The cold had long since stopped bothering him.

  Arion moved through the knee-deep snow with practiced ease, his breath visible in the crisp morning air. The trees stood silent, their skeletal branches heavy with frost, casting long shadows against the white expanse. Somewhere in the distance, a raven cawed—a lonely sound in an otherwise dead world. It had been six months since Xur had found him. Six months since everything burned.

  Xur had taken him to live high in the mount Kouhur, where the winter was relentless and unforgiving. The harsh winds had become his companions, and the cold, a constant weight. It was a far cry from the bustling warmth of Aetheria, just days away by horse, a place that felt like a lifetime ago. But here, in this frozen solitude, Arion had learned to exist. To breathe. To survive.

  His body had healed. The bruises and wounds were little more than faded scars. He could move without pain now, his strength slowly returning, but he knew he was not the same. His limbs carried him, but his soul lagged behind, heavy and entangled in the ash of the past. He was whole in body but hollow inside.

  His fingers flexed around the crude wooden staff he carried, more out of habit than necessity. Xur had offered him a bow, but Arion had refused. The weight of it in his hands felt wrong, like a command he could no longer obey.

  “I couldn’t do it when it mattered,” he had told Xur.

  Not when Akeem lay beneath his blade, his life in Arion’s hands. Not when mercy had felt like the right choice—only to be repaid in broken bones and bloodied snow. His arm still ached from the memory, a dull reminder of the night he had learned that sparing a man could be far crueler than killing him.

  So, Xur had taught him to trap instead. It was easier that way. No arrow, no violence. Just a snare set in the quiet, left for fate to decide. If something was caught, it was meant to be.

  But the weight in his chest remained.

  Once, he had been Arion Faris—heir to the Temple, protector of sacred halls. Now, he was nothing. A ghost of himself, wandering through a world that had long since burned away. The fire inside him had died with the temple, smothered beneath the screams of the lives he failed to save.

  He reached the small clearing where his traps lay beneath a dusting of snow. A single snare was taut. Something had been caught.

  Brushing away the frost, he found a rabbit—limp, stiff with the cold.

  Arion crouched, staring at the tiny, lifeless form. Had it struggled? Had it fought against the snare, twisting and writhing, desperate for escape? Or had it gone still, realizing there was no way out?

  Did it know it was dying?

  Did it fear the end, the way I did?

  His throat tightened. He could still feel the weight of Akeem on his chest, fists crashing down, pain blinding and absolute. He had begged his body to move, to fight back, to do something—anything. But fear had stolen his strength, just as the snare had stolen the rabbit’s breath.

  For a moment, he thought he might be sick.

  He shut his eyes, but it changed nothing. The past still clung to him like frost to dying leaves.

  He exhaled sharply and cut the rope, holding the rabbit by its hind legs. The first time he’d done this; his stomach had churned. Now, it was just another chore. Another step in surviving.

  He was good at surviving. It was everything else he had failed at.

  The temple was gone. His home, reduced to ruin. The sacred halls where he had trained, where he had prayed—it was all dust now, scattered to the wind. He had no way of knowing who had made it out. No way of knowing if Kony had slipped through the chaos, if Kaelen had talked his way into mercy. He wanted to believe they had. He had to.

  But faith, Arion knew, was a fragile thing.

  He adjusted his grip on the rabbit and turned back toward the cabin, his pace steady despite the weight in his chest. He didn’t know what Xur saw in him, why the old man had bothered dragging his broken body off that bloodied mound of dead custodians.

  Arion had asked once, and Xur had shrugged and said, “She told me to.”

  No name, no explanation. Just those words, spoken as if they should mean something. Arion had never met the being who had supposedly saved him. Xur only said she would return when it was time. Whatever that meant.

  For now, all he could do was wait. Wait and survive, even if he wasn’t sure why.

  The cabin came into view, nestled between trees like a forgotten relic of another life. Smoke curled from the chimney, a thin wisp against the pale sky. As he stepped onto the porch, he saw Xur crouched near the fire pit, melting ice in a clay pot. Steam rose as the old man stirred with the end of a stick; his face unreadable.

  Arion stepped inside, closing the door behind him.

  “Will we eat tonight?” Xur’s deep voice rumbled.

  Arion held up the rabbit. “We’ll survive another day.”

  Xur grunted. “You have better luck with those traps than I do.”

  Arion scoffed, peeling off his bearskin. “Luck? I doubt that.”

  Xur watched him, his gaze heavy. Arion felt it as he sat beside the fire where Xur melted snow for water.

