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Book 2: Chapter 8: Gatewick
🕑 Added 2025-07-31 18:33:15 +0000 UTCChapter 8:
Gatewick
Gatewick had always been Liam's home, more fortress than town, standing resolutely atop the hill like an ancient sentinel guarding its people below. The sturdy stone walls and battlements spoke of centuries of pride and strength. Even now, as Liam stood watch along the southern wall, he could trace the scars left by war, the blackened stone, cracks hastily patched, a reminder of their resilience. The town, with its neat rows of houses and winding streets, bore similar marks; rebuilt carefully over the last decade, but never fully erasing the memories.
Liam had only been six when war had come to Gatewick, but the memories were vivid. They were etched into him as permanently as the soot-stained stones. He remembered clearly the day the dragon had descended upon their castle, summoned by an invading army from the east. Fire rained from the sky, the air thick with smoke and screams, and yet the people of Gatewick stood firm. His father had placed a sword in his hands, far too big, but symbolic nonetheless, and told him to be brave. His father had never returned from the flames, nor had his four older siblings. Every household lost someone that day, and yet no one fled. No one would ever abandon Ashford. It simply wasn't the Gatewick way.
The old Lady Ashford, their protector, had stood at the forefront, rallying them all, even as the world around them burned. Liam could still see her—silver-haired and fearless, charging headlong into the battle with nothing but defiant courage. He remembered the despair when she fell, and the way their hope had almost shattered entirely.
And then, salvation had come.
Liam's pulse still quickened when he recalled the moment the horizon had split with the gleam of armor and banners, and Liliana, the Lady's daughter, had ridden forth like an avenging goddess. Even as a child, Liam had known he was witnessing something extraordinary. Liliana had faced the dragon without hesitation, surrounded by her elite guard, warriors of legend themselves. The fight had been otherworldly, magic so intense it burned itself into the retinas of every witness. Liam recalled vividly how the air had bent, how pure light had cascaded down from the heavens to cloak Liliana in an aura of brilliance.
He remembered the cry of triumph as she ascended, wielding a sword of pure, celestial light, driving fear into the heart of a beast no mortal should have been able to defeat. With one mighty strike, the dragon fell, and with it, their despair. Liliana had become more than a savior that day. She had become a living legend, a symbol of hope and strength that Gatewick had carried proudly ever since.
Liam shook himself slightly, breaking free of the daydream that always accompanied his watch shifts. Now sixteen, he stood as a guardian of Gatewick, though admittedly his shifts were more often filled with imagined heroics than actual vigilance. He longed for a chance to prove himself, to stand beside heroes and make his mark upon the world.
His eyes drifted lazily toward the distant horizon, habitually scanning for threats that never appeared. Today, however, something caught his eye. At first, it was nothing more than a speck, easily dismissed. But then another appeared, and another, a column, gradually growing in size.
He straightened abruptly, heart quickening. A flicker of panic briefly flared, quickly replaced by curiosity and then recognition. He scrambled from his position, dropping down from the wall and sprinting toward the nearby watchtower, breath heavy with excitement.
Reaching the watchtower's peak, Liam seized the worn parchment pinned to the wooden railing, a reference sheet of new imperial banners, crests, and sigils. His finger darted hastily across the sketches until he found it, eyes widening in realization.
"Imperial banners… the Princess," he murmured, disbelief giving way to exhilaration.
His hands shaking, he seized the heavy brass bell and rang it vigorously, the sound echoing loudly across Gatewick.
"Princess Grace is arriving!" he shouted, voice strained with urgency and awe. "The Princess is here!"
Liam sprang from the tower, excitement fueling his steps as he rushed toward the main gate, boots clattering noisily over cobblestones. Already a small cluster of town guards, boys his own age, sixteen or seventeen, had gathered, their faces bright with surprise and curiosity. Gatewick wasn't large; the guard itself numbered scarcely fifty men, responsible for the town's six thousand resilient souls. Perhaps a handful more were stationed in the castle above, but even that was uncertain.
As Liam reached his friends, breathless, their voices rose in eager conversation, the news spreading like wildfire among them.
"A real noble! Coming here?" one guard exclaimed, barely believing his own words. "It's been years!"
Another guard hurriedly clambered up into the watchtower, grasping the bell rope and ringing the brass bell again, louder and more insistently than before, the sound ringing joyfully across the rooftops. More doors began to open, faces peering out curiously from the houses lining the street.
At that moment, a heavy voice boomed through their excitement. Their commander—an aged knight named Ser Edgar—strode swiftly towards them. He'd retired from active service years ago, his gray beard flecked with white, but he still drilled Gatewick’s young guards with a rigor that matched soldiers half his age. Even now, his eyes shone with an excitement that matched Liam’s own.
