The wind from the Frozen Sea whipped snowflakes into the air. Crystal flakes drifted over the ruined fortress, vanishing into the monochrome peaks of the mountains. Towering summits stood on the permafrost, jagged black rocks piercing the sky like ancient blades. For ten thousand years, blizzards howled through these valleys, determined to paint the world white.

A narrow path wound through the peaks, sheathed in ice and snow. One side dropped into a sheer cliff; the other plunged into a bottomless gorge. Frost hardened the uneven ground. Rukhus trudged forward, leaning on his staff. His limbs felt icy, yet no chill touched his body. His stamina seemed endless, though his steps grew slow. He glanced back at Mio. Ice crusted her fur coat; her breath vanished in the wind. She followed lightly, matching his pace without fatigue.

“The weather’s worsening!” Rukhus shouted. “We need shelter!”

“Yes,” Mio murmured, gazing at the snow-choked sky. Wind tangled her silver hair. “The clouds are thick. A blizzard’s coming tonight. We must find cover.”

“If I recall,” Rukhus said, “a windbreak cliff lies ahead. The Imperial Army built a stone storehouse there for road repairs. We can spend the night.”

“So this road was carved by the Empire?”

“Yes. During the First Northern Campaign, twenty years ago. They say hundreds of thousands of slaves died opening this pass.”

“How pitiful for them.”

“All for the Empire’s glory.”

Mio sighed and looked away. Rukhus sensed her displeasure—the moment he mentioned slaves, her aura turned cold.

“Slaves are valuable property in the Empire,” he continued. “Masters provide decent living conditions. Compared to their savage homelands, Imperial slaves lack nothing. Obey, don’t flee, and they live better lives. Killing a slave without cause is a grave crime. After three generations of service, they earn citizenship.” He paused. “Our system isn’t as cruel as Northerners imagine.”

“Then,” Mio teased lightly, “do you plan to capture me as a slave?”

“Impossible!” The boy flushed. “You saved my life.”

“You’re kind,” Mio sighed. “Once we leave these mountains, I’ll bid you farewell.”

Rukhus nodded, regret tightening his chest.

“I don’t deny the Empire’s system,” Mio said, tucking silver strands behind her ear as she stared into the abyssal gorge. “Human societies evolve through stages: primitive, slave-based, feudal, capitalist, communist. Only when economic foundations match superstructures can productivity truly flourish. The North remains primitive; the Empire has advanced to slavery. By that measure alone, the Empire is superior.”

Rukhus stared at her, utterly lost but deeply impressed.

“But,” she turned to him, “as I walk this road, the wails of dead slaves never cease.”

“Most were criminal slaves,” Rukhus countered. “Condemned to die, yet granted life through labor. This was their redemption.”

“You’re wrong,” Mio said softly. “Death is the only redemption.”

Rukhus fell silent, frozen before the wind-tossed girl.

“I don’t blame you,” Mio shook her head, offering a faint smile. “Or the Empire. You’re merely human. Humans surrender to desire. Conquest, wealth, power… these drive civilization forward.”

“Forgive me,” Rukhus rubbed his temples. “My mind can’t keep up. Mio—who *are* you? Your knowledge… your flawless Imperial speech…”

“I’m…” Mio’s smile turned bitter. “Just a traveler now.”

A savage gust slammed snow into their faces, cutting off words. Rukhus huddled deeper into his cloak. The storm had turned vicious. Last time he crossed this pass, cold had nearly killed him. Now, he felt nothing. Only a slight stiffness in his limbs. The blizzard seemed unreal, devoid of bite.

Suddenly, a shadow rounded the bend. A shaman stood there, goat-skull mask on his face, an ebony staff in hand. Bone and tooth amulets hung from his chest. Rukhus drew his sword instinctively. *A Northern shaman.*

Shamans were tribal spiritual leaders, wielding ancient earth-magic far surpassing Imperial battle mages. Rarely seen in combat, they were devastatingly powerful. As a fresh Imperial recruit, Rukhus had learned this truth: before a shaman, ordinary soldiers were brittle as twigs.

Ice-laden wind swirled—and a second shaman appeared behind them, blocking retreat.

“Mio!” Rukhus tightened his grip on the sword. “Stay close!”

“Only two?” Mio grinned, fearless. “Let me hear their demands first. Don’t move. These weaklings could erase you in a blink.”

