The first light of dawn rose muted across Vanhart territory.
Not golden… but tinted in silver and ash, as though even the sun feared to disturb what had been decided in the night prior. Snow stretched endlessly across the land, untouched, pristine and cold — resembling a burial cloth prepared for something not yet dead.
Footsteps broke that stillness.
Two hundred soldiers, clad in the dark-gray armor of House Vanhart, stood assembled in perfect formation. Frost clung to the edges of their cloaks and helmets, breaths emerging as vapor ghosts against the morning air.
At the front, three figures walked toward them — their silhouettes long against the rising light.
Kel, dressed in a deep ink-black travel coat lined with sable, moved silently. His posture unmoving, gaze directed forward, the wind tugging gently at his dark hair and long coat edges. Every step felt deliberate, as if measured against an unseen heartbeat.
Reina walked slightly behind him, clad in fitted dark leather armor, her silver-white coat lined with fur fluttering softly. Her eyes, sharp and glass-like, held unspoken tension. One hand rested over the hilt of her side sword; her breath fogged slowly. The other hand clenched, sensing what lay ahead.
At Kel's other side walked Landon, steady as waking earth. The large bow strapped to his back looked almost insignificant compared to the quiet gravity he emitted. His expression remained unreadable, his gaze occasionally shifting toward Kel — not out of doubt, but acknowledgment.
Behind them, Count Edward Vanhart, and Viscount Lorian Malloren marched side by side.
Their gazes met briefly.
The past had brought them pain.
The present walked beside them.
And the future—
Was held within the steps of the boy at the front.
The Departure
Edward Vanhart stepped forward, his heavy coat swaying as the wind rose slightly. His eyes — storm-grey like northern sky before snowfall — settled on Kel.
"Are you certain you wish to lead the march personally?" he asked quietly, the authority of a lord present, but not overshadowing the sincerity of a father.
Kel looked up at him.
No hesitation.
"Sir," he said softly. "This path was mine before this march began."
Malloren watched, arms folded over his cloak, posture proud but grave.
"A storm is coming," he said. "One that may not spare even the one who stands in its eye."
Kel's lips curved slightly — not warmth, but quiet acceptance.
"Then I shall make sure I am ready to breathe where the winds are quietest."
A murmur rippled across the troops.
Reina's brows drew together, noticing Kel's expression — the slight upward curl, the way his eyes dimmed not in fear, but in restraint.
That was the expression of someone who knew he might not return the same.
Landon inhaled slowly, his fingers brushing over his bow.
This is not simply an operation.
This is closure.
The March Begins
Kel turned, his coat swaying like an ink-black banner.
"Form vanguard," he commanded.
Two hundred boots hit frozen snow in unison.
"Rear flank, stand by."
Metal rang softly.
"Begin march."
And so they moved.
Snow crunched beneath a disciplined rhythm, armor brushing softly.
The wind sighed against trees as the column advanced through the frost-laden forest path. Breath clouds rose from soldiers like exhalations of beasts going to war.
Kel walked ahead, hardly disturbing the snow, as if the world moved around him, not he through it.
Reina kept pace with quiet vigilance.
Landon's footsteps were heavy, deliberate, stabilizing.
Count Vanhart and Malloren rode horseback, just behind, their capes trailing like remnants of time trying to catch up.
Along The Snow Road
The road narrowed between rising pines draped in winter. Bare branches stretched like skeletal arms pointing toward the eastern horizon — where the abandoned watchtower awaited.
Reina's voice finally cut through the silence, low.
"Do you intend to spare him?"
Kel looked ahead.
His eyes reflected winter. Endless and old.
"My intent," he replied, "is to allow him to answer to what he chose."
"And if his answer is steel?" she asked.
"Then…"
Kel's breath drifted slowly into the cold air as he whispered,
"…steel shall respond."
Landon's gaze hardened.
He shifted slightly, his posture conveying silent allegiance.
Even if that steel belongs to you, Kel… we will not look away.
A Brief Halt
Halfway to the watchtower, Kel signaled a halt with the slightest lift of his hand.
The column stopped without question.
He stood still, his boots lightly buried in powder. The forest surrounding them was a quiet sea of white.
Kel crouched and brushed the snow with two fingers.
His breath whispered across his palm.
Sairen.
Her voice rose gently through his mind.
"Yes. I hear."
A battle may unfold.
"I know."
Do not interfere.
"Naturally."
But if… I begin to stray from what is right—
"—I will remind you of why you walked this far."
A faint exhale.
"Good."
He stood again, lifting his hand.
The march resumed.
From Behind
Edward Vanhart quietly observed Kel from horseback.
His grip tightened on the reins.
Malloren spoke quietly, "You see it too, don't you?"
Edward didn't respond immediately.
Snow flurries began drifting sideways.
"…He walks like one who carries the weight of execution," Edward said softly.
Malloren nodded.
"And yet," he added, eyes fixed on Kel's slender silhouette, "he still shoulders it as though he wishes to spare, not destroy."
"Yes."
"It is dangerous," Malloren whispered.
Edward nodded once.
"…It is what makes him unlike us."
Approach of the Tower
On the horizon — past the frost-veiled trees — a broken structure emerged.
An ancient watchtower.
Grey stone, weathered by time.
A solitary ruin standing at the empire's last eastern post.
Vultures circled lazily above.
Snow fell harder.
The air thickened.
Kel stopped.
Behind him, the troops steadied.
Reina and Landon stepped forward.
He spoke without turning.
"Only the three of us go forward first."
Count Vanhart's brows furrowed. "Dangerous."
Kel lowered his gaze.
"This is not a battle of force," he replied. "It's one of consequence."
Malloren remained silent for a moment.
Then exhaled.
"And consequence is often delivered through the smallest of actions."
Kel nodded.
"Exactly."
Kel's Final Step Forward
The snow swirled around him as he walked.
Reina to his left.
Landon to his right.
No armor clanked.
No footsteps hurried.
They moved like specters along the edge of history.
The watchtower loomed before them — a cracked monument to choices past.
Kel paused, lowering his head slightly.
In the stillness of snow, in the heartbeat between breaths—
He smiled.
Cold.
Ancient.
And calm.
"Rodrik Vanhart."
His eyes turned sharp.
"I have come to end your winter."