Uh... so, that’s how it is, clouds clearing a little. Winona held Vivian’s hand; the twin girls wore one black, one white cotton coat, night and snow side by side, eyes on Edlyn and me.

Confusion pooled like fog. I scratched my head and glanced at Edlyn. “Ed-chan, I still don’t quite get it.”

Edlyn shrugged, light as a bird. “Basically, their father’s a loyal supporter of the Ninth Prince, and these twins are being placed with us for now.”

Uh-huh. Even princes like that draw loyalists. I rolled my eyes, sarcasm bitter as cold tea.

Edlyn beckoned, a moth’s wing flicker. I bent, ear to her lips; her voice was soft as fresh snow. “They say his father fell for Xili at first sight. When he learned Xili was male, he sulked for a good while.”

I froze, then thought of Xili’s face—beauty sharp as frost—and let it go. I caught Edlyn’s small hand and drew her into my arms, breath warm at her ear. “What about their mother?”

Edlyn stiffened, a small flutter of struggle like a sparrow in palms. “They say she died right after giving birth. Hey, you stinky Hero, why’re you this close?” She shoved my face away, like pushing off a cold mask.

Under the twin girls’ gaze, twin moons on a winter lake, I smiled at Edlyn and let her go.

She edged away, awkward as a fawn, her cheeks rosy as peach blossoms in snow—irresistibly cute.

Well, looks like toppling that little loli isn’t far off—heh, kidding, kidding, just smoke in winter air. The wolf in me stays leashed, for now.

Tengger dragged me into the “war room,” maps spread like rivers under ice. He was all iron confidence. “Mr. Ostor, here’s our chosen route, lines like threads on white cloth. Keep an eye out, protect His Highness and your girls.”

His words made me think of Miss Liqianyu—the human she‑T‑rex, a red dragon that drops from the sky.

Who’ll be protecting whom is anyone’s guess, dice tossed in snow. I wiped off cold sweat, beads like sleet.

I traced the route, doubt rippling. “Didn’t we say we’d avoid the brown bears’ range? Why are we steering right toward it?”

He lifted a folding fan, a Far East trinket, to hide a smug smile, peacock-bright. “That’s where you’re wrong. We go counter‑intuitive. The brown bears hold a grudge, so I had the soldiers harass them more. Now their dens are bound to be the weakest defended, right?”

I arched a brow, wings ready to lift, but he cut me off. “Relax—ice under our feet will stay smooth. We’ll just have a lot of mountains to climb. Will your ladies hold up in the wind?”

Oh boy. We’re doomed—the flag’s flapping high in the wind.

I could only nod, a reed bowing in wind. “Don’t worry—my girls, I’ll keep them in line like beads on a string.”

Once Tengger finished his arrangements and we were set, we moved out, arrows loosed into white.

In times like this, sooner is better; Moon City is no place to linger, a cold stone on the heart.

Tengger just sent troops to help the Third Prince guard the border. Any moment, the Third Prince might “thank” us by sending soldiers to seize Moon City—gratitude wrapped like silk around a blade. Xili’s golden hair blazing in all this ice will draw trouble like crows to carrion.

On the sled, I watched Moon City shrink, a silver coin swallowed by mist. I couldn’t help a sigh; the days ahead won’t be kind.

We were still a ways from the Alfred Snow Mountains; for now, the sled still ran, runners whispering over ice.

The sled was pulled by Tengger’s own giant wolfdogs, smart as midnight. But for some reason, they feared Edlyn; the moment she climbed aboard, the sled wolves panted like bellows.

I shook my head, snow off branches, scattering messy thoughts. Edlyn sat beside me and sketched a simple fire‑calling spell in her palm, ember lines on pale skin.

Seeing her frustration cloud like drizzle, I shook my head again.

“Ed-chan, elemental magic isn’t the same as regular magic—mountain versus river.” I took her hand and wiped away some of the jumbled sigils, smudges like charcoal snow.

“Elemental magic isn’t something you summon by glyphs alone. Even if you force it, what you get is weak—sparks like fireflies in frost.” I drew a simple flame icon on my own palm.

I pointed at it, marking a star. “Its strength lies in that freedom—form like water, not a cage. The spellbook I gave you is foundation; don’t grind it to death. That basic fire‑calling spell is only a handrail for beginners.”

I closed my eyes and felt the fire element. The flame icon breathed out tiny sparks, birds of ember circling my palm, warmth pooling.

“Elemental magic is all about communion—building a bridge to the elements. Depending on your mana’s bent, you can call the matching element directly.”

Edlyn’s eyes shone like new stars. She reached and brushed the tiny flame in my palm; under my control, it was a petal, not a burn.

“So pretty,” she breathed. I ruffled her small head, silk under snow. “Practice, slow and steady.”

“Mm... okay,” a feather of sound.

The Demon Race doesn’t use elemental magic. The demonic qi in their bodies repels the elements like oil to water, so they don’t fuss with sensing elements or signing spirit pacts.

Back then, the Demon Race declared war on every living thing under the sky, drums like thunder over black seas. Before the Hero was even born, their raw power and tyrant qi carved a deep shadow into the Alliance’s mind.

The Demon Race trains demonic qi from birth, iron in the blood. The Alliance, by contrast, craves affinity with the elements—water in the bones—if they want to achieve anything great.

Over the long years, the scales tipped; the demons held the windward slope.

For all their near‑invincibility, the Lord of Ten Thousand Demons nursed a thorn of regret. If the Demon Race could win the elements’ favor, the world might already wear their crown.