The snow had ceased. A ghostly calm replaced the roaring blizzards of the past days.
Arasha stood before the yawning mouth of a glacial cave—the cold so intense it felt like knives on her skin. Even so, she stepped forward, breath steady, cloak dragging frost behind her as she descended into the Frigid Whisper cave.
She had faced frost wolves, near-starvation, and biting isolation. But none of that compared to the silence here—an ancient silence, heavy with memory.
For seven days, she had waited.
And on the seventh night, as she sat cross-legged within a circle of protective runes and melting ice crystals, the shadows trembled.
From the mist of her breath, he appeared.
A colossal, humanoid figure of ice and spirit flame, his eyes like frozen stars—Rhagis, Ancient Spirit of the North.
"Leave," he spoke, his voice like a glacier cracking. "You are not a daughter of the frost. You have no right to stand here."
Arasha rose slowly, steady as the blade at her hip.
"I ask only for answers."
"Then ask the beings who branded you!" Rhagis snarled. "Your soul reeks of their mark. A curse etched by hands that forged galaxies. You—pawn of the primordials—are not welcome here."
With a wave of his hand, a storm of ice shards surged forward, meant to push her out—or worse.
But before the shards struck, her body pulsed with a searing light. The Primordial Brand on her soul ignited like a buried sun.
Rhagis froze.
The shards shattered in midair.
He stumbled back, as if burned. And then... he sighed. A sound like avalanches weeping.
"Curse that brand... Even I, with all my age and power, cannot undo what they have carved into your soul."
The ice hissed as Arasha stepped forward. Her voice was quiet.
"Then… what of the child? Levi. He bears the twisted crest. It flared when I touched him."
"Because he's bound to you." Rhagis's voice was softer now. "In another world, another fate-line… your soul and his are tethered. That bond echoes here, stronger than blood. Fate ripples across threads when touched by the primordials. My blessing shields him—but it cannot rewrite what has been woven."
Arasha's shoulders sank.
"Is it my fault?"
Rhagis turned his head, ice-blue flames dimming. His next words were neither scorn nor sympathy—just truth.
"It was your choice. Somewhere, sometime, in some you… you made a decision. And that decision echoes."
"So what can I do now?" she asked, trembling but defiant.
"Ensure he grows strong. Ensure he knows love, loyalty, and courage. My blessing gives him the sword. What he does with it… is his war."
And with that, Rhagis vanished, his form dispersing like snow caught in the wind.
Arasha stood alone in the cave long after the spirit faded.
She knelt down, hand against the frozen floor, the brand on her soul still felt warm, and her heartbeat slowed.
Images flitted behind her eyes. Dreams. That man—his embrace, his tears, his voice she could never hear.
Were they visions from another world?
Another life?
Another her?
"I made a choice… then I have to stand by it, because nothing will change the fact that I am the reason for Levi's fate being twisted is me," she whispered.
Outside, the moon cast silver light on the snowy cliffside as Arasha emerged, slow and composed, gaze lost in the stars.
"Different fates… different versions of me… how many did I lose? And how many more will carry the weight of my decisions?"
*****
The wind howled across the frostbitten road as Arasha returned to the northern hold, weary from her journey.
The sharp cold clung to her cloak, the silver of her pauldrons dulled by snow and sleeplessness. Yet despite the weight on her chest, she pressed on.
The gates opened to the northern hold. She hadn't sent word ahead—but somehow, they were already waiting.
Standing beneath the arch of the courtyard was Lucian, bundled in fur-lined clothes. The boy's eyes lit up as soon as he saw her.
"Commander!"
He ran up to her, slipping slightly on the icy path, but catching himself. His breath puffed out in clouds, but his voice was full of hope.
Arasha's steps faltered only for a heartbeat before she smiled—soft, strained, but true.
"Everything will be fine, Lucian. I promise."
He nodded, trusting her, and with a quiet word, led her toward the main keep.
Inside, warmth welcomed her. The Duchess stood by the hearth, baby Levi cradled in her arms. Duke Lionel, towering and stern, watched silently from a seat nearby. Their eyes met Arasha's, reading far more than what she wore on her face.
She bowed her head slightly.
"We should speak in private."
In the privacy of the northern solar, Arasha stood before them like a soldier before judgment.
No armor.
No title.
Just a young woman caught in the weave of something greater than herself.
And then she spoke.
She recounted her journey into the mountain. The wrath of Rhagis, the ancient spirit. The unbearable truth that she, in another plane, another existence, had bound her soul to Levi's, twisting his fate unknowingly.
"The crest... the mark he bears... it's because of me. Or a version of me. In some fractured thread of time, I chose a bond that now ripples here."
