Dear Father,

See the words as they are. It's been more than two months since I've been away from home, and you should have noticed that I wasn't in Issos long ago. I hope that the mercenaries of the Order who have been temporarily recruited by me can return to the station safely to report. With their help, I was able to arrive in Poynbru and become a student at the Royal College, where I began to systematically study Pande history and linguistics under the guidance of Dean Brochette.

Boynbru is undoubtedly a remote and inhospitable city, and it's colder, colder than anywhere else in Livingston, and the precipitous shift in temperature can be felt on your skin all the way east from Raven City. After getting used to the heat of the South, I had little resistance to the bitter cold. Fortunately, the most important thing in the north is leather goods, and I have to wrap three layers of snowwolf fur every day to sleep soundly. But even so, every morning when I wake up, my limbs are still frozen and stiff. If it weren't for the fact that the dean recognized me and took extra care of me, promoted my title from an auditor protégé to a trainee scholar, and had a single bedroom with a fire to heat, I would have had to spend the whole day in the library for this year's spring cold.

The library in Boynbru is spectacular, but it doesn't look at it on the outside. Who would have thought that scholars would build libraries at the back of auditoriums? And there is only one passage in and out, which is very inconvenient. Sometimes I don't even want to leave the library, and I get a headache at the thought of walking so long from my dorm to the bookshelves, but the library strictly prohibits eating and drinking with your own bedding to prevent scholars from having similar thoughts. However, in that ordinary building, the scrolls are as vast as the sea, whether in terms of the number of books or the type of books, they are enough to be called the most Pande. The first time I got a full view of the inside of the library, I was struck by the shelves that were as tall as the walls of the city, even though I was mentally prepared. I suspect that the bound parchment would fill every street of Issos, and even the stream that runs through the city would be completely clogged. Most of the books in the library were written by scholars from the Royal Academy, and a very small number are antiques from the past, so dilapidated that they are impossible to read, and only manuscripts are available. Through the establishment of the Black Spear Knights and the Royal Academy, the scholars exiled from all over Pander have preserved their knowledge and accumulated a rich heritage over time. I am both delighted and saddened to have so many books to read in the most remote corners of the world—when will I be able to read so many books! Fortunately, I have made a strict plan according to the curriculum, hoping to read through the literature, history and language books in four years, and use other books as a leisure time. At present, the study of Noldor can only be put on hold for the time being, after all, this has become one of my labels, and it is easy for people with a heart to deduce my identity, which may cause you unnecessary trouble. Therefore, I don't use my real name, and on the staff list of the Royal Academy, my name is Luna, the youngest daughter of a commoner family in Walden. Even so, there were already students who came to talk to me, probably because of my commoner status that made them even more unscrupulous from noble backgrounds. The dean once told me a proverb, "The flowers of the bitter cold still attract bees and butterflies", which is really good. Fortunately, the famous lady had agreed to be my physical mentor. She is also a beautiful woman, but there is not much in the academy who wants to provoke her, either because she can fight more than most of the men in the North, or because her suitor is Setanda "The Fierce Dog". I'm starting to regret that I didn't train properly with Sister Reddy when I was in Issos, or I wouldn't have been avoiding them all the time. Interestingly, when I was in the Empire, the children of the nobles were afraid to avoid me, for fear that I would disturb their spirits, and now it seems that they must be afraid of you, father.

However, none of the above has stopped me from continuing to study Madigan's prophecy, and you may not know that in Issos I was studying the manuscript of Madigan's Prophecy Long Poems in addition to trying to translate the Noldor texts. Coincidentally, Esher Baranduk, who made a big splash in the gladiatorial arena at the annual festival of Janos this year, is likely to be the Child of Prophecy. I met him on the way to Livingston, and he was credited with making it to Poimbru safely. Although Madigan did not present the "Prophecy Long Poem" in its entirety, he had already concluded that its end must be the unification of the continent. So I often wonder if Baranduk had been the first emperor of the ages to achieve great things after Pander Kavala, would his early life experiences have affected his conquests? I have heard of the massacre at Janos, which was commissioned by the Emperor and carried out by Uncle Kairos. His father was slashed with a knife, and he himself was thrown into the gladiatorial arena. Although he grew up safe and sound under the care of the "noisy", it is difficult to guarantee that his personality will not be distorted in that cruel environment. Conquerors are often tyrants, after all, they often have powerful armed forces, and there are many monarchs in history who have slaughtered cities because of personal vendettas, from the era of chaos and disorder to the three hundred and fifty years since the establishment of Pande. Although I don't see a strong desire for revenge in my relationship with Baranduk, I can't help but be a little worried. He was initially inexplicably reluctant to be the Son of Prophecy, but then took up the title with great responsibility, and it is fair to say that without him, I might not be sitting here writing to you. The change during this period is really confusing. I wonder what Barandoke has been through these days in Poynbru to reverse his irritating stubbornness; I was also confused by the prophecy of Madigan himself, who left behind only three obscure manuscripts, which were the only medium for me to deduce Baranduk's identity, actions, and intentions, but now that the information in the manuscript is limited, how will events develop after that? I can't stay out of it as a bystander—or I've been part of Madigan's prophecy since I met Baranduk in the Mendelssohn Mountains, but I don't know my role yet. The unknown, though, is always exciting, like deciphering Noldor's words. Maybe I'll end Madigan's "Long Prophetic Poem" myself.

Father, a piece of parchment is limited in space, and although my handwriting is already very small, that's all I can say to you. I really hope you'll read this letter, but Ravenston's ravens don't have the ability to cross continents, and even if they have the stamina and speed to rival the silver king pigeons, they will probably suffer from heat stroke before they enter the Empire, right?

Say hello to Grandpa Wendier and Sister Ladydy for me!

Your most pampered and headstrong daughter

Luciana Justes Dukes

Luciana signed her full name on the end of the parchment and inserted the quill back into the inkwell. She stretched out contentedly, sighed in the cold palm, and rubbed her hands together and rubbed them hard, the stiff joints of her fingers gradually warmed. She neatly folded the letter into palm-sized pieces and placed them in the drawer at the bottom of her desk, then glanced at the extinguished fireplace, wrapped the wolf skin around her tightly, and got up to make a fire. Brochette had warned her more than once that she would run out of charcoal rations in less than a week if she continued to heat herself so uncontrollably. But Luciana was also afraid of cold, and the spring cold was no different from natural enemies, so the old man had to distribute his own ration, and Dams also took good care of Luciana, so that her bedroom could always be heated—if she was willing to step on the cold floor to make a fire.

A warm flame rises in the fireplace, and light and heat gradually fill the room. Luciana sighed contentedly and lay on the floor lazily flipping through a book on the history of the North. She woke up early, and with three hours to go before her first class, Luciana had plenty of time to warm herself up.

After turning the page of the Siege of Ryan, Luciana unexplained what she was doing with Essho, the son of prophecy who had an inexplicable change in attitude?