*Weak?* Rukhus blinked, torn between shamans and the girl.

Mio stepped forward, silver hair sweeping back. The front shaman raised his staff defensively. Rukhus tensed, ready to charge. But Mio spoke—calm, fluent Northern dialect. The shaman recoiled. The one behind them stomped and shouted, furious.

*This won’t end peacefully.* Rukhus shifted his stance, eyeing the rear threat. *Secure the escape route.*

Mio sighed, regret flickering in her eyes.

***BANG.***

The goat-skull mask shattered. Blood sprayed. Mio’s silver pistol moved faster than thought. Rukhus whirled—the shaman crumpled, dead before he hit the ice. The rear shaman began chanting. Complex runes flared; fireballs coalesced around him, streaking toward Mio.

“Deploy!” Mio commanded in an alien tongue. “Nano Shield!”

Hexagonal translucent panels snapped around her. Fireballs struck—and dissolved. Their energy fed the shield, strengthening it. *Night Watch technology. Another world’s science.*

Smoke cleared. Mio stood untouched. The shaman staggered back, shock breaking his chant. Before he could recover, Mio fired. ***RAT-TAT-TAT.*** Hollow-point rounds tore into his chest. Designed to expand, they shredded organs from within. He collapsed, twitching, blood staining the frozen path.

Rukhus stood frozen, staring coldly at Mio. His mouth opened, closed. She ignored him, walked over, and shot the shaman’s head. Once. Final.

“Death is perfectly fair,” she whispered. “Thus, only death grants true redemption.”

The blizzard swallowed her words. Rukhus heard nothing.

---

A small stone hut clung to the cliffside. Three walls, a crude roof. Snow blanketed its stone top; icicles glittered beneath the eaves. A fire crackled inside, flames dancing on cold stone, pushing back the night. Rukhus heated dried meat and black bread over the flames. Fat seeped from the tough meat, sizzling. The slightly charred bread released a tempting aroma. He tended the fire, stealing glances at the girl across the flames. Mio sat cross-legged against the wall, silver hair spilling naturally over her shoulder.

“Mio,” Rukhus offered the food. “Try Imperial rations. You won’t find this in the North. Not exactly gourmet.”

“Thank you.” She bit the jerky. It crunched loudly between her teeth. She swallowed with effort. “So tough… my teeth ache.”

Rukhus chuckled. “Everyone says that.”

Mio grimaced at the black bread, then bit it. Her face tightened. “Isn’t this German field ration? And worse-tasting.”

“German?”

“A distant land.” Mio’s eyes drifted. “Night Watch’s Control Center No. 16 is in Hamburg, Germany. But… never mind. Forget I said that.”

Rukhus smiled, but his own appetite vanished. Strange. His body felt numb—no pain, no touch, no hunger. Yet he *had* to eat. Starvation awaited otherwise.

“How odd,” Mio mused, chewing bread. “I feel hungry.”

“Of course you do,” Rukhus said. “Hunger is universal.”

“That’s the problem,” she sighed. “If I never felt hunger… no need to eat. So many troubles avoided.”

“That sounds… unsettling.”

Mio tilted her head fifteen degrees—a reflexively cute gesture that pierced Rukhus’s heart. She remained oblivious.

“My happiest memory?” Her gaze grew distant. “Sitting with my family at a table. Mother’s soft, sweet bread. Stew steaming with rich fragrance. Fresh cheese, butter, vegetables and potatoes from fields beyond the city walls. Nothing could be more perfect.”

She looked at Rukhus, eyes shimmering. “Tell me about your family?”

“Gladly,” he said, poking the fire. Flames flared. “My father was a third-generation slave. He earned citizenship under Imperial law. His ancestors likely came from the southern wetlands—records are lost. My mother was a slave he bought. It’s common for newly freed slaves to purchase wives. Father’s a blacksmith in Seralni, the Empire’s second city. His shop does well. I have two elder sisters, an older brother, and a younger sister… who’s… different. The family treats her poorly. Father chose my brother to inherit the forge. My options were limited.” He paused. “At fifteen, he gave me armor and a sword. Sent me to join the Imperial Army. That same day, my brother brought home his bride.”

Sometimes I feel like I’ve always been just a backup for my brother, but now I realize Father was right. He wanted his two sons to take different paths, and I chose the hardest one.

“Do you miss home?” Mio asked.