  “I know how you feel,” Xur said, his voice steady, stripped of sympathy. “It gets easier with time.”

  Arion’s dry, humorless laugh filled the cabin. “For you maybe but for me, I dont think so.”

  Xur’s face hardened at the clear jab, “You don’t know the half of it.”

  Arion clenched his jaw. He hadn’t meant to argue, but something inside him snapped at that moment, “Master Rezar was your brother. He spent his whole life searching for you, fighting for you—and you didn't meet him once. You simply abandoned him!” Arion's angry stare slowly flickered out as he took a deep breath, trying to control his emotions.

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  Xur went still for a moment, the only sound between them was the fire’s crackle. Then, barely above a whisper, he muttered, “You wouldn’t understand.” Dismissive and final.

  Arion stared at the boiling snow, watching bubbles burst and vanish. “I think I do,” he said, voice quieter. “I abandoned them too. When they needed me most.”

  His throat tightened. “And I failed Elara too,” he admitted. “I couldn’t bring myself to kill him. And I lost everything.”

  His voice cracked. “I should have rather stayed at the temple... I should have—”

  A tear slipped down his cheek. He let it fall. “I should’ve died with them.” Barely a whisper. “I wish I did.”

  Xur exhaled sharply and stood, grabbing the pot and setting it aside.

  “Let it cool before you drink it.” His tone was flat, but the tension in his shoulders gave him away. Without another word, he slung his bow over his shoulder, slid a knife into his belt, and walked out, the door closing with a dull thud.

  Arion sat there, staring into the fire—their only constant, their only warmth. It never went out. They made sure of that.

  The day faded, shadows stretching long across the wooden floor. Time slipped by unnoticed. Arion was lost in thought, drowning in grief that neither fire nor time could burn away.

  ***

  Elara stepped out of her chamber with a poise she hadn’t worn in months.

  There was a steadiness in her breath, a sharpened clarity in her eyes — the kind that comes only when fear finally stops ruling the mind.

  The two guards stationed outside straightened the moment she appeared. They called it protection, but she’d long understood their real purpose: to watch her, measure her, report her.

  Elara paused at the corridor’s end, her hands folded before her, waiting. Waiting for the one she had summoned.

  A flicker of gold caught her eye before the man himself appeared — tall, rigid, disciplined. Akeem strode down the marble hall, the black cloak of the Elite Royal Guard sweeping behind him like a blade of shadow. The golden sigil of Aetheria glimmered across his shoulder, broadcasting his hard-earned ascension for all to witness.

  He reached her and bowed deeply, but not too deeply. Respectful yet careful.

  “Your Highness,” he said, voice firm. “You called for me.”

  “Yes,” Elara replied, her gaze unwavering. “There is somewhere I need you to take me.”

  Akeem lifted his head, expression neutral but alert. “Where?”

  “Don’t worry, its not the markets or the grand library, it’s the palace dungeons.” She said, carefully picking her words, reminding Akeem of her place in the Palace.

  For the first time since arriving, Akeem’s mask slipped. His posture stiffened; his brows twitched. “The dungeons, Your Highness?” he repeated, as if hoping she would correct herself.

  “Yes, to see the innocent girl your false testimony put in chains.” Elara said without hesitation in one breath as her eyes pierced through Akeem’s soul, if he had any.

  “I… I cannot.” Akeem stuttered, “Not without the King’s explicit permission.”

  Elara tilted her head, watching him with a quiet, almost dangerous calm.

  “Can’t,” she echoed. “Or won’t?”

  Akeem’s jaw tightened, but he said nothing.

  “You’re Elite now,” she said, letting her gaze glide over the black cloak, the polished armor, the golden sigil. “Congratulations, by the way. What is the famous saying… A loyal dog always gets his bone.”

  His breath hitched, a small and controlled sound — and Elara saw it. The hit landed.

  “I earned this for my years of service, Princess,” he said carefully.

  “Did you?” she replied, stepping closer. “Or was it because your greatest accomplishment was just stopping a girl from escaping her prison?” Her voice lowered, steel beneath silk.

  Akeem opened his mouth to respond, his face in tightening disgust but before he could say anything, Elara quickly added, “Elite Guard or a guard dog, don’t forget Akeem, I am still a Draven and a Princess.”

  He swallowed once, but remained silent.

  Elara studied him for a long moment, then added with chilling softness,

  “I once thought highly of you, Akeem. I truly did. Even admired you.”

  Her eyes flicked pointedly to his cloak. “But then you proved what you are willing to do for a scrap of power.”