"What's all this shouting?" he demanded, though a smile tugged at the edges of his weathered mouth.
"The Princess Imperial, sir!" Liam said quickly, chest swelling with pride. "Princess Grace is coming!"
Ser Edgar’s eyebrows rose sharply, surprise swiftly replaced by swift determination. "Well then," he rumbled, "we’d best look presentable. Fetch runners. One to the castle, one to the mayor. Hurry now!"
Two guards immediately broke away, sprinting down the street toward their destinations, while others, under Ser Edgar’s barking orders, began straightening their uniforms, polishing their swords and spears with the edges of their cloaks. They might have been few, but they would show Gatewick’s pride to any arriving Ashford.
The news spread through the town, fast as the wind. Shops closed early, windows thrown open, people pouring out onto the streets in disbelief. Voices rose excitedly, questions echoing through the growing crowds.
"An Ashford? Coming back to Gatewick?" some whispered in astonishment, eyes wide and hopeful. The castle had stood nearly empty for years, a forgotten relic rather than a seat of power. Gatewick itself had become unimportant in the grand schemes of the duchy—now empire. But this news changed everything.
Joyful chaos gripped the town. Families scrambled to clean their homes and tidy the main streets, sweeping away the dust and debris hastily. Mothers brushed their children’s hair, fathers tugged their sons into their best tunics, and merchants laid out colorful banners they hadn't unfurled in years.
Liam’s chest swelled again, pride nearly bursting from him. He saw it as his sacred duty to announce this historic moment, and so he began shouting again, louder and more fervent:
"The Princess Imperial approaches! Princess Grace Ashford is returning home!"
His voice rang out, carrying the message further and further, echoed by voices young and old, as Gatewick stirred fully awake, preparing to welcome their princess home.
…
The afternoon sun cast a golden glow across Gatewick, the stone walls gleaming warmly, banners rippling proudly in the gentle breeze. After what felt like an eternity of excited preparation, Liam stood stiffly alongside his fellow guards behind the open town gates, chest puffed out with pride, eyes wide with anticipation. Beside him, his friends shifted nervously, whispering and adjusting their uniforms.
At first, the caravan appeared as little more than a distant shimmer on the horizon, but soon the figures sharpened into view. Twenty wagons and carriages formed an impressive procession, ornately crafted, their polished surfaces catching the afternoon light and reflecting it back in brilliant streaks. They moved at a dignified, steady pace, their wheels crunching softly on the gravel road. Behind them rode sixty imposing figures on horseback, each clad from head to foot in gleaming black armor, silent and disciplined as they advanced.
At the very front of the caravan rode a noble-looking woman, her bearing dignified and commanding. Her coat was long and finely tailored, adorned with elegant mage runes that seemed to shimmer softly as she moved. Liam’s heart leaped in his chest, excitement quickening his breath as the woman neared, her presence alone carrying a palpable sense of power and authority.
As the caravan halted before the gates, the woman dismounted gracefully, stepping forward to meet Ser Edgar. She was poised and calm, but Liam noticed a subtle gentleness beneath her authoritative exterior.
"Welcome to Gatewick, my lady," Ser Edgar said, bowing deeply, his aged voice resonant with respect.
She inclined her head slightly in acknowledgment. "I am Elyne Marren, tasked with leading the caravan on behalf of Her Grace, Lady Grace of Ashford, to her ancestral home. I trust that preparations have been made?"
"Indeed, Lady Marren," Edgar replied, his voice steady despite his evident excitement. "Gatewick is honored to welcome Her Grace back to her rightful home. We have sent word to the castle and the mayor. Both eagerly await your arrival."
Elyne’s eyes softened, a faint smile breaking her otherwise stern expression. "Good. Her Grace is weary from travel, but she is eager to see her home. Gatewick's welcome warms our hearts."
As they spoke, the mayor, a stout and kindly man named Harlon, hurried forward, red-faced from exertion but beaming with pride. "Lady Marren!" he gasped, offering a quick, respectful bow. "Gatewick is at your service and honored to receive Her Grace."
Elyne’s gaze shifted to the mayor, her tone gentle yet firm. "Thank you, Mayor. Her Grace looks forward to speaking with you soon. For now, please lead us toward the castle."
The mayor nodded vigorously and turned toward the gathered townsfolk. "Open ranks! Make way for Her Grace’s caravan!" His voice boomed with an authority Liam rarely heard from the usually soft-spoken man.
