Winter was the eternal sovereign of Eldraheim.
It did not come and go like passing seasons; it lingered—silent, patient, devouring all that dared to endure. Even the sun, when it appeared, seemed like a lost wanderer trespassing upon a grey and foreign sky.
From the tall windows of Valenhardt Palace, Princess Althea gazed upon the endless white that stretched beyond the horizon. The world outside appeared beautiful, but its stillness was too perfect—like glass that could shatter with the faintest touch.
Below her, the city of Eldraheim lay buried beneath a mist of frost. The cobblestone streets were nearly empty, broken only by the slow rumble of iron-wheeled carts. In the central square, the statues of the kingdom's founders stood frozen, as if they too were waiting for something that would never come.
Althea drew a long breath and closed the curtains. Her chamber was warm, yet the warmth felt hollow—the thick stone walls kept out the cold, but not the loneliness.
Today marked another meeting of the Royal Council—a ritual that had become routine since her father, King Aldric, had fallen ill three winters ago.
Now, Althea was the voice of the throne.
An honor, they said.
A burden, she thought.
She donned a gown of deep midnight blue, its shoulders lined with pale fur. The crown upon her head was delicate, almost weightless, yet it felt heavier than the entire kingdom.
Before the mirror, she studied her reflection—the crystal-blue eyes that had been forced to be strong too often.
Today will be no different, she murmured softly. I must endure.
A knock came at the door.
"Your Highness," a calm voice spoke from beyond.
She knew that voice—cold, steady, never late.
"Enter, Sir Kael."
The knight stepped inside, his silver-black armor gleaming faintly in the light. He bowed low, and for a brief heartbeat, his steel-gray eyes met hers.
"The Council Chamber is ready," he said simply.
"And the nobles?"
"All are present. Including Lord Varric."
The name drew a quiet sigh from her lips.
"Of course," she said. "He would not miss a chance to oppose me."
Kael said nothing. No words could soften the truth between them.
⋄❄⋄
The Council Hall of Eldraheim was vast—its grandeur as cold as the silence that filled it. Tall pillars rose like frozen sentinels, holding the weight of a shadowed ceiling. Upon the stone walls gleamed the sigil of House Valenhardt: a phoenix wreathed in blue flame—a symbol of rebirth that now felt hollow, nothing more than an echo of past glory.
Twelve nobles sat in a circle, their cloaks thick and dark. At the center, a great map of Eldraheim lay spread across the marble table, marked with candles and shards of ice over regions known only as the Cursed Lands.
Althea sat at the head of the table, with Sir Kael Ardent standing behind her—silent as a shadow.
"We've lost the grain supply from the eastern borders," Lord Varric began, his voice heavy with disdain. "The people are starving, and rebellion stirs. Perhaps our dear Princess will bless us with another miracle, as her ancestors once did."
Soft laughter rippled through the chamber.
Althea's gaze did not waver.
"If you have a better solution than mockery, Lord Varric," she said, her tone calm as ice, "I would gladly hear it."
Silence fell.
Lord Varric's lips curved into a cruel smile. "With due respect, Your Highness, the people do not survive on gentle words. They need a ruler. Our King lies dying, and this kingdom—" he gestured to the map "—fractures like glass."
Kael's hand tightened subtly upon the hilt of his sword, though he did not move. He knew Althea could defend herself—with words sharper than any blade.
She smiled faintly. "And yet glass, Lord Varric, still reflects the light. Rusted metal only devours the dark."
A few nobles hid their smirks. The room shifted—tension melting into quiet respect.
Reports followed one after another: vanished villages, deserters among the northern troops, and strange omens—dark shapes beneath the frozen trees, and skies that split open with unnatural light.
The meeting dragged on, each word heavier than the last. Althea listened, but her mind drifted. The council's voices blurred into meaningless echoes—accusation after accusation, void of resolve.
Her eyes fell upon the map before her.
The borders had begun to fade, as though even the ink itself was giving up on this dying realm.
Eldraheim is a kingdom of glass, she thought.
Beautiful, but fragile. And I… I am the first crack that cannot be mended.
"Your Highness?" Kael's voice drew her back. Every gaze turned toward her.
A noble spoke, "What are your orders for the northern patrols?"
Althea straightened. "Send scouts—not many. Only those trained for silence and survival."
Her gaze shifted to Kael.
"Sir Kael Ardent will lead the mission."
Kael bowed his head. "As you command, Your Highness."
Lord Varric snorted. "One knight against the dark? Impressive. Perhaps he will cut down the curse with his sword."
"Better to act," Althea replied coolly, "than to rot behind words."
The meeting ended in uneasy quiet.
⋄❄⋄
Evening fell, casting Valenhardt Palace into ghostly stillness. The walls glowed dimly in the reflection of countless lamps, while outside, the world sank deeper into shades of gray. The fortress stood adrift upon a sea of white.
On the highest balcony, Althea stood gazing toward the North—the land whispered in legends as the heart of true darkness. Behind her, silent and unmoving, stood Kael—the unyielding sentinel bound by duty and something far more dangerous.
"The world grows quieter every day," she said softly.
"It is the price of power, Your Highness," Kael answered.
"And you know that price too, don't you?"
He did not reply. The silence between them was truer than any confession.
Althea smiled faintly. "Sometimes I wish I were a commoner—to walk beneath the snow without every gaze upon me."
"And I," Kael said, lowering his eyes, "sometimes wish I could look at you without feeling guilty."
The air froze between them—tender, forbidden, unspoken.
Snow drifted soundlessly around the two figures standing against the twilight. Somewhere far beyond, the northern sky flickered—a faint crystal-blue glow piercing through the clouds.
Althea narrowed her eyes. "That's no ordinary aurora," she whispered.
Kael followed her gaze. "Perhaps… it is the beginning of something."
He did not know how right he was.
That night, beneath Eldraheim's eternal winter, something awoke—ancient, patient, and hungry.
Among falling snowflakes, fate began to rewrite itself.
To be Continued ~