Morning in the capital city of Kathelyn arrived softly, with golden rays painting the stone walls of the guest estate where the trio now stayed. The hum of merchants preparing for the day buzzed in the distance, while the city's scent—a blend of baked bread, flower oils, and the faint smoke of street fires—drifted lazily through the window.
Rael leaned back against a wooden beam, arms folded, quietly watching the sunlight crawl across the stone floor. Sela was sitting on the edge of the room's table, twirling a small piece of cloth in her fingers—And Nadia... Nadia sat silently on her bed, eyes half-lidded, her fingers absently tracing the seam of the blanket.
The silence was comfortable, but aimless.
"…We really don't have anything to do today, do we?" Rael finally said, his voice low but warm.
Sela sighed, flopping backward dramatically onto the table. "No requests. No monsters. No near-death experiences."
Nadia, still quiet, suddenly spoke without looking up. "Let's explore the capital. The real city. Not just the inns and the gates."
Rael blinked, surprised. "Explore?"
"It's the capital," Nadia added, her voice gentle but sure. "We should see it. Learn it. Live it. We never really... slow down."
There was a long pause.
Then Rael smiled. "Alright. I'm in."
Sela sat up again. "We shouldnt really waste all our money but im in."
---
They stepped into the city just as the market came to life.
Children darted between stalls, laughter trailing behind them. Stalls of every kind lined the cobbled avenues—cloths from southern deserts, spices from the eastern ports, carved figurines from the north. It was a city that had gathered the world into its arms.
Sela immediately dragged them to a tailor's booth, her eyes catching the rich silks and dyed threads.
"I want something ridiculous. Something noble. I wanna walk like I own the place," she said, already flipping through patterns.
Rael rolled his eyes but let himself be pulled in. He found a loose, midnight-blue jacket with a high collar and silver embroidery that felt both light and practical. Nadia picked something simple—a dark violet cloak that blended with her black underclothes.
"You look like a shadow trying to be fancy," Sela teased her.
Nadia only smirked. "You're just jealous I look like I belong to the night."
They tried street food next—crispy pepper rolls stuffed with lamb and lemon, honeyed pastries shaped like birds, and drinks chilled with small frost runes that left their hands tingling.
They watched street performers juggle fire and charm snakes, passed by a temple where silver-haired priests chanted softly under their breath, and even climbed the outer watchtower for a view of the sea glinting in the distance.
---
But far away, beneath the icy walls of Herene, a darker day unfolded.
The dungeon smelled of rot and cold stone. Chains clinked faintly, echoing against walls that hadn't known sunlight in decades.
Lif hung limply from the cuffs, arms raised above his head, his legs barely touching the ground. His hair clung to his face, drenched in sweat and dried blood. The wounds hadn't been cleaned. His breathing was slow. Measured. Like he was waiting for something.
And something was growing.
The iron cuffs—once untouched—were slowly frosting over. Thin tendrils of ice crawled along the surface, whispering softly as they spread. The stone wall behind him had begun to crack in small lines, a reaction to the unnatural cold forming at his wrists.
Still, he didn't move.
Not until the door opened.
Boots scraped against the stone floor. Two guards entered with torchlight in hand.
"You've got a visitor," one grunted.
"I don't care," Lif murmured without lifting his head.
But then he heard the sound—the heavy steps, slow and confident. The weight of metal armor, polished to perfection. A presence so familiar it twisted his gut.
He raised his head.
And there he was.
The man.
The one who killed his mother.
The one who killed his father.
The one who stabbed his unborn brother while he was still in the womb.
The one who burned Lif's entire village to ash.
The one whose sword carved Lif's past into a grave.
Lif's breath hitched.
The guards turned to leave, "We'll leave you two alone."
But before they reached the door, a sharp crack split the air.
The cuffs shattered in an instant.
Frost exploded outward, racing across the ceiling and floor like veins of lightning.
Lif dropped to the ground silently, then rose—taller, straighter than he had stood in days. His body, bruised and torn, now glowed faintly with steam as the frost at his wrists melted into mist.
His eyes locked with the man's.
"i remember You," Lif whispered, voice cold as the storm forming behind his gaze.
The man didn't flinch. But he did stop walking.
The guards froze. "What the—"
Lif didn't even look at them.
He took a single step forward.
Chains shattered behind him.
The frost grew deeper.