Dawn broke with the sound of wheels turning in snow.
Not the crude scrape of iron-bound barbarian sleds, but something softer—wood groaning beneath frost, horses exhaling clouds of steam, harness bells muted by winter's hush. The faint creak of wheels traveled ahead of them before they even saw it.
Kel walked at the front of their group, coat drawn close, boots leaving prints too clean and even for the uneven terrain. The eastern horizon remained pale, not yet bleeding light over land. Winter held the world in pale stillness.
Sera's eyes lifted toward the horizon for the first time in hours.
Home.
Or what used to be called that.
Reina walked with silent resolve at Kel's left, the wood of her spear tapping faintly against the ground with each step. Landon followed behind, his steady breath visible in the cold air, his gaze tracking their surroundings with quiet discipline.
They moved with the stillness of people who had already decided today would require clarity.
They would cross into Vanhart territory.
There would be no turning back.
It was Kel who first noticed the shifting silhouettes through the trees.
Wood.
Cloth.
Beasts of burden.
A caravan, slow-moving, bells intentionally softened to avoid attracting snow beasts, the wheels smeared in tar to resist freezing.
A perfect coincidence.
Or a convenient narrative thread.
"Speakeasy transport route," Landon murmured softly, analyzing aloud. "Likely carrying trade goods through neutral stretch. They won't object to extra passengers."
"They might," Reina corrected, "if they recognize Sera."
Sera looked ahead without expression.
Kel watched the caravan a moment longer.
Then stepped forward.
He didn't wave.
He simply placed himself within sight of the lead wagon.
He didn't exert pressure.
He existed.
That was enough.
The lead carts slowed.
A driver—middle-aged, with frost in his beard and worry in his eyes—glanced toward Kel, then to the rest of the group.
Kel waited until the man approached, reins in hand.
His voice, when he spoke, was calm. Unthreatening. But his presence had already calibrated expectation.
"Destination?"
"Vanhart estate border," the driver replied after a short hesitation. "Stopping near Gladen crossing."
Kel nodded once.
"Room for four travelers?"
The man squinted slightly, scanning them. No obvious insignias, no weapons raised. They looked like young mercenaries traversing the North. Skilled, but not overt.
It helped that Sera's hood remained up, disguising noble craft beneath rough furs.
"Two wagons back," the driver said. "Space for goods, and hunters that joined yesterday. Don't cause problems and you can ride without fee."
Kel's lips moved—barely.
"Accepted."
He stepped aside.
Reina followed with silent grace, Landon with steady weight, Sera last, her hand brushing briefly against the wagon as if anchoring herself to its reality.
They climbed aboard.
The wooden bed creaked beneath them as snow resumed falling in soft, unhurried flakes.
The caravan began to move.
Inside the wagon, barrels of dried food and pelts shared space with their quiet shadows. A few traders sat near the back, wrapped in mufflers and bulk furs, eyeing the newcomers.
Kel settled against a crate, posture deceptively relaxed, one knee raised, arm draped across it.
Reina sat across from him, back straight even against rough wood. Landon positioned himself nearest the wagon's rear opening—should a fight come, he would be the first to dismount.
Sera sat beside Kel.
Her hood shadowed half her face.
Snow fell outside, catching on the edges of her lashes.
"I haven't ridden a caravan in five years," she murmured.
Kel did not turn his head.
"Does it feel different?"
Sera exhaled quietly.
"It feels… small."
Kel nodded.
"That's good," he said. "Noble carriages ensure detachment. Walking and riding with common traffic… you'll understand the atmosphere before you face your father."
She looked at him.
"You say that as though you've done it."
Kel's gaze did not shift from the window.
"I know what it is to return to a place that expects your pain to match the memory they kept."
For a moment, Sera simply listened to the cadence of the wheels.
She said nothing.
But her shoulders lowered slightly.
Reina studied Kel silently.
Landon closed his eyes briefly, not asleep—merely centering.
Hours passed.
Fields appeared alongside them, frozen but fertile. Wooden fences half-buried in snow marked territory lines. The first watchtower signifying Vanhart's outer boundaries pierced the skyline.
Beyond it, the forests had been thinned and regulated.
No longer wild.
Cultivated.
Noble lands.
The caravan slowed as the drivers approached a checkpoint where patrols waited with spears and lanterns.
Kel's eyes narrowed slightly.
"Don't move," he said quietly.
"Not unless I do."
Landon opened his eyes.
Reina nodded once.
Sera's fingers clenched in her lap—but she didn't raise her hood.
Kel noticed.
He did not comment.
He simply sat forward slightly.
External sound filtered into the wagon.
"State your passage."
"Caravan from Ashthorne. Goods and provisions. No contraband. Four new riders boarded at the last inn."
"Names?"
"Just passing mercenaries."
Shuffling.
Sera closed her eyes.
Not from fear.
But memory.
Kel shifted the edge of his cloak, positioning himself subtly between her and the opening in the canvas.
The inspection guard peeked in, eyes scanning the group's posture.
He took measure of Landon.
Then Reina.
His eyes reached Kel.
They paused.
Not out of suspicion.
But a strange, quiet caution.
Kel's expression did not alter.
Before the guard could say anything—
Snow thickened unexpectedly around the wagon.
The wind pressed harder.
Breath clouded the opening.
Sairen's presence rippled faintly behind Kel's eyes.
"That is far enough."
The words never spoke aloud.
The guard blinked.
Confused.
"The weather worsens," he muttered, stepping back. "Proceed."
The caravan resumed.
Kel's eyes remained on the dissolving checkpoint behind them.
Sera released her held breath.
Kel looked at her then, only briefly.
"You passed," he said.
"As did they."
Sera held his gaze.
"What if my father doesn't?"
Kel returned his attention to the road ahead.
"That," he said quietly, "depends on which history he chooses to remember."
Reina's eyes dimmed thoughtfully.
Landon stared forward.
Snow fell like lace through the cold.
The caravan reached the inner road.
Vanhart territory unfolded before them—vast frozen fields, a line of evergreens, distant hills of white where the manor would be beyond sight.
In that span of silence…
Sera's hand rested on the wooden frame.
Kel glanced outward, his reflection faint on the frost-tinted glass.
You walk toward consequences, Sairen whispered inwardly.
Kel mentally replied.
Everyone does.
Sairen's presence lingered.
But not everyone chooses to.
Kel's lips curved.
Barely.
I do.
The caravan wheels turned onward.
Four figures rode in silence—
not hiding, not forcing their path.
Accepting its direction.
And winter, for the first time in many years within Vanhart territory…
seemed to feel less like a cage.
And more like a threshold.