Dawn arrived that morning in muted shades of iron and ash.
The sky did not wake with sunrise, but with an aching, silver stillness, as though the light itself was reluctant to touch the land that had witnessed so many shifts in fate. A faint whisper of frost clung to the grounds of Vanhart Estate, spreading like spiderwebs across stone and timber, shimmering briefly before breath disturbed the air.
Landon Sevrae stood beside a saddled horse at the courtyard's edge.
His posture straight.
His expression composed.
Yet beneath the thick fur collar draped over his traveling cloak, the quiet weight of departure settled around him like new armor—unbroken, but cold.
He adjusted the leather of his gauntlet, testing his grip, then rechecked the saddle bags: maps, sealed instructions from Count Vanhart, supplies, scrolls regarding rural trade routes from Kel, and a simple sheath for his sword. He traveled lightly, with only three chosen escorts—silent martial knights skilled in survival. No banners. No announcement.
Quiet entry makes efficient conquest.
Kel had told him that.
And Landon had listened.
Snow crunched quietly behind him.
He turned.
Kel approached without escort, his steps soft but defined against the winter stone. He wore a long dark coat, minimal embellishment, collar raised against cold winds. His hair trembled faintly with the breeze, but his gaze—calm, unyielding—remained steady.
Only a few words were necessary.
Kel did not waste them.
"You're prepared."
Not a question.
Landon nodded.
"I am, Young Master." His voice was low, controlled. "The South is unstable. Territory disputes are frequent. Merchant guilds hold more power than baronies. If I position myself correctly… influence can be secured in less than two years."
Kel studied him.
"You won't have two years."
Landon paused.
"…Then I will make do with less."
Kel's eyes softened by a fraction. "Good."
Behind them, Reina and Sera stood beneath the portico. Neither spoke. Reina's gaze followed Landon with quiet, restrained intensity. Her right hand rested subtly over her left forearm—without gripping, without squeezing, simply feeling. Sera leaned against a stone pillar, arms crossed loosely, observing without judgment.
Count Edward Vanhart and his wife watched from the balcony above, faces composed, nobility observing movement. They said nothing. They did not need to.
Landon lifted his hand to grasp the reins.
Before he could, Kel spoke again.
"Do not rush to prove something to the South. Let them underestimate you."
Landon glanced up.
Kel's voice stayed low, words striking like measured droplets against still water.
"When power arrives quietly, it is harder to detect."
"When it waits, it strikes deeper."
"And when it roots itself without spectacle… it endures longer."
Landon closed his eyes briefly.
"…Yes."
A moment of silence. Only wind and slow-falling snow filled the space.
Then Kel stepped closer.
Not as lord to vassal.
But as someone who had chosen.
He extended his hand.
Landon looked at it, momentarily stunned.
Slowly… he accepted the grip.
Kel spoke softly.
"Return when the South walks with you, not behind you."
He didn't hold on long.
Just enough.
For words to become something more than instruction.
Landon withdrew his hand, stepped to the stirrup, and mounted.
His final gaze shifted to Reina.
She did not speak.
Only nodded once.
With the quiet acknowledgement shared between those who recognize another's path may lead into loneliness.
He looked to Sera next.
She offered a half-smile, arms still folded.
"Bring back something interesting," she said simply.
Landon exhaled softly. "I will."
His gaze moved last to Kel.
Snow began to fall harder.
He straightened.
"I won't fail you."
Kel's expression did not shift.
"You'd better not."
The corner of Landon's mouth lifted.
Only slightly.
He pulled his hood forward.
The horse stirred.
Boot heels pressed.
The gates opened.
No horns sounded. No banners fluttered.
Landon rode forward beneath heavy sky and falling snow.
Not as a knight departing on order—
But as a man who had chosen the weight of future in his own hands.
His escorts followed in silent formation.
The gates closed behind them with muted finality.
The snow swallowed their tracks soon after.
After His Departure
Kel remained in the courtyard long after Landon's silhouette vanished into winter.
He listened to the distant wind.
Eyes half-lidded.
Expression unchanging.
But his thoughts shifted like dark water.
"The South will resist him. It always resists first… and then bows deeper once it understands."
A faint ripple of laughter brushed the back of his mind.
Seiren.
"You sound as though you already see the outcome."
Kel replied silently.
"I do not see it."
Snow fell across his hair.
He lifted his head slightly.
"I calculate it."
The guardian spirit murmured faintly.
"And if he falters?"
Kel's answer arrived without hesitation.
"Then I will break the South myself."
Silence followed.
Seiren did not question him.
As Kel turned from the gates and walked toward the inner hall, snow continued to drift upon the empty courtyard.
A solitary breath escaped him.
The first move has been made.