“Yes.” The boy wiped away tears from the corner of his eyes. “I want to go home, but not now. I must earn merits, become a centurion or a general, and return in glory. And I… I’m very worried about my sister, Lukuya. She’s ostracized because she was born different. After I left, no one’s left to protect her.”

Mio fell silent, whispering, “I’m sorry.”

A gust of wind swallowed her words. Rukhus, across the campfire, heard nothing.

Early next morning, they set off again, dragging their stiffening bodies. Rukhus trudged through wind and snow. He looked up at distant peaks; dark mountains blocked the view like a wall at the world’s end. Snowflakes fell from the gloomy sky—not yet a blizzard, but undeniably spreading winter’s chill. Mio followed Rukhus in silence, glancing at him occasionally but quickly looking away. Rukhus found it strange but dared not ask. The girl held too many secrets, yet she’d saved his life.

They walked all day as dusk fell. Rukhus calculated the distance, pondering where to sleep. No stone huts or caves nearby. Worst case, they’d huddle against a wind-sheltered cliff. Just then, Mio quickened her pace ahead. She brushed snow from the roadside, revealing a damaged wagon buried beneath.

Rukhus inspected it. Likely a merchant’s cargo wagon, but one wheel’s axle was broken. The owner must’ve left it here, hoping to return. Yet they never did, letting snow bury it. With Mio’s help, Rukhus cleared the snow and re-erected the stiff canvas canopy. It blocked the mountain wind, offering a small shelter.

“Squeezing two in might be tight,” Rukhus said, eyeing the canopy. “You sleep inside, Mio. I’ll sleep under it—pile snow between the wheels. Wrapped in my fur coat and cloak, I won’t freeze.”

Mio bent to check the gap, then sized up Rukhus.

“I still think it’s cramped.”

“No problem,” Rukhus patted his chest. “I’m a man.”

“Heh.” Mio gave a bitter smile. “Don’t act grown-up, brat. There’s space inside if we squeeze.”

“You and me… sleep together?” Rukhus blushed.

“Clear warning,” Mio said. “Try anything weird, and I’ll blow a hole in your head. Questions?”

“N-no… none.”

“Good.” Mio nodded. “Make fire, cook, rest early.”

Cold wind howled through the canyon. The makeshift canopy swayed, creaking uneasily. Rukhus and Mio squeezed back-to-back in the narrow wagon bed, listening to soft breaths behind them. The sixteen-year-old couldn’t sleep. At this pace, they’d reach the fortress at the mountain pass exit by tomorrow night. Guarded by a thousand Imperial Army soldiers, it shouldn’t fall easily.

The Empire’s northern campaigns had stalled. Yearly slave captures brought little profit—northern barbarians, unable to speak Imperial, were hard to train. Earnings barely covered military costs. This great expedition saw the Imperial Army’s 19th Legion annihilated. Losing a main combat force crippled the northern army. This bitter winter worsened things; barbarian tribes targeted frontline fortress supplies. Rukhus’s fort was overrun. He was the sole survivor.

Mio coughed softly and shifted. Rukhus turned his head. In the dark, silver strands escaped her fur hood. He looked away, closing his eyes. This girl, Mio, seemed only fourteen. Her fluent Imperial speech and wisdom awed him. Legends spoke of a great civilization buried in the north’s frozen soil—perhaps she was its inheritor.

She’d slain two shaman priests with unknown weapons. Full of mysteries. At Blackstone Fortress, they’d part ways—a painful thought. Maybe he could possess her, spend every night together… He banished these wicked thoughts, forcing sleep. Tomorrow’s journey awaited.

A whoosh of wings echoed through the canyon. Rukhus jolted awake to empty space beside him. He sat up; muscles stiff as stone, body sluggish—worrying. Outside the canopy, Mio gazed skyward. A huge Shadow swept past, roaring deafeningly.

Ice dragons!

Rukhus drew his longsword and jumped from the wagon. Three dragons, clad in cyan-blue scales, flew through the canyon. Wings cut wind and snow, shredding mist as they soared. Beautiful creatures—if only they spared humans. As they faded, Rukhus sheathed his sword. The blade’s scrape made Mio turn. Wind blew her silver hair loose, red eyes gleaming. Captivated, Rukhus couldn’t stop glancing.

“Eat,” Mio interrupted his stare. “Long road ahead.”

Rukhus replied, hurrying to the campfire.