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Letter from Persephone C. Heart-Fire to Alexander K. Leonandra
Dear Alexander,
Firstly, allow me to express my deepest gratitude for your captivating correspondence. The elegance of your penmanship is nothing short of artistry—a detail that brought a genuine smile to my face. Initially, I was puzzled by the joint authorship of your letter with your mother, but upon learning of your circumstances, I felt compelled to address you directly.
You chose wisely in directing your letter to me. As Persephone, the future Bringer of Serenity, I already lead part of the administration of our tranquil yet resilient fief. Knowing that you are to become the esteemed Architect of Warfare, it seems fitting that we begin this dialogue—even if our initial exchange might reveal some disagreements.
Your proposals are undeniably intriguing, yet I find myself harboring reservations that I feel obliged to clarify before we proceed further. It seems rather generous—perhaps overly so—that you are willing to share such valuable [Skills] with little expected in return. In light of this, I have included a list of our secondary [Skills] in the exchange, as I wouldn't want our household to appear ungracious or as if we're taking undue advantage. You may choose what you desire, and when the time comes, we may exchange those—if you wish for all, I would be more than delighted to oblige.
Since you speak so fondly of our rice, soy sauce, and the myriad of delectable dishes we enjoy here, I propose that we also share our traditional agricultural techniques with you. These methods are not merely practices but are woven into the very fabric of our culture—a legacy passed down through generations by our humble farmers.
However, I must express certain reservations regarding our economic situation and the potential impact of your proposals. Our people thrive on traditions that have sustained us for countless years. While I appreciate your enthusiasm for investing and bringing new technologies to our fief, I am concerned about potential disruptions to our communities. The changes you propose hold the promise of improvement, yet they can also bring unforeseen challenges.
The delicate balance we maintain is akin to a finely crafted tapestry—each thread carefully placed to create a harmonious whole. We are not Wolfsteeth, Dogsteeth, or Foxteeth—giant cities with millions of residents—but a tightly-knit society much more susceptible to adverse outcomes from our decisions.
Perhaps we could begin with a smaller collaboration, one that allows both our people to adjust gradually. I'm open to suggestions that honor our traditions while cautiously embracing your brave visions. It's important to me that any changes respect the heritage and values that define us.
I imagine you might feel similarly if we attempted to influence your subjects in a way that disrupted the vibrant and open culture you cherish in the South, especially your commendable embrace of all races and subraces.
Regarding the military incursion you mentioned, I must admit that I see little benefit in joining such an endeavor. We have no quarrel with those races, and I would prefer to refrain from intervening in matters that do not directly concern us.
I hope you understand my position, and I look forward to your thoughts on how we might find a mutually beneficial path forward.
Warm regards,
Persephone C. Heart-Fire
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Letter from Alexander K. Leonandra to Persephone C. Heart-Fire
Dear Persephone,
Your letter was both thoughtful and enlightening, and I am grateful for your candor. It's clear that your dedication to your people and traditions runs as deep as the ancient roots of the grand oaks in our southern forests.
I understand your caution—truly, I do. Charging ahead without care is like attempting to tame a wild stallion; it often ends with one on the ground, nursing bruises to both body and pride. Your traditions are the heartbeat of your fief, and I have no desire to silence that rhythm. Instead, I propose we consider harmonizing our melodies to create a richer symphony.
But like those magnificent trees, their dense crowns can sometimes block out the sun, preventing its warmth from reaching the earth below, leading to rot and decay. Whatever influences may come, your beautiful culture and traditions will undoubtedly continue, but should they be preserved by all means necessary? Perhaps there's a way to let in a little more light without sacrificing the grandeur of the canopy.
Just as we broke our chains piece by piece, seeking the freedom we deserve, stopping now seems foolish. The comfort we have is relative and should not be taken for granted as others grow—progress is the unstoppable tide of the world, one that will not acknowledge outliers or show the deserved respect as I do.
As you mentioned, sharing your agricultural techniques and a piece of your life is an honor I couldn't be happier about. The thought of learning the secrets behind your exquisite rice and soy sauce fills me with excitement—and a bit of hunger, if I'm honest. In return, I offer our [Skills] not as a mere transaction but as a gesture of goodwill and mutual respect. When we share knowledge freely, I believe we sow the seeds for a bountiful harvest of friendship and prosperity, much like your rice fields yield four times a year.
However, I feel compelled to address a concern that weighs heavily on my mind. I have already established agreements with Feather-Paw and Iron-Claw, your neighboring fiefs. They have embraced opportunities for growth and collaboration, and as a result, we're witnessing a migration of commoners—particularly those seeking education, spiritual fulfillment, and economic opportunities—toward these regions and, ultimately, mine. I fear that without action, your fief may experience an exodus, leading to unforeseen hardships for those left behind.
