Ten years ago, at Fort Westhome on the border of the Ailar Empire.

Deep winter had set in. Biting northerly gales howled across the land.

Snow had fallen days earlier, draining the air of moisture. Now the wind felt sharp and stinging, instantly reddening exposed skin. Occasionally, it whipped coarse gravel from mountain rocks, pelting faces with painful grit.

For Westhome—a frontier town at the empire’s edge—such seasons were always desolate.

Located northwest of the Ailar Empire, Westhome marked the limit of human territory. Beyond lay endless wastelands and shadowy primeval forests. Adventurers seeking those mysterious lands often rested here, warming themselves by roaring hearths and drinking themselves silly in taverns. For many, this was their last taste of joy; none knew if they’d return alive. Their generosity drew merchants, while imperial mercenaries made the town their base—close to the dangers they hunted.

The "White Night" mercenary band was one such group. Small—just fourteen locals—it was founded by Captain Hajid. Though obscure, its all-native roster made it well-connected. In this tiny town, they thrived.

Hajid, once a farmer, now owned a house in the town center. He’d married the daughter of a local merchant and fathered a daughter.

That day, in his home—

"Chilus, wanna play?"

The door creaked open a sliver. A small face peeked through—blue-haired, freckled across the nose. The girl carefully scanned the room.

Outside, the sky hung heavy and gray. Though the snow had paused, the storm lingered, brooding. Pressure mounted; thunderheads gathered like an impending doom over the frontier town. Yet inside, firelight glowed warmly from a brick hearth. Beside it sat a girl pretending to read, her cheeks flushed by the flames.

"Just a moment," she whispered, motioning subtly to the door.

Her father was a mercenary who lived by the sword. He’d hoped she’d follow his path—but her merchant-born mother feared that life. She wanted safety and stability for her daughter. Intimidated by his wife, Captain Hajid had reluctantly enrolled Chilus in lessons: reading, arithmetic, preparation for a trader’s future.

Most days, Chilus stayed behind her mother’s shop, tutored by hired teachers or her mother herself.

But at her age, freedom called loudest. Her most spirited friend waited beyond that door: Lina Cliff, daughter of the tailor from the next street. With bright blue hair and a cheerful grin, she was endlessly inventive—unlike other girls who played with dolls. To Chilus, cooped up indoors, Lina seemed to have invisible wings.

This time, though, Chilus had to disappoint her. Fortunately, not for long.

"Okay!" Lina whispered back, then winked mischievously before closing the door.

Footsteps approached behind her. Chilus’s ears twitched almost imperceptibly. Her heart leapt—but her face stayed perfectly still, eyes fixed on the book. She stared so intently it seemed she might burn the words into her retinas. How much she actually absorbed, only she knew.

"How’s the reading? No slacking?"

A woman in a red dress stood there—young, beautiful, her voice stern yet her eyes holding a softness like still water.

"Mom, I’ve been studying hard! See? I’m halfway through!" Chilus turned, showing the book. Notes filled the margins. Her eyes sparkled.

"Hmm." Her mother nodded approvingly, stroking her hair. "Mom, I—" Chilus hesitated. Her mother smiled. "Fine. You may go play. But be back before dark."

"Yes! Mom’s the best!" Chilus hugged her tightly, then dashed out.

"Chilus! Over here!"

A voice called from the side. Chilus turned to see Lina hiding by the wall, waving. Her cheeks were wind-chapped red, but her grin was wide.

Chilus ran over, meeting her palm-to-palm in their secret handshake.

"Where to?" Chilus asked.

"The forest outside town," Lina declared. She’d never liked "girly" games. Adventures and hero tales fascinated her. Every day with her felt new, her mind bursting with wild ideas.

"Okay. Let’s go."

Chilus placed her hand trustingly in Lina’s. They sprinted, the stinging wind whipping their faces—but strangely, Chilus felt only freedom.

The forest beyond town was once part of the vast primeval wilderness. Logging had carved paths through it. Safer than the deep wilds, it still held lethal dangers. Guards patrolled the main trail to keep children and strangers out.

But the girls knew hidden ways. Treading softly on powdery snow, they slipped into the woods unnoticed.

The Far North’s winter was a world of snow. Town streets were cleared, but here—beyond hunters’ and woodcutters’ tracks—ice sealed everything in glittering white silence.

They moved carefully. Even familiar paths demanded respect.

In summer—brief as it was here—green vines and thickets choked the ground. To Chilus, it was hard to walk but wondrous. Sometimes she’d wonder: *Is the south like this all year?*

She’d never seen the south. Didn’t even know where it lay. When she’d described endless warm seas to friends, they’d scoffed. *"No place stays spring forever. And oceans bigger than the sky? Don’t be silly."*

But Chilus believed. Books described it. And her father had told her of the sea.

She trusted him completely. To her, he was like a mythic god—omnipotent. Sometimes she’d daydream: *Did Dad slip down from the heavens just to find Mom and me?* She never noticed the flaw: if he came to find her, how was she born?

Girls don’t dwell on logic.

Humming happily, Chilus trekked through the silent woods. She loved this boundless wandering.

"What’s got you so happy?" Lina turned, still holding her hand.

"Not telling. It’s a secret." Chilus’s free hand slipped inside her coat. Beneath thick layers, her fingers found something smooth. She traced its raised patterns tenderly.

Lina’s eyes crinkled. She pulled a red cord from her collar—not a pendant, nor a wolf-fang charm common in the north. Instead, a tiny conch shell, its spiral gleaming with rainbow hues. Clearly from the sea.

How did a northern girl get it?

Chilus answered by pulling out her own treasure: an identical conch. Same size, same colors—except one spiraled clockwise, the other counterclockwise.

Her father’s thirteenth birthday gift. She’d chattered endlessly about southern beaches and oceans, so he’d sent for the pair. Chilus gave one to Lina—the only friend who believed her sea stories.

Together, they dreamed of warm southern shores and the blue sea of their imaginations.