Winter fell early across the northern wilds.
Snow blanketed the hills of Stormbreak Vale, where towering pine sentinels guarded ancient secrets beneath their roots. It was a land unclaimed, caught between empires, ruled only by the wind and the occasional monster.
And now, it was where Althar Flameborn had come to seek allies.
The Flameborn could no longer fight alone. With the Empress escalating her attacks and more dark agents lurking in the shadows, Althar knew it was time to stop reacting and start building.
But alliances demanded trust—and Althar still barely understood what trust even felt like.
At the heart of the vale, nestled beside a half-frozen lake, stood Valebridge Hold, a fortress carved from stone and glacierglass. It was old—far older than Crimson Hollow—and its people remembered a time before either empire.
They answered to no crown.
But they respected strength.
Which was why Althar had come himself.
He arrived on foot with Ariya and Seris, wrapped in travel cloaks, bearing no banners. The garrison let them in with cautious eyes and wordless gestures. They didn't fear strangers.
They just expected betrayal.
Inside the hold's hall, a war council of the North awaited him.
At its head: Thane Varric of Icefang, a bearded mountain of a man with frostbitten fingers and eyes the color of storm clouds.
"To march into Stormbreak uninvited is bold," Varric said as he rose. "Or foolish."
Althar removed his hood. "I've been both. But only one of them burned down an empire."
The Thane chuckled, a dry, echoing sound. "I've heard the stories. The Flameborn King. Once heartless. Now haunted."
Ariya tensed, but Althar raised a hand. "Let him speak."
"Fine," Varric said. "Then speak yourself, King. What brings you this far from your ash throne?"
Althar met his gaze. "The world is cracking. The Empress no longer hides behind her court of masks. She sends monsters now. Walkers of the mind. Killers of breath and thought. If we don't stand together—there'll be no mountain left untouched."
Varric scoffed. "We've heard that before. Fire always claims to save us before it consumes us."
But then Seris stepped forward and threw the bones of the Heir of Silence onto the stone floor.
"Then ask your skalds what this is," she spat. "The Empress sends things that unmake people. You think your walls will hold against nothingness?"
Silence fell.
An old skald limped forward, examined the dust, and whispered, "That's not bone. That's... curse-sand. This one was never born right."
Varric frowned, gaze hardening.
"You fought one of the Empress's shadows and lived?"
Althar nodded. "Barely."
"And you'll fight more?"
"Yes."
Varric paced.
Finally, he said, "My people will not kneel to fire. But we will stand beside it, if it lights the way."
Then he held out a hand.
Althar took it.
The pact was made.
That night, under the Vale's aurora-lit sky, Althar stood by the lake alone. Ariya found him there, his breath fogging in the cold.
"You did well," she said. "Old Althar would've tried to rule them. This one convinced them."
"I don't even know how," he admitted. "Half the time, I feel like I'm walking someone else's path."
"Maybe that's the point," she said. "You're changing. Doesn't mean you're broken. Just… rebuilding."
He didn't answer, but her words stayed with him.
As did the strange warmth in his chest.
Meanwhile, across the sea of sands, in the Black Spire Sanctum, Kaelis stood before the Empress.
Still dressed in white. Still silent. Still pretending to obey.
But her eyes no longer mirrored the cold obedience of her childhood.
The Empress handed her a sealed scroll.
"Your next target. The Vale has joined the rebellion."
Kaelis bowed and turned.
She did not open the scroll.
Not yet.
That night, in her private chamber, she unfolded the parchment and read the name.
Althar Flameborn.
She stared at it for a long time.
Then slowly, deliberately, she set it ablaze.
Not with magic.
But with a match.