Half an hour later, a figure appeared at the station waiting area.
The dome ceiling of the waiting hall was painted with the snow-capped peaks of Saint Sergey Mountain, and sunlight cut in diagonally through the high windows, casting patches of gold-white light across the floor.
A few travelers sitting on the benches—some flipping through newspapers, some checking their pocket watches, some conversing in low tones in Urske—filled the space with quiet murmur.
Then the figure walked in, and every voice dropped half a beat.
Olivia stood in the center of the waiting hall.
She wore a white Urske-style formal gown—ample silk fabric cascading from her shoulders, elegant beyond words.
Her silver-white hair spilled down over the dress, nearly blending into the fabric itself, only distinguishable under the light as either strands or silk.
The hem of the gown trailed to her ankles, its edges embroidered with fine silver-thread frost patterns.
With every step, she seemed to leave faint impressions like footprints in snow.
The collar was trimmed with a ring of silver-gray white fur—genuine northern tundra beast hide—gleaming with a cold luster in the light filtering down from the dome.
A red silk ribbon cinched her waist, cutting a striking arc of vivid color through the sea of white—a tradition in Urske noble attire, where red symbolized courage and white symbolized ice and snow.
Beneath the hem, a pair of black stockings-clad calves peeked out, and white short boots adorned her feet.
Her silver-white hair hung loose, falling straight to her waist.
The strands turned almost translucent in the light from the high windows, swaying gently with every step.
Her silver pupils glowed faintly in the station’s dim yellow lighting, complementing the polar bear fur at her collar.
That face looked only about twelve years old.
Her features were so delicate they seemed inhuman—which was indeed worth admitting.
The form-fitting cut of the gown accentuated her bearing with quiet dignity.
A few Urske nobles sitting on the benches—the War Bear Clan—raised their eyes.
The bear ears pressed down politely during everyday social interactions, never standing too prominently.
On the Urske Tundra, War Bear Clan members stood over half again as tall as a human when fully upright, mostly taller than humans, broader in frame, stockier in build.
Some kept well-groomed, neatly trimmed beards.
At this moment, the several Urske nobles seated in the waiting hall wore dark long coats with family crests pinned to their collars.
One had a hardcover ledger resting on his knee, another held a cup of unfinished hot tea.
Their gazes lingered on Olivia for roughly three to five seconds, then withdrew.
No whispers, no pointing, no discussing the silver-haired young lady who had suddenly appeared in their midst.
The War Bear Clan nobles had their own set of rules.
Hui and Snow followed about two steps behind Olivia.
Hui had changed into a dark attendant*’s uniform, his half-black half-white hair combed with meticulous neatness, the mismatched pupils of his left and right eyes indistinguishable as gold or red under the dome’*s shifting light.
Snow had tied his black hair into a neat little braid and carried the rather weighty luggage bag—Hui had finally handed it over.
Hui pulled a pocket watch from his inner pocket, snapped open the lid with a click, and checked it.
“Your Highness, we have twenty minutes before boarding.”
Your Highness.
Olivia’s shoulders stiffened almost imperceptibly.
She turned to look at Hui, her silver pupils filled with a clear “Are you talking to me?”
Expression.
Hui simply smiled, tucked the pocket watch back into his pocket, and made a “this way, please” gesture.
“Perhaps we should board first.”
“Very well, the ticket gate is this way.”
Hui led the way, half-turned toward her.
Olivia followed behind him, the frost-patterned hem of her gown dragging across the station’s stone bricks with a faint rustling sound.
Her expression remained perfectly composed—two years of etiquette training in Skyreach City under the Silver Dragon Queen had carved posture, walking, teacup handling, and the angle of every backward glance into her very bones.
And yet, inside, her heart was anything but calm.
She replayed Hui’s earlier words in her mind—”At the very least, board the train under the identity of the Silver Dragon Princess.”
So this was what the so-called “preparations made long ago” really meant.
Indeed, the Silver Dragon royal bloodline of the dragonkind outranked a viscount by a margin beyond measure.
Never mind a viscount—even if you stacked every marquis and duke in the entire Urske hierarchy together, they would still have to bow and speak with deference before the only daughter of the Silver Dragon Queen.
The question was, did dragonkind count as nobility?
This wasn’t a question of rank—it was a question of taxonomy.
The dragonkind were never part of the bear clan from start to finish.
In the official documents of the Eldron Empire, the word “dragonkind” was usually accompanied by the words “Wanted Poster.”
And while Urske didn*’t share a single pair of pants with the Empire, they didn’*t have much diplomatic relationship with the dragonkind either.
Hui was gambling on this.
They reached the ticket gate.
The ticket inspector was a well-dressed bear male.
His dark gray uniform was pressed crisp, the brass buttons at his collar polished to a gleam.
His bear ears stood straight beneath the brim of his cap.
A thick registration ledger lay open before him, with a stamp and inkwell set beside it.
“Good day, miss. Please present your ticket.”
His voice was deep, every syllable sinking at the end.
His gaze paused on Olivia’s face for a moment, then shifted to the two attendant-dressed figures behind her.
Hui stepped forward, producing three tickets from his inner pocket.
Pale yellow ticket stock with embossed gold foil along the edges—the same as the tickets he’d presented at the checkpoint three days ago.
He placed all three neatly on the inspection counter, then stepped back to his position two paces behind Olivia.
The ticket inspector picked up the tickets and held them to his eyes.
He said nothing.
Flipped them to check the backs, flipped them back to the fronts, examined the watermarks against the light streaming through the high windows.
His fingers paused at the stamp emblem, tracing along the edges of the gold foil.
Then he set the tickets down, raised his eyes again, and let his gaze settle on Olivia*’s silver hair and silver pupils.
It wasn’*t how Urske military men looked at nobility—it was the kind of scrutiny used when verifying an identity.
The ticket inspector’s finger slid down the register line by line, found a spot, and stopped.
He looked down at the register, up at Olivia, then down at the register again.
His bear ears turned a half-circle beneath the cap brim.
Then he closed the ledger and pushed it aside.
“And the two behind you?”
“They are my attendants.”
The ticket inspector’s bear ears rotated another half-circle beneath his cap.
He picked up the tickets again, dabbed the stamp in ink, and pressed it down with a snap.
A crisp sound echoed under the dome of the hall, dissipating in under a second.
Then he raised a hand to beckon a conductor standing near a pillar close by.
The conductor wore the same dark gray uniform as the inspector, but without a cap, revealing a pair of light brown bear ears atop his head.
His ears were a size smaller than the inspector’s.
The inspector gave him a few brief instructions in Urske.
The conductor listened, nodded, then turned to face them with a slight bow.
“Distinguished guest, please follow me.”
This identity actually works?!
She replayed Hui’s gamble in her mind.
It wasn’t at the level of a “coincidence”—the inspector had started checking the register after just one look at her, which meant they already knew such a passenger would be arriving.
The Silver Dragon Princess title had gone unquestioned in the Urske Empire.
That meant Hui hadn’t just gambled—he had done extensive preparation in advance.
Looks like this might work.