A heavy impact slammed into the shield strapped to his left arm. Rukhus stumbled backward, his steps faltering. His strength was draining fast while his enemies grew fiercer. Through the shield’s gaps, he watched the barbarian swinging his stone axe—a hulking figure nearly two meters tall, his red beard braided, his face a map of rugged lines, the very image of a hardened northerner.

A scream tore through the air behind him. One of his comrades collapsed, skull crushed by a stone hammer, his body twitching in death throes. More barbarians poured through the fortress breach. Half the Imperial Army garrison was already gone. Seizing a split-second pause in the barbarian’s assault, Rukhus lunged forward and drove his sword into the brute’s chest. Wiping blood and sweat from his face, he tore off his helmet—its narrow visor had blinded him. The shield wall guarding the breach had shattered completely. Chaos reigned everywhere. Archers on the watchtowers fired desperately into the horde until arrows punched through their own faces.

*We’re going to lose.*

A crushing sense of defeat weighed on Rukhus’s heart. He was just a rookie—only sixteen. His father was a craftsman in Seralni, a key western stronghold of the Empire. With no hope of inheriting the trade, Rukhus had joined the Imperial Army, dreaming of earning glory in foreign wars to return home in triumph. But that dream was shattering here in this frozen north. After the Nineteenth Legion’s defeat at Winterhold, northern barbarians had surged like frenzied beasts, storming every imperial fort and outpost along the border.

A shrill whistle cut through the din—*assembly*. Too late.

Rukhus blocked an incoming stone hammer with his shield. Wood splintered with a dull *thud*. The whistle’s sharp cry echoed again. From the corner of his eye, he saw a dozen soldiers regrouping around their captain. But the enemy was endless—hundreds, thousands of barbarians scaling the steep slope toward the isolated border fort.

"Form ranks! All hands, assemble!" the captain roared.

Most able-bodied soldiers obeyed. Rukhus fought his way backward, step by bloody step. The barbarians were fierce but poorly armed—clad only in furs, wielding crude stone weapons. The Imperial Army was disciplined, well-equipped, and trained. That discipline had saved them before. Staggering into formation, Rukhus watched a comrade spear the barbarian chasing him. The dozen survivors formed a tight shield wall, backs pressed against the granary’s small storage hut.

Winter was coming. The barbarians craved the fort’s food stores.

"Burn everything!" the captain ordered. "Not a grain of rice or drop of wine for these savages!"

Two soldiers broke ranks to set the fire.

Sensing the shift, a barbarian bellowed. Others joined the howl, charging the shield wall and slamming their bodies against the imperial shields. Each brutal impact drained Rukhus further. He retreated with the line, straining to hold the formation. Flames licked up from the granary. Thick smoke billowed—*the fire was lit*.

The barbarians erupted in fury. They battered the shield wall like madmen, desperate to snatch scraps before the food turned to ash. Under relentless blows, a soldier fell. The gap widened. The line collapsed. The captain drew his sword, dueling a towering barbarian. Rukhus crashed to the ground—his shield saved his body, but his left arm went numb from the shock. As a stone hammer rose above him, he slashed upward, gutting his attacker first.

Enemies swarmed everywhere. Comrades fell one by one. The last stand unfolded before the burning granary. Rukhus slit a barbarian’s throat. Before he could wrench his sword free, a stone hammer smashed into his head from behind. Darkness swallowed him.

He woke to white snow falling over the ruined fort. Only a thin tunic covered him—armor and weapons surely looted. Yet buried in snow, he felt no cold. He turned his head. Silvery-white hair filled his vision. A fur-clad beauty with crimson eyes gazed down at him.

Rukhus jolted upright—but his stiff limbs betrayed him. He stumbled back into the snow. The girl brushed silver strands from her ear, stepping closer. Even Rukhus was stunned by her beauty. But reason cut through the haze: *furs. Northern barbarian.*

"Do you understand me?" she asked in flawless Imperial tongue.

