The war continued spreading across the plains.
Small.
Distant.
Insignificant.
Because before the Arkhel Wall—
even armies seemed smaller.
The wall rose above the land like a mountain built by human hands.
Too tall.
Too long.
The enormous gates remained closed between colossal masses of dark stone while the towers stretched across the horizon until they vanished into the distance.
Banners marked with the Queen's red rose fluttered above the fortress.
Tiny before the structure.
The wind crossed the walls carrying smoke.
Blood.
Screams.
But Arkhel remained motionless.
As though wars were merely another season of the year.
Far above the gates—
an Arkhel Watch Pavilion stood atop the wall.
And upon the pavilion—
Alaric watched the field.
Golden hair moved beneath the wind.
The pale armor remained still.
Alaric's gaze swept across the plains below.
Unhurried.
Emotionless.
The scar carved by Reinhardt still cut across part of the battlefield.
A colossal wound torn across the earth.
Visible even from that height.
His blue eyes lingered upon it.
Not because of the destruction.
But because of what it had done to the battle lines.
Then they moved on.
To the movements scattered across the battlefield.
To the flanks.
To the central lines.
Footsteps began echoing up the staircase.
Slow.
Controlled.
Alaric did not turn.
"Alina."
The footsteps continued.
"No matter how many times you come up here..."
His blue eyes remained upon the plains.
"I will not send you to the front line."
No answer came.
Only footsteps.
Closer now.
Alaric remained silent for a moment.
Then partially turned his head.
His blue eyes stopped immediately.
The figure climbing the final steps walked without haste.
Extremely long hair fell down her back in pale golden strands.
The red overcoat of the royal court moved slowly beneath the wind crossing the Pavilion.
Golden details ran through the heavy fabrics.
Too noble to need attention.
Crimson-red eyes stared at him in silence.
Like someone accustomed to viewing men the same way others viewed pieces on a board.
Surprise crossed Alaric's face for a few seconds.
His knee immediately touched the wooden floor of the structure.
"Your Highness... Caelith."
His blue eyes lowered briefly.
"Forgive my lack of attention."
"I was not informed that you would personally visit the Wall."
A small smile appeared on Caelith's face.
"Naturally."
His crimson-red gaze remained on Alaric.
"If I announced my arrival..."
"Half of this fortress would be trying to please me."
A brief pause.
"And the other half pretending to be competent."
Without waiting for a response, Caelith continued walking.
He passed Alaric.
And approached the edge of the platform.
Alaric remained silent.
Caelith observed the field.
His crimson-red eyes slowly swept across the different fronts of the battle.
The scar opened by Reinhardt.
The distant smoke.
The broken formations.
And the figure advancing toward Arkhel's gates.
"Five individuals."
"It was enough to alter the balance of the entire battlefield."
His eyes remained on the field.
"They truly live up to the reputation they built during the Hundred War."
The crimson-red eyes slid toward Alaric.
Still kneeling.
The smile widened by only a fraction.
"Rise."
Alaric obeyed immediately.
Caelith turned his eyes back to the field.
"Tell me..."
"How do you intend to deal with them?"
Alaric stopped beside Caelith.
"So far..."
"Everything remains within expectations."
The wind crossed the top of the wall.
White banners rippled above the towers.
"The attacks fulfilled their objective."
"We discovered which sectors responded first."
"And which commanders would personally take the line when pressured."
Alaric's eyes slowly moved across the distant field.
"Knowing the five from the North..."
"The results were not surprising."
A faint smile appeared on the prince's face.
"You call this a result?"
His crimson eyes observed the devastation spread across the battlefield.
"From up here..."
"It looks like the other side is winning."
Alaric did not answer immediately.
His gaze remained distant.
"Your Highness is observing the wrong part of the field."
Caelith's smile grew slightly.
"That is exactly what worries me most."
"My mother also tends to look at the wrong part of things."
The silence remained between them.
