Gun of Ashes

The night in Old Dunling was like blue steel, cold and chilling, with every corner of the streets adorned with glistening droplets, reflecting the Iron Whales rolling in the sea of clouds, beams of light falling like lances, watching the earth.

The guards took a deep breath; this was just another ordinary day in their career, standing guard, securing, and then rotating shifts, a job they were incredibly familiar with. Yet, strangely, within such a familiar job and environment, they faintly sensed something, though the guards couldn’t clearly identify it. They could only describe it simply as an underlying anxiety and unease.

Indeed, it felt like something was about to happen. Under this calm night, something awakened from the deepest darkness, twisting its grotesque body, with a nauseating smell, trying to crawl out of the Abyss of memories.

The unease in the guard’s heart grew stronger. He rubbed his hand against the cold railing, and the icy touch cleared his mind a bit.

The Iron Whales withdrew their gaze from the street, slowly advancing. Only then could one notice that the gaze of the Iron Whales wasn’t random. It was fixed on a carriage racing under the night, which, under the gaze from high above, crossed the royal defense lines and entered the Platinum Palace.

”Phew... It’s been a while since I came here. It seems like it’s my first night visit here.”

The man got off the carriage. For some reason, tonight’s temperature was particularly low, so much so that he could even see his breath.

Raising his head, under the illumination, the reliefs on the building cast elongated shadows, with light and darkness intertwined, weaving another strange artwork.

”What’s that?”

The man looked up, as if he saw something—a countless number of dark shadows swirling under the night, like leaves swept into the high air, cutting the light into countless fragments.

”A flock of ravens, they usually rest on Dunling Tower. I don’t know why they suddenly came here.”

Another voice rose behind him. Arthur also stepped down from the carriage, looking at the flock of ravens under the night. In the dimness, their appearance was indistinct, with only faintly wretched cries audible.

Arthur recalled previous rumors and casually spoke of them.

”Previously, people said that if the ravens left Dunling Tower, it would be the end of Ingwig.”

”What? Do you mean that today is the end of Ingwig? Well, I think we’d better hurry and leave by boat.”

The man told a joke.

”It won’t happen. Ingwig will never fall, not to mention those ridiculous legends... There are birdcages on Dunling Tower, with six ravens locked inside. No need to worry about those.”

Arthur showed a disdainful look, but he thought for a moment and added.

The man laughed again, amazed at this side of the serious Arthur.

”Let’s go, the Queen is waiting for you.”

Arthur didn’t bother with this man. Although they hadn’t interacted for long, he roughly understood this guy’s character. He was like a clown in the circus; it was hard to judge what he truly wanted, what his purpose was. He might just have been discussing ideals and aspirations with you, only to beg you to lend him money for wine the next moment.

”I know, letting her wait a bit longer isn’t impossible. Just think, I have the fortune of having Queen Victoria wait for me. It’s a tremendous honor.”

As expected, the man spouted nonsense again.

”Hmm? Aren’t you coming along?”

The man took a few steps and suddenly realized that he was the only one moving forward. Neither the guards nor Arthur had any intention of proceeding.

”I need to stay here; tonight, only you can meet her.”

Arthur said, looking at the man’s old yet stubborn face, feeling a complex array of emotions.

Honestly, he rarely misjudged people, but this time, he had misjudged this guy. Arthur never imagined he possessed such power or perhaps... such mystery.

Just like Lorenzo, wearing an unknown mask. You try hard to tear it off, but beneath it lies another mask.

Not long ago, he was trembling before Arthur, claiming he was unrelated to Lorenzo. Yet now, he was standing before the Platinum Palace, aware of secrets that even Arthur had no right to know.

”Wait a minute, Oscar Wilde, what kind of person are you?”

Arthur couldn’t help but ask.

Oscar, however, halted his steps, slowly turned, and said.

”You know, don’t you? I’m a writer, not a particularly popular one.”

Oscar smiled and, just after he had turned, stopped again, turning once more to add.

”A writer, a scribe of history... No, that’s not quite accurate. History is written by you all, and I’m just a recorder. Someone must remember all this, to tell those who come after.”

Oscar spoke words Arthur didn’t understand. This time he didn’t pause, striding into the Platinum Palace.

Arthur’s gaze remained on his back as he pondered Oscar’s final words, thinking he had grasped something, yet seemingly grasping nothing at all, until Oscar was no longer in sight.

...

The meeting with Queen Victoria took place in a small room. It was so secretive that only the Queen was aware of it. Other than Oscar and the Queen, there was no third person in the room.

”Long time no see, Your Majesty.”