Please understand this is not a threat or an attempt at coercion. Rather, it is my earnest plea for us to work together to prevent any negative consequences for your fief. Each subject who departs represents not just a loss of taxes but the erosion of community—the farmer tending his fields, the shopkeeper greeting neighbors each morning, the adventurer keeping your lands safe from harm.
I know that your household has, in the past, leaned toward isolation. But we stand at the brink of a new era—one where unity can fortify us against the challenges that lie ahead. Our borders are the last bastion against the wild demons that threaten all we hold dear and the birthplace of the Knights who will defend the freedom we struggled to achieve. By joining forces, we can create a Moorgrel that is vibrant, resilient, and filled with the laughter of our puppies, elders who may experience a peaceful end in the warmth of their families, and parents who need not sacrifice themselves for the happiness of their loved ones. A happier and safer future can only be achieved by not standing still—not merely reacting to changes, but by being the change.
I assure you, my intentions are to support and uplift, not to impose or disrupt. Let's take this step together. Trust me when I say that I have proven my commitment through my actions, and I am confident that, upon reflection, you will see the potential for greatness our collaboration holds.
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After all, even the tallest mountains are climbed one step at a time, and I am ready to take that first step with you.
If you still harbor doubts, I invite you to visit Cerberusteeth and witness the changes already taking place. Once you have, I would be happy to hear your thoughts on not only a more intimate collaboration but also the possibility of forging our bond in the defense of our lands—an endeavor that could provide an economic boost beyond all imagination.
Sincerely,
Alexander K. Leonandra
...
Right south of the icy North lay a fiefdom administered by descendants of the legendary Cerberus C. Heart-Fire, one of the three founding Knights who served under Count Moorgrel alongside Fenrir and Huxia. These Knights possessed strength beyond imagination, but each bore their own flaws. Huxia was known for a vengeful spirit and bitter spite, while Fenrir carried a reputation as an uncultured, brutal barbarian. Though such characteristics might have been shaped by the tumultuous times they lived through, these same traits could have made it difficult for them to find their place in the more orderly world of today.
Cerberus, however, stood apart as the most reasonable of the trio. His lineage was steeped in nobility, starkly contrasting to Huxia's relatively recent ancestry—aristocrats known more for their poetry and managing red-light districts than for governance. Fenrir's background was equally distinct: he was the first of his kind to receive a title from Count Moorgrel after arriving in the territory, and his family was as common as they came, if not outright hooligans by some accounts.
When Cerberus and his counterparts were granted their territories, Cerberus made a decisive move. He divided a significant portion of his lands among his less capable offspring, granting them domains to defend and nurture. This decision benefited his descendants for generations, ensuring their prosperity and influence—or at least, it once did.
Yet even Cerberus, the most balanced of the three knights, couldn't escape the complexities of his era. One challenge that plagued his lineage was their adherence to the prejudiced views of central Mal-Gil, which at the time harbored extreme discrimination against certain races: canine, avian, and insect kin. Over the centuries, while prejudice against canine kin faded after Count Moorgrel proved himself repeatedly, biases against the other subraces lingered and continued to shape societal structures in subtle yet significant ways.
Fenrir and Huxia embraced everyone within their fiefs, fostering diversity and growth, whether by necessity or enlightenment. Cerberus did not. Initially, this disparity wasn't a significant issue, as all three knights had their own governance styles and cultures. Over time, however, the consequences of Cerberus's isolationist policies became increasingly apparent. With fewer opportunities for varied talent to thrive, the population in Cerberus's territories dwindled, and stagnation set into their main cities. Meanwhile, Fenrir and Huxia's open acceptance of all races and backgrounds attracted talent and prosperity, widening the gap.
Compounding these societal issues was the unique nature of Cerberus himself—or itself, as Cerberus was not just a person but a concept, an embodiment of lineage and power. The name was passed down through generations, creating a distinct lineage that held both power and peculiarities. Each generation produced a new trio of siblings who inherited Cerberus's mantle—effectively creating a race unto themselves.
Each generation could bear offspring only once in their lifetime. As long as any member of that generation lived, no further puppies could be born to carry on the Cerberus legacy. The reason for this remained shrouded in mystery, though it was widely believed that the souls of previous generations were bound up in the new births. This process made each new Cerberus eerily similar to their predecessors in certain respects, though unique in their combination of traits and fate. Procreation was dangerous and a carefully considered endeavor, carrying both hope and tremendous risk.
