is the only trophy they've claimed. Even the most formidable warriors, blessed by the Divines themselves, were said to shudder at venturing near the woods.

Many believe the forest to be cursed, while others think the mist is a protective barrier, shielding them from a dormant danger. Now, the veil had finally lifted. If others discovered this, all the Seven Kingdoms would covet this newfound secret for themselves, and Frosthaven would be caught in the crossfire. The thought alone made Alaric grimace.

"Anyways, old Fraud. Mind enlightening us about what those books are all about?" Bjorn changed the subject, sensing his lord's distress.

"This book," Fraud took hold of a heavy tome titled Elements of Natural Philosophy, "was written by a baron, who also happened to be a knight," he emphasized, stressing the sheer absurdity of the idea. "It shames the life's work of every scholar in the last thousand years. The application of numbers to the motion of bodies celestial and mundane force is known to us, but nothing to this extent. Physics, he calls it."

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"This one," Fraud set the book aside with care, raising another, the Elementary Treatise on Chemistry. "The book details a manner of alchemy, but not as the so-called witchcraft we usually know. No mention of wildfire and curses, but rather the principle of transforming matter by means clearly mundane. Like ore to ingots."

"Next, the Machines through the Ages," Fraud said, eyeing the next book. "Like the name says, it tells about machines, ancient civilizations' contraptions, and how they applied them to their lives."

"But, all in all, that one," the old scholar pointed at the book in front of Bjorn, "is probably the thing that will get us killed, Milord."

Alaric looked at the World History 101 before returning to Fraud.

"How so?" he inquired, seeking further explanation.

"Because that one is the proof of what Lord Blackblood said before. The ancient civilizations did exist," Fraud replied as he took out the maps they were gifted. "The World History 101 is like your family record, Milord, but for the entire realm. Every single event molded the course of ancient civilizations' History. Plus, all these books are interconnected. Deny one, and you deny all."

"You're joking, right, you old goat?" Bjorn asked, disbelief evident in his voice.

"Here, let me show you," Fraud began arranging the books, including the maps, in a specific order. "The Machines mentioned were built upon the theories and fundamentals of these two—Physics and Chemistry. Let's say you build a well. Physics explains how the well works, while Chemistry teaches you how to make the materials to build it. The invention of the well is recorded here in the History, detailing who made it, when, and where."

"I really want to believe all these are just bluffs and makeup," Fraud sighed deeply, the weight of doubt heavy in his chest. "But then again, they are so well-tied in such detail. You can't make this up unless you were a writer reborn. Heck, I doubt anyone could come up with this."

"But there's a thing I would like to point out..." Fraud hesitated, his voice barely above a whisper.

"Go on," Alaric urged, his curiosity sparking, leaning forward in his chair.

"There are no references to VoidTech, his corporation, or his house, the Blackbloods of Stellaborne, in any holy scriptures or historical texts. Furthermore, the previous civilizations were... quite ordinary."

"Ordinary? How so?" Alaric's brows knitted together, his interest deepening.

"Ordinary like the two of you," Fraud clarified, his eyes flitting nervously around the dimly lit room. "I possess magic, so I don't consider myself typical."

"Fair," Alaric and Bjorn chorused, exchanging a glance.

"The ancient people described in the 'History' book relied solely on their wits, strength, and science. No magic. It baffles me how Lord Blackblood could exist in such a world," Fraud continued, his voice tinged with confusion.

"He mentioned he was mortal before becoming Stellaborne," Alaric recalled, his memory pulling at the threads of their earlier conversation.

"Perhaps that was a courtesy or simply the truth. Sometimes, it's better not to know too much," Bjorn offered. He said no more, but the others nodded in agreement. Religion and secrets are always delicate matters.

"There is another crucial issue we must address." The maester struggled to his feet, his old bones protesting, and gently cleared the desk, laying out the most critical item.

A map of the entire world.

Sketched with almost magical precision, it displayed mountains, rivers, roads of the Seven Kingdoms, and uncharted lands with extraordinary detail. This map, likely a military secret, had been handed to them freely by Lord Blackblood.