  “A scrap?” he muttered before catching himself.

  She didn’t let him recover.

  “You say you need the King’s permission,” she went on, voice rising just enough for the nearby guards to hear. “But if the highest ranking Royal Guard cannot escort a Princess to see a friend to the palace dungeons, then perhaps the authority of Royal Guard has fallen far lower than I feared.”

  Akeem’s eyes flicked toward the other guards, seeing the way they shifted uncomfortably, witnessing a princess challenging the authority of their senior. If he denied her now, he risked appearing weak. And Akeem, whatever else he was, never tolerated being seen as weak. Elara knew this, and he knew that she knew.

  Akeem exhaled slowly, trapped between reputation, regimen, and royalty. Finally, he said through his teeth, “Very well… Your Highness. I will take you.”

  Elara allowed a faint smile, not kind, not cruel but just simply knowing.

  “Good, Try to keep up this time.” she said, turning toward the stairwell leading downward.

  Akeem sighed as he followed, his steps heavy, his mind racing.

  ***

  The dungeons of Aetheria were cold in a way the upper palace never acknowledged: a damp, living cold that clung to the bones. Torches sputtered along the walls, their flames too small, too weak to matter. Every step Elara took echoed against the stone like a whispered accusation.

  Akeem walked ahead, keys in hand, jaw clenched so tightly the muscle twitched. Elara didn’t spare him a glance. Her eyes were fixed on the cell at the far end. The only one occupied.

  Nara rose the moment she saw her, chains rattling softly. Her hair was messier, her face gaunter, but her eyes… her eyes still burned with the same fierce, unbroken fire.

  “Elara,” she breathed.

  Hearing her name spoken without title, without hesitation almost broke something inside the princess.

  Akeem inserted the key but did not open the door fully, letting it remain half-closed, as though preserving the illusion of control. Elara slipped through the gap anyway.

  The cell smelled of iron and damp cloth. Elara stepped closer until she could see every mark on Nara’s wrists, every bruise half-hidden beneath her sleeve. She swallowed hard.

  “Are they treating you fairly?” she asked, though she already knew the answer.

  Nara smirked faintly. “As fairly as a thorn in the King’s heel deserves.”

  Elara tried to smile back, but it faltered. Then Nara’s expression shifted, sharpened. “Princess, Why are you here?”

  Elara glanced toward the doorway where Akeem stood. He stepped back as soon as he met Elara’s gaze, not out of obedience but out of discomfort he refused to acknowledge. Elara lowered her voice anyways before she spoke.

  “There are things in motion,” she murmured. Nara tilted her head with a confused look.

  “I can’t say what. Not here.” Elara moved even closer, lowering her voice to a whisper only Nara could hear. “But I need to know something before I take another step.”

  Nara’s breath held.

  Elara met her eyes, letting the weight of the months sit between them. “When the time comes,” she said softly, “will you trust me?”

  Nara’s eyes widened, not with fear — but with understanding.

  “Princess… what are you planning?” There was hesitation in Nara’s voice, and understandably so, considering where she ended up.

  “I can’t tell you yet,” she said gently. “But I need you to trust me. Without question. Without hesitation. If you can’t… then I’ll understand and nothing changes.”

  Nara’s jaw clenched, her eyes flickering with the emotions she fought to bury — her captivity for helping Elara, resentment toward the injustice from the red king, pain from the months of punishment she didn’t deserve, pain of her hearing about her own sister serving Theron… but beneath all of that, she still looked unbroken. Elara saw a true loyal friend.

  “You shouldn’t even be here,” Nara whispered. “If they catch you—”

  “They won’t,” Elara said. “Don’t worry about me.”

  A silence filled with unspoken history — of them growing together, playing together, laughing in quiet corners where status meant nothing.

  Finally, Nara lifted her chin. “I will always trust you.” A lone tear dropped down her cheek.

  Elara’s eyes softened. Trying to not break. Not infront of her. Not now.

  “Good,” she whispered. “Then hold on a little longer.”

  Nara nodded once, firm despite the chains.

  Elara turned to leave, but Nara called out softly, “Princess…?”

  She paused.

  “You’re not doing this alone… right?”

  A flicker of something unreadable crossed Elara’s face — not fear, but certainty.

  “No,” she answered. “Not anymore.”

  Her gaze drifted briefly toward the door, toward the unseen alliance that had taken root in shadow and necessity.

  Then she left, the torchlight fading behind her, footsteps echoing like a promise carved in stone.

  ***