The current Cerberus was composed of three siblings—triplets—two brothers and a sister. Each sibling was born embodying one aspect of the Cerberus legend.
One brother possessed boundless physical strength, and the ability to wield fire, capable of consuming all, and every fiber of his musculature was coiled like steel cables brimming with raw power.
The second brother inherited a cunning intellect darkened by sly and sadistic streaks, adept at devising intricate strategies and manipulating foes in insidious ways—a shadowed mind capable of great trickery.
By many accounts, the sister was the most underestimated. She lacked physical prowess and could not harness [Energy] like her brothers, but she possessed unparalleled intelligence and compassion, the true heart and mind of the trio. She was the linchpin, keeping them balanced and united, her soul the pivot upon which all three turned—her role was crucial.
Bound together from birth, the siblings shared everything—love, pain, and even their [System Window]. This profound intimacy formed a bond of trust and love that none doubted. They never desired to leave each other's side, finding completeness only when they were together. This unity, however, also fed into their insularity. Because they needed so little from outside their circle, relationships with other Households, including those that once came due to Cerberus, were nonexistent.
Their rare visits to other fiefs were calculated and infrequent, often ending in cooled relations rather than strengthened alliances. This isolationist stance, which had served as a kind of protective shield in earlier eras, now led to economic decline and weakened alliances in more interconnected times. Over centuries, this problem persisted, eventually causing even those Households of Cerberus's own blood to distance themselves.
To the south, House Feather-Paw gradually formed bonds with the rest of the Guard Households, using the restored Silver-Tail Household as an intermediary. Iron-claw, subsidized by others, was primarily a buffer against the wild demons and the birthplace of prominent warriors. Still, even they started to eye the South for a more significant role, seeing the increase in prosperity. Meanwhile, Cerberus's domain continued functioning much as it always had—statically, consistently, but without growth or adaptation.
Policies born of fear and clinging to ancient tradition—once sensible when the world was more dangerous and less understood—were detrimental in a swiftly changing era. This lack of socialization and openness had led the Heart-Fire lineage to its current state: a stagnating environment where influence waned, populations dwindled, and economic hardships began to loom.
This stagnation was palpable in Heart-Fire's city of Veilersteeth, where their estate was located—often shrouded in mist and rain, its modest harbor a quiet hub for the fishing boats that still brought in a reliable catch. It was a home to perhaps a hundred thousand souls—tranquil to the point of sleepiness. Its buildings, constructed with timeless crafts using fine wood and stone, gave an impression of age and tradition. Their primary source of revenue now came from fishing and agriculture, with few businesses showing any interest in establishing themselves in a place seemingly divorced from opportunity.
Amidst this serene but slowly decaying backdrop, three young siblings with raven-black hair walked the cobblestone streets of Veilersteeth—valued and revered by the entire region. The girl, part of the youngest Cerberus in Moorgrel, now felt the weight of change pressing in from all sides—wearing an expression of concern despite hoping for another outcome of the little trip she insisted on.
Behind her, a boy with light orange eyes asked, "Did you read it? I barely understand their exchange." He held a letter, the seal broken—an official-looking missive from Alexander K. Leonandra.
"Yeah, skimmed through," replied the second boy with darker orange eyes. He yawned, though whether from tiredness or feigned disinterest wasn't clear. "It's a long letter; honestly, I have no idea if what he said is true." He peeked at the girl in front of them.
They paused before a shuttered shop. Its windows were darkened, its sign faded and nearly illegible—once a thriving workshop known throughout the city for handcrafted wooden toys, now abandoned. The girl, with hair as raven-black as her brothers but crimson eyes full of concern, stepped forward. She looked up at the sign with a mixture of sadness and nostalgia. "Wasn't this where old Master Tolly used to make those little carved soldiers and animals?" she asked softly.
The darker-eyed boy ran a hand through his tousled hair, confusion, and dismay furrowing his brow. "Yes, it was. He was famous for his craftsmanship. Whenever we walked by this shop as kids, I remember the smell of wood shavings and varnish."
The girl stood still, her slender figure framed by the gentle drizzle that began to fall. Her black hair hung down to her waist, a striking contrast against her pale complexion. A subtle scent of cherry blossoms clung to her, a faint fragrance she always wore. Her delicate ears, usually upright in a posture of quiet confidence, now drooped, and her little and short-haired tail hung limply behind her. Tears welled in her eyes, glistening in the dim light of the overcast day as she looked upon the closed shop.
"Why...?" she whispered, her voice trembling. The weight of unspoken fears pressed upon her as heavily as the low-hanging clouds pressed upon the city. "Is Alex right?"