Fort Ice – Hall of Glaciate Lords
Fort Ice was quieter than expected.
The trio was led through a corridor built from black iron veined with pale frostglass, illuminated by hovering spheres of low-burning azure flame. Statues of old Imperials lined the walls—glorious warlords frozen in prayer, battle, or anguish. It was unclear which were artistic renderings and which were actual remains.
Pennyworth stopped in front of a pair of towering doors engraved with the Sigil of Cryostorm—a vertical spear of obsidian piercing a dragon made of fractured snow. He placed one hand on the door, whispered something in High Freezing Cant, and the metal groaned open.
Inside was a war chamber, but not the kind Gazei expected.
No throne. No banners. No dramatics. Just an iron table, rune-scarred and cold, covered in maps, carved bones, tactical miniatures, and a few goblets of steaming bloodwine. And standing at the head of that table, tall and straight as a frostblade, was Ashton Ice.
He was a man carved from glacier and pragmatism. His armor was ceremonial Coldsteel, lined with fur from a void mammoth, and across his shoulders draped a mantle woven with threads of frozen mana—threads that glowed faintly in sync with his heartbeat. His eyes were pale blue, almost white, and he stared at the trio like someone trying to determine which of them might set the building on fire first.
"So," Ashton said flatly. "The future Lord of Wolfe has finally arrived."
Gazei took one look at the man, exhaled into the frosted air, and shoved his hands into his pockets.
"I'm freezing my ass off, so let's skip the pleasantries, shall we?" Gazei said, striding straight toward the table. "I know why I'm here. You know why I'm here. And none of us are gonna be warmer for talking around it."
Katarina gave a half-sigh, half-laugh. Tonya only smirked.
Ashton Ice blinked. Once. Then nodded.
"You brought it?" Ashton asked.
Gazei reached into his coat and pulled out a jagged object the size of a baby's skull—black, crusted with ancient ice, and inscribed with a blazing white rune that seemed to crawl across its surface with slow, angry movements.
A Sovereign Token.
t wasn't a coin. It was a contract-carved relic, roughly triangular, made of an unknown dark alloy that shimmered like obsidian soaked in blood. The crest of the Iron Empire was etched onto one face, surrounded by merchant seals, noble guild runes, and an ancient branding mark of the Imperial Tithe Vault. This wasn't just an artifact.
This was a receipt.
A bill of sale.
"Noted," he said dryly. "Now which cursed hole would you like to die in? You need a capital. Something to stab a flag into. Which part of that icy bitch are you calling home?"
Gazei looked over at the massive rune-map on the wall—an animated relief of the Yamir Providence, its terrain flickering under ghostly blue light. The valleys breathed. The forests twitched. The mountains grumbled like sleeping titans. Each region pulsed with potential and danger.
Katarina leaned forward, finger tracing the coastline. "Frostveil Peninsula is strategically ideal. Surrounded on three sides by water, natural bottlenecks, good defensibility. Also a shipping lane potential if you ever want to trade, raid, or run away."
Tonya scoffed. "That's boring. Eitrspine Forest is where the ancient mana trees grow. It's crawling with monsters and living storms, sure, but the mana density there is absurd. You could build a f*cking mage tower and turn into a dark lord by accident."
"Or on purpose," Gazei muttered.
But his eyes weren't on either of those. They were locked on a stretch of green terrain near the center of the map.
"There," Gazei said, pointing.
The room fell silent.
He tapped the map again, more deliberately this time.
"Midgard Source."
Ashton Ice didn't react at first. Then his lip curled into something between amusement and disbelief. "You're serious."
Midgard was the perfect place to build homes if it wasn't in the area when the temperature dropped so low that your blood would freeze over in seconds.
Katarina stepped forward with a lazy grin. "Consider this House Wolfe's equivalent of putting a down payment on a blood-soaked nightmare."
Tonya flicked her glove and a scroll appeared from her spatial band. "Writs of supply chain, inheritance clause, and the sovereign deed, co-signed by three High Lords of Commerce. Sealed with Tier 5 Authority."
Ashton Ice was many things—a general, a lord, a death-hardened survivor. But above all else, he was a servant of the Empire, and that meant one thing above all else:
He respected the ledger.
"You understand what you're buying?" he asked. "This isn't land. It's a burial ground wearing a crown made of lies. Yamir swallows armies. The chasms there have no bottom. The weather speaks in tongues. It doesn't want to be tamed."
"Exactly," Gazei said, cracking his neck. "And no one else had the balls or the stupidity to make an offer. I'm staking our name on it. Wolfe will tame it. Or bleed trying."
Ashton reached for the Token and carefully turned it in his palm, the runes lighting up briefly at his touch. He walked over to the vault and slotted the Sovereign Token into a circular indentation.
The chamber pulsed with a silent burst of heatless magic. Somewhere far away, quills began scribbling in the Empire's census halls.
A new province had just been bought.
"Very well," Ashton said. "Yamir Providence is now under the sovereign jurisdiction of House Wolfe. You will receive the first six-month allotment of frontier funds and logistical drafts. Any violations of the Tithe or breach of noble conduct will result in sovereign repossession."
Gazei leaned back. "Yeah, yeah. Empire law. I get it. Let's just hope Yamir doesn't repossess us first."
Ashton gave the smallest of nods.
"Good luck, Lord Wolfe. You just bought the most cursed wasteland outside the Voidscar. Let's see if it pays off."