Her voice cracked once, but she did not cry.
"He's fighting it, even now. The curse tugs at him, but Rhagis gave him a blessing, a chance to master it. Still... he is alone in that battle."
Silence followed. Heavy and immense.
Then, a soft sound.
The Duchess had crossed the room and, without a word, wrapped her arms around Arasha.
"You foolish, brave girl… this isn't your fault," she whispered. Her tears fell onto Arasha's shoulder.
"You came all this way to find the truth—for our child. You fought a spirit of the North, and you still blame yourself?"
Arasha stiffened… then allowed herself to lean into the warmth.
Duke Lionel approached, silent for a moment, and then placed a strong hand on her shoulder.
"I agree with my wife. This isn't on the you standing here—not on this Arasha. What matters is what you do now."
"And if you're willing… if you still choose to stand by Levi, no matter where fate turns," he added, eyes meeting hers, "that's all I can ask as a father."
Arasha's voice was hoarse.
"You have my word. No matter what happens, I will come to his side. I swear it."
They stood there a moment longer—three protectors, bound by duty, sorrow, and something deeper.
Later that night, Arasha stood in the nursery. Levi was asleep in a cradle of whitewood and velvet, his tiny chest rising and falling with steady peace.
She reached out, fingers brushing over his brow. The twisted crest did not appear, but she could feel it.
"I'm sorry," she murmured. "For what you'll have to bear."
A faint warmth pulsed against her palm—gentle, like the answer of a sleeping child.
She closed her eyes and whispered a silent vow to whatever powers still listened:
"Let me carry what he cannot. Let me stand in the way of the storm."
And with that, Arasha turned from the cradle, her shadow long behind her, and returned to the path ahead.
****
Before dawn, the halls of the northern hold stirred with gentle farewells. In the small solar adjacent to the nursery, Arasha sat with the Duke and Duchess one last time before her departure.
On the polished stone table between them, she laid out a small scroll etched with ancient runes—a direct communication sigil, forged in secrecy by trusted arcane artisans.
"If ever you need me—no matter how far—I'll come. Use this only when it's urgent," Arasha said, sliding it toward them.
The Duchess, her eyes soft but no less weary from the weight of recent truths, placed a hand over Arasha's.
"Thank you," she whispered, voice thick with emotion.
The Duke inclined his head. "You honor us. And Levi."
Just then, Lucian entered, carrying something wrapped in leather. His usually confident steps hesitated slightly as he approached her.
"Commander Arasha…" he said formally, before softening. "I know I'm still learning. But if there's anything I can do… to help Levi fight this fate…"
Arasha turned to him fully, her expression easing into a warm smile.
"Support him. Be his shield and his strength. Teach him to be kind, and brave. Just like you, Lucian."
The boy's face flushed, proud and flustered, and he reached into the leather.
"Then take this. My lucky dagger. I made it with the blacksmith last winter." He unwrapped the small blade—a simple iron dagger with a carved hilt wrapped in bear-hide. "It's not much, but it's helped me win a few sparring matches."
Arasha blinked, then smiled. The blade was honest. Earnest. Just like him.
She kneeled to Lucian's height and hugged him tightly.
"Thank you. I'll carry it with pride."
By mid-morning, Arasha and her elite escort set out, their banners lowered for discretion. Snow followed them southward as the frozen roads thawed into muddy, rutted paths.
They hadn't traveled far when smoke on the horizon caught Arasha's sharp eyes.
A merchant caravan, overturned and under attack by highway raiders—perhaps desperate remnants emboldened by the recent unrest. Without hesitation, Arasha charged into the fray.
With swift swordwork and decisive orders, her knights made short work of the bandits. The caravan leader, a middle-aged man with a limp and bright merchant's seal, bowed deeply.
"Commander Arasha! Saints above, you've saved us. We're bound for the capital with relief supplies for the outer districts—if we'd been delayed any longer…"
Arasha's eyes sharpened. "The capital, you say?"
She turned to her knights, wind tugging at her cloak.
"Return to Scion Hold. I'll accompany the caravan. There are things I must see to in the capital—Linalee may have insight into protections for... someone I care about."
The knights protested lightly but relented with her firm look.
"We'll report to Sir Garran," the lieutenant assured her. "Safe roads, Commander."
As the caravan rolled forward under a rising sun, Arasha rode beside the lead wagon. Her thoughts wandered—not to paperwork or battle strategies—but to Levi, to Lucian, to the strange mark that tied her fate across countless worlds.
And to the man in her dreams whose name she did not yet know, whose tears haunted her even now.
The capital shimmered in the distance, a golden haze beneath the blue sky. But the path there held more than politics—it held possible truths.
And Arasha would face them all.