Rukhus tried to speak—no sound came.

"Ah, you *do* understand," she murmured, crouching before him. "Breathe. Expand your lungs. Relax your diaphragm… Yes. Like that. Breathe, and your voice will return."

He drew a deep, shuddering breath. Something vital flickered back to life inside him.

"Thank you…" His voice trembled. "Did you save me?"

"Save you?" A wry smile touched her lips. "Well… let’s say I did." She leaned closer. A blush spread across the sixteen-year-old’s face. "My name is Mio."

"Rukhus," he replied. "Rukhus Black Odelias."

"An imperial, then." Mio sighed as if relieved. "I worried I’d mistaken you. But no." She swept her gaze over the charred ruins. "This was an imperial forward base? A border outpost? You built your fort on this hill… Water from that well? Clever defenses. Far better than the northern tribes."

Mio chattered on, leaving Rukhus unsure how to respond.

"Don’t look so grim," she said, turning to him. "I’m complimenting you. Or don’t you understand?"

"No—I understand everything. I just… don’t know what to say."

"Wonderful!" Mio clenched a tiny fist. "No language barrier! My Imperial tongue is perfect! Hehehe…" Her self-satisfied giggle deepened his awkwardness.

"Mio… miss?" he ventured. "Are there other survivors?"

"Sadly, only corpses share this place now." Mio’s smile didn’t waver. "But I wish to travel south. Will you guide me?"

"Of course." Rukhus stood. "I must report the fall of Border Fort 79 to General Gaius at Blackstone Fortress."

"Then let’s go."

"Wait, Miss Mio—"

"Just Mio."

"Ah—Mio. Wait." Rukhus turned toward the burned granary. "I want to search the ruins. If we’re lucky, the basement stores might be intact."

"*That* pile of ash?" Mio pointed at the blackened walls. "It’s thoroughly burned. Even a basement would be ruined."

"The basement has fireproof magic seals," Rukhus said. "We prepared for this."

"I see."

Together, they heaved aside charred beams. Beneath the wreckage lay a discreet hatch. Rukhus pulled it open—metal gleamed beneath untouched dust and ash. The iron door stood unbroken.

"Luck is with us," Rukhus said, gripping the handle. "Mio, it’s cold outside. Come in first."

"Very well," Mio sighed. "Though I dislike underground places."

They descended the steep steps. Two Magic Stone Lamps flickered to life as they entered. In their eerie glow lay neatly stacked weapons and armor, dried meat hanging from the ceiling, and piles of winter gear—all preserved in the small, hidden space.

Rukhus donned armor with practiced ease, then selected a sword. He drew it, inspecting the blade. A faint rust speckled its shine—likely from long storage. These weapons were meant to be maintained monthly; the quartermaster had slacked off. Fully armored, he layered a white winter coat over his breastplate and fastened a cloak.

"May I suggest something?" Mio said. "Don’t wear too many layers."

"Apologies. Southerners like me freeze easily." Rukhus managed a weak smile. "We must cross the entire mountain range. Without thick clothing, I’d die of cold."

"Fair enough," Mio sighed. "Though meat spoils when wrapped too tightly."

"Pardon? Should we take meat?"

"Nothing." Mio smiled. "But if it’s dried meat, please take some. Forgive me—this place feels stifling. I’ll wait above." She climbed back up the ladder.

Rukhus stuffed dried meat and dark bread into a sack. The bread rarely spoiled, especially in the north’s cold. The salted meat was standard imperial rations—good for a decade. Fully packed, he emerged from the basement to find Mio waiting atop the ruins. The silver-haired girl sat amid charred beams, her nearly translucent strands dancing in the wind—a vision straight from a dream. To a sixteen-year-old boy, her beauty was almost painful.

"What’s wrong? Something on my face?"

Mio hopped down and approached. Only then did Rukhus realize he’d been staring. He looked away, flustered.