At once, the people lining the streets moved swiftly aside, their excited murmurs fading into reverent silence as the caravan began its slow ascent through Gatewick's central street. The wagons and carriages rolled steadily; their drivers solemn, aware of the significance of the moment. The mounted guards, clad in imposing black armor, flanked the procession protectively, their faces hidden behind visors, expressions unreadable.
Liam stood at attention, rigidly straight, eyes wide as the caravan passed. The air itself felt charged with history and importance, as though every stone in Gatewick trembled softly with recognition of the homecoming. He could scarcely breathe as he stared in awe, heart pounding in his ears.
The townspeople gazed at the passing caravan with reverence and joy, their faces alight with pride and gratitude. Mothers held their children close, whispering excitedly into their ears, while old men and women watched with misty eyes, memories of past glories reflected clearly on their lined faces.
As the caravan slowly wound its way upward, the sight of it against the backdrop of the proud, scarred castle made Liam’s throat tighten. This was the scene he had dreamed of for years, the return of Ashford blood to their ancestral home. He longed desperately to be more than just a guard standing stiffly beside the gate, he wanted to ride beside the heroes, to earn his own place in Gatewick's storied history.
The caravan reached the castle gates, pausing momentarily as the heavy wooden doors swung open with a deep, resonant groan. Elyne raised her hand gently, signaling the procession to proceed, and one by one, the carriages and riders filed through. Liam held his breath, watching the precision and solemnity of their entry, each movement measured and deliberate.
When the last rider passed through, the gates closed with a firm, echoing finality. For a long moment, silence hung heavily over the gathered crowd. Then, spontaneously, applause erupted, joyous and heartfelt, washing over the streets of Gatewick like a tidal wave. Voices rose in cheers, laughter ringing out, tears streaming openly down faces overwhelmed by the magnitude of this moment.
Liam turned to his fellow guards, his eyes wide, heart pounding in exhilaration. "We witnessed history today," he whispered, voice thick with emotion. His friends nodded solemnly, their eyes gleaming with pride.
"Do you think she'll come out and speak to us?" one asked quietly, excitement tinged with hope.
Liam considered this, gaze turning again toward the castle's closed gates. "She has to," he said, voice steady with conviction. "This is her home, and we are her people. She'll want to know us."
His words were met with eager murmurs of agreement. Gatewick had waited for this moment for more than a decade, and now that it had finally arrived, they would not let it slip quietly away.
As the townspeople slowly dispersed, excitement still vibrant in their conversations, Liam stayed a little longer, gazing thoughtfully up toward the castle. The pride he felt at this moment ran deeper than he had ever imagined possible. Gatewick had endured so much, had risen again from ashes and loss. Now, at last, they had their princess, a living symbol of their resilience and hope.
He straightened once more, a new resolve filling his chest. He would train harder, work harder. One day soon, he promised himself, he wouldn't just stand by and watch. He would stand proudly beside the Ashfords, ready to defend the home he loved with everything he had.
--::--
After two days of travel, Gatewick finally loomed on the horizon. Grace stared out the carriage window, relief washing over her that the tiresome journey was nearing its end. At least the relentless, soul-crushing exhaustion had faded. Her mind felt clearer than it had in days. Not that clarity brought much peace.
Clara, sweet, clinging Clara, hadn’t given her a moment's respite. Every waking second, Clara had been attached to her, when they stopped, when they slept, when they ate. Grace sighed softly. It wasn't that she disliked Clara's presence. Quite the opposite, actually. But still, a little solitude would have been welcome. Particularly with Corax’s familiar presence tugging insistently at her mind, a reminder of unfinished conversations. But the crowded caravan was no place for clandestine talks with shadows.
After the first day, which had nearly ended her with insomnia, she finally took stock of her caravan. Sixty knights sent by her mother, forming her personal guard and knightly order. Elyne, of course, ever vigilant and annoyingly competent. Numerous servants eager to start anew at Gatewick. A chef and five maids, as if that would somehow make ruling a backwater castle easier. And then, surprisingly, a merchant who respectfully introduced himself on behalf of Saren Holt. Grace smiled thinly at the thought. The fat, sly merchant. Good. She would need connections, especially now. The castle at Gatewick, her very own castle, was the stage for the next chapter of her increasingly complicated drama.
Elyne had been openly relieved when Grace finally awoke after sleeping through the entire first day of travel. Her mentor, guardian, teacher, steward—Elyne was far too many things at once. Elyne reassured her that she was here to help Grace "acclimate." Grace rolled her eyes internally.
Yes, throw a mansion at a five-year-old. That’s perfectly fine. But a six-year-old with a castle and lands? Suddenly, everyone panics. Ridiculous.
Still, she couldn’t deny Elyne’s competence. Her mentor was likely the only person on this journey who wasn’t a liability in one way or another.