The three men stared in stunned silence, the magnitude of the gift sinking in.

"There is one last matter I must discuss, Milord." Fraud decided not to dwell on this matter anymore, as if he was losing hair by the second. "Why vassalization? If the man truly commands an army as capable as Viper, with bizarre weapons, armor, and incomprehensible magic, why not simply conquer?"

"You think he's playing a cloak-and-dagger game?" Bjorn asked.

"Possible, and I hope I'm wrong, but I've read enough history. Never have I heard of a king who didn't seek to expand his influence and power over the ages."

Fraud's anxiety was palpable. The soldiers, the advanced armor and weapons, the absurd magic... Blackblood had eradicated all spies within his territory without a trace, and he had shared all this information with Lord Stormraven under the guise of guest rights.

"Do you think he's one of the Old Ones?" Alaric turned to his advisors.

"I doubt it," the steward scoffed, and Fraud nodded in agreement.

"We have the elves with their magic, the dwarfs with their master craftsmanship, demons lurking in the shadows, and soul-eating foxes in the far eastern lands. And you doubt my words?"

"My lord, I'm not as learned as our old goat here. But I've never seen a god inviting mortals into their home, speaking as equals, and serving food and drink like a common housemaid! And charity as a means to punish his first wife's tantrum? Really, Alaric?"

"Bjorn," Fraud interjected before turning to Alaric. "Bjorn makes a valid point, Milord. Even a king wouldn't allow his queen such latitude. It's too dangerous."

"Unless both the husband and wives possess the power to back their unusual actions," Alaric countered. "We are dealing with beings beyond mortals. Remember that."

"Anyway, I've taken enough of your valuable time. I need your oaths, on your lives and honor, that nothing seen or spoken tonight leaves this room." The maester and steward exchanged worried glances but were not surprised. "Lord Blackblood and his lady wives hail from the Misty Woods, remnants of an old civilization. Of this, there is no doubt. But that doesn't mean they are who they claim to be. Until more is known, I demand your silence."

"As you wish, my lord," both bowed to Alaric's command.

"Fraud, I bid you goodnight. I will need your counsel in the coming days." He turned to his sworn sword, "A moment of your time, Bjorn."

----------------------------------------

The lord and his knight stood alone in the solitude of the moon. A stark contrast to the chaos that had engulfed their world just days ago.

"Thank you, old friend."

Bjorn Rodricken eyed his liege warily as if he suspected the man had either lost his senses or drunk.

"Just doing my duty, Milord."

"You disapproved of my invitation to Lord Blackblood."

Bjorn's nod was slow, deliberate. "Aye, I did."

"Yet you said nothing."

The knight exhaled sharply, his frustration evident. "I am your sword and your friend, Milord. My duty is to keep you alive, offer good counsel when you seek it, and provide better when you don't. It is not my place to act beyond my station when a decision has been made." He hesitated, steeling himself for his following words. "But were it up to me, I'd not let Blackblood set foot in Frosthaven."

"Lord Blackblood," Alaric corrected gently, a faint smile tugging at his lips as he noted Bjorn's scowl of distaste. The smile quickly faded. "You suspect treachery?"

Bjorn shook his head. "If the man intended treachery, he'd have done so already. No need for playing minstrel and housemaid. But that doesn't mean I want him near me and mine."

Alaric nodded thoughtfully. "A dangerous man."

"So you agree."

'Yet you invited him' lingered silently in the air.

"They honored guest rights and helped our people through this harsh winter," Alaric replied simply. "To bar them from Frosthaven would have been an insult and present its own dangers. I will not make a certain enemy of a potential friend."

Bjorn sighed, his shoulders slumping slightly under the weight of their current situation. "A real nasty gamble you playing there, Milord."

"Then I trust you with my back, old friend."

The knight scoffed, but there was a fierce loyalty in his eyes.

"I fought by your side against the barbarians of the Upper North. Even if he's a demon or a god, I will stand my ground against him."