The northern wind howled like an angry beast.
The road to Greyspire wound through cliffs of dark stone, sharp enough to tear through boots if you slipped. Snow fell in thin, relentless sheets, coating the world in silver silence.
Rowan trudged through it, coat flapping behind him, every breath fogging the cold air. The others followed close — Mira, Lynx, and Cass — all bundled up in layers that barely kept the chill out.
Cass kicked at the frozen dirt. "You sure this is the right way? 'Cause I haven't seen a single sign of civilization for like… ever."
Mira didn't look up from the map she clutched. "That's the point. Greyspire's built into the cliffs to stay hidden. Lord Halden's paranoid. He trusts walls and shadows more than people."
"Paranoid rich dude with soldiers and a mountain fortress," Cass muttered. "Yeah, this is totally fine. Nothing bad's gonna happen at all."
Lynx rolled her eyes. "You talk too much."
"Talking keeps me warm," Cass shot back.
Rowan ignored them. His gaze was fixed on the horizon — where faint pillars of smoke rose into the sky, marking the mines.
Mira noticed his silence and matched his pace. "You've been quiet."
He shrugged. "Just thinking."
"About the box?"
"…About what's inside."
She studied him for a moment. Snowflakes clung to her hair, catching the faint blue glow of the sky. "You really think the truth's worth all this?"
Rowan looked at her — not long, but long enough for her to notice. "Truth always is."
Their eyes met for half a heartbeat. Then she looked away first.
Cass, who'd been watching from behind, smirked. "Ooooh, what's this? Staring contest in the middle of a blizzard?"
"Shut up, Cass," Mira said flatly.
Lynx's ears twitched. "Enough chatter. Something's ahead."
They all stopped.
Through the curtain of snow, faint orange lights flickered — torches, maybe a dozen. Figures moved between them, silhouettes clad in iron.
"Guards," Rowan whispered.
Cass crouched beside a rock. "They're everywhere. Guess Lord Halden really is paranoid."
Mira folded up her map. "We'll need to sneak through the outer ring. If they see us, we'll never make it past the gates."
"Then we move fast and silent," Rowan said, pulling up his hood. "No fighting unless necessary."
The group slipped into the shadows, weaving between boulders and snowdrifts. The fortress of Greyspire loomed ahead — a monstrous structure carved straight from the cliffside. Iron banners whipped in the wind, each bearing Halden's sigil: a chained wolf.
From the inside, faint sounds echoed — pickaxes striking stone, men shouting orders, the distant hum of mana engines. The mines below were still running, even in this storm.
They crept along a narrow ledge overlooking the mine entrance. Below, workers in ragged clothes shoveled glowing blue crystals into carts. Soldiers watched them with rifles and whips.
Mira's voice dropped to a whisper. "Slaves."
Lynx's claws dug into the rock. "He's still using forced labor? I thought the council banned it."
Rowan's jaw tightened. "They banned it publicly. Behind closed doors, the nobles just changed the name."
Cass exhaled. "Guess that's why we're here."
They continued their climb until they reached a small maintenance outpost clinging to the cliff. Rowan signaled the others to stay low, then peeked inside a cracked window.
Inside, a single guard dozed by the heater, boots kicked up, rifle leaning against the wall.
"Easy one," Cass whispered.
"Alive," Rowan said quietly. "We need information."
Cass grinned. "Got it."
Five seconds later, the guard was out cold and snoring into the floorboards.
Lynx helped tie him up while Rowan rummaged through the man's pockets. He pulled out a metal pass etched with the wolf sigil and a folded note.
Mira unfolded it. "Orders from Halden. Says they're increasing mana extraction. Something about a quota for the royal army."
Rowan's brows furrowed. "He's sending supplies to the Phoenix family directly."
Mira's tone darkened. "Then he's closer to the king than we thought."
Cass peeked out the window again. "So what's the plan? Blow up the mine? Free the workers?"
"Both," Rowan said simply. "But first, we find Halden."
They slipped back into the storm, climbing higher. Snow swirled around them, thick and blinding. Mira stumbled on the ice, nearly losing her balance — Rowan caught her arm instantly.
"Careful," he murmured.
"I'm fine," she said, though her cheeks were flushed — from the cold, probably. Probably.
His hand lingered for a moment longer than it should've, before he let go.
They didn't talk after that. The silence between them said enough.
By nightfall, they reached a ledge overlooking Greyspire's inner courtyard. Below, dozens of guards patrolled while massive mana conduits pulsed through the stone like glowing veins.
At the center of it all stood a tall tower — black iron and jagged edges, crowned by blue fire.
"That's where he is," Mira whispered.
"Then that's where we're going," Rowan replied.
Cass cracked his knuckles. "You got a plan, boss?"
"Yeah." Rowan's eyes narrowed. "We move at dawn. Take out his power source, free the workers, and corner Halden in his tower."
Lynx's grin showed her fangs. "And if he fights back?"
Rowan's voice was steady. "Then we show him what happens when a noble thinks he can play god."
As they made camp in a cave nearby, the storm finally began to quiet. Mira sat by the fire, warming her hands. Rowan was a few feet away, staring out at the fortress through the falling snow.
"You never sleep, do you?" she asked softly.
"Not when I'm this close," he said without turning.
She smiled faintly. "You'll burn yourself out one day, Rowan."
He glanced back, a hint of something softer in his eyes. "Then I'll burn bright while I can."
For a moment, neither spoke. The fire cracked between them — steady, warm, alive.
Cass snored somewhere in the back, Lynx polishing her claws. The night stretched endlessly ahead.
Mira looked down at the flickering flames, a strange flutter in her chest she couldn't explain. Maybe it was the warmth. Maybe the exhaustion. Maybe something else.
Rowan turned back toward the fortress, jaw set, eyes sharp. But in the reflection of the flames, there was a faint softness — something unguarded, fleeting, gone before he could even name it.