The second day was agonizingly dull. Clara’s endless stream of tales was something, certainly, but not exactly entertaining. Grace endured them with practiced patience, nodding occasionally, her mind drifting off to darker, more satisfying contemplations. Her fingertips tingled slightly, an echo of the power that had flared through her core on her birthday. She smiled darkly. Soon, she would master that power fully.
As the caravan crested the final hill, Gatewick sprawled out before her, small and rustic. Grace raised an eyebrow. A backwater town indeed. Yet, it was hers, entirely and unequivocally hers. Her castle, her lands, her subjects. Grace felt a thrill of twisted amusement at her situation.
Look at you, Grace. A princess with a castle, knights, and an empire at your back. Truly, you’ve embraced every cliché isekai trope imaginable. How delightfully pathetic.
She suppressed a laugh at her own bitter humor. In truth, she felt oddly exhilarated. It was strange—she hadn’t felt so completely herself in a long, long time. The memories of her sixteen-year-old self, bitter and resentful, surfaced easily now, clearer and sharper than ever. The facade of innocence she had cultivated was becoming less and less convincing, at least to herself.
Why is this exciting? she wondered idly. I've lived here nearly seven years by Earth standards. This should be ordinary. Just another dull day in the fantasy world you threw yourself into like an idiot. Can I really trust what I remember, anyway? My older self was nothing more than a bitter, twisted girl with delusions of grandeur.
Grace shook her head slightly. She might mock herself, but the clarity was welcome. Her core felt more settled now, finally acclimating after the tumultuous change from Void to Light mana. Still, something deep inside her stirred restlessly. She hadn’t forgotten. Revenge still burned bright in her heart, fueling her ambitions. Everyone who had slighted her, betrayed her, or underestimated her would pay dearly. In time.
The caravan descended slowly through Gatewick, the townspeople lining the streets and cheering loudly, their faces alight with genuine excitement. Grace narrowed her eyes suspiciously.
Suspiciously genuine, actually.
In Valewick, the cheers had felt hollow, tinged with flattery and fear. Here, the shouts of joy felt honest, almost worshipful. Grace’s lip curled into a slight smirk.
How quaint. They look at me as if I’m some savior returned home to save them all from their meaningless existence. Pathetic little fools.
She watched their faces, eyes wide with hope and reverence. There was an earnestness here that disturbed her slightly, but she quickly dismissed it.
If they want a hero, I can give them one. At least until I decide to burn their world to ashes. But I suppose they’ll thank me for it. They always thank their saviors, right? Even as the flames consume them.
She chuckled softly, a sound so quiet that Clara didn’t even notice. Her friend sat beside her, bouncing slightly with excitement, eyes wide as she took in the crowd.
“Look, Grace! They love you already!” Clara exclaimed, tugging lightly at her sleeve.
Grace glanced at her, forcing a smile she hoped looked genuine. “Of course, Clara. They’ve waited a long time for an Ashford to return.”
Inside, her thoughts twisted darkly. Yes, waited a long time to grovel again before someone bearing that cursed name. Funny how people so willingly chain themselves to power. I suppose it makes the chains easier to bear if you put them on yourself.
The caravan reached the castle gates, and Grace peered out at the towering structure. It was old, battle-scarred, rebuilt but still clearly bearing marks of past violence. Her mother’s home. Liliana had been raised here, had defended it fiercely. Grace felt a strange twist in her stomach.
Mother’s shadow, again. No matter where I go, she’s already left her mark. Gatewick was hers, but now it’s mine. I’ll erase every trace of her, eventually. This castle will bear my mark alone.
The gates swung open slowly, groaning in protest as if they hadn’t been used in years. Grace sat back in her seat, smoothing her skirts, expression carefully neutral. Elyne, ever watchful, rode ahead, directing the knights and attendants. Grace watched her mentor closely, considering.
Elyne. So loyal, and so capable. And yet, I wonder. How far can I push your loyalty? Will you follow me even when the world burns around you? Will you help me set the fire? Or will you try to stop me? She sighed internally. Decisions for later, I suppose. After all her mother was already igniting the world. What a farce.
The carriage rattled gently up the steep ascent toward the castle entrance. As they reached the final courtyard, Grace felt another thrill run through her. Finally, she had arrived. Gatewick was hers, and from this moment onward, she could begin shaping it to her will.
She turned to Clara, whose face glowed with excitement and wonder. “We’re home, Grace!” Clara said, squeezing her hand tightly.
Grace smiled softly, genuinely this time, though tinged with irony only she recognized. “Yes, Clara. We’re home.”
Home indeed. Let’s see how long this one lasts.