"Excessive caution."
"Excessive preservation."
"Excessive concern for what she has already lost."
His crimson eyes slowly drifted toward Alaric.
"Wouldn't you agree, Lord Alaric?"
Alaric remained still.
The wind moved the golden hair near his shoulders.
"My opinion does not alter the Queen's strategy."
"Curious."
Caelith watched him for a few seconds.
"That answer sounds like loyalty."
"But it never sounds like loyalty when it comes from you, Lord Alaric."
The blue eyes finally moved toward him.
Caelith kept smiling.
Calm.
Polite.
"I have always been curious."
"What is it that you truly seek?"
Silence.
"Justice?"
"Duty?"
"Redemption?"
The prince tilted his head slightly.
"Revenge for your dead son?"
"Although I assume that isn't it."
Caelith watched with genuine interest.
Like someone searching for a crack in a fortress wall.
"After all..."
"Weren't you the one who handed over your own youngest son?"
No reaction appeared on the marquis' face.
None.
"What do you truly desire, Lord Alaric?"
The silence remained for several seconds.
The wind crossed the top of the wall.
Alaric kept his eyes on Caelith.
"I do not believe Your Highness crossed Arkhel to discuss my motivations."
"If you desire information regarding the campaign..."
His blue eyes returned to the plains.
"I will answer whatever you deem necessary."
"But what belongs to me holds no relevance to this war."
The crimson eyes remained on him.
"Belongs to you?"
Caelith studied Alaric.
As though searching for something.
A hesitation.
A flaw.
Anything.
But found nothing.
Then—
Footsteps echoed up the staircase behind them.
A knight appeared at the top of the structure.
Upon recognizing the prince, he immediately knelt.
"Your Highness."
"Forgive the interruption."
The man kept his head lowered.
Not daring to continue.
The prince's attention slowly shifted toward him.
"Speak."
The knight lowered his head even further.
"Lord Alaric requested that I inform him..."
"as soon as the preparations for his departure were completed."
Blue eyes moved toward Caelith.
"I ask your leave."
"Your Highness."
For a moment, Caelith continued watching him.
Thoughtful.
"Of course."
"I will not keep you here."
Alaric inclined his head slightly.
And departed alongside the knight.
Their footsteps slowly disappeared through the structure until only the sounds of war remained.
Screams rose from the battlefield.
Metal clashed in the distance.
Caelith remained still, watching it all.
His fingers slowly tapped against the cold wood of the structure.
Once.
Twice.
Three times.
"What did you discover?"
No answer came immediately.
A hooded figure emerged from the shadows near the structure.
Kneeling.
"Your Highness."
"We found a boy matching the description provided."
The prince's fingers stopped.
"Continue."
"The individual was seen two years ago."
"Accompanying the current Lord of Vhaelor."
Silence spread once more.
Far below, soldiers moved through the fortress's inner corridors carrying the wounded.
The smell of blood reached the top of the walls.
"Can you establish contact?"
"No."
The answer came without hesitation.
"Vhaelor's security has proven far more complex than we anticipated."
"All attempts failed."
A brief pause.
"At this moment, we consider everyone who entered dead."
The prince remained silent.
Thoughtful.
Far beneath them, archers reorganized to reinforce the outer lines.
"I see."
The wind slowly moved Caelith's long hair.
"And the preparations?"
"They have been completed."
A small smile appeared at the corner of his lips.
Subtle.
Satisfied.
"Excellent."
His fingertips drummed once against the cold wood.
"And my mother?"
"If there are no delays, Her Majesty should reach Arkhel before nightfall."
Caelith observed the plains for a few more seconds.
"It seems the time has finally come..."
The smile widened slightly.
"to show my mother that excessive caution is nothing more than another form of fear."
Caelith turned.
Without saying another word, he left the Watch Pavilion.
The war continued roaring below the wall.
The golden light of dusk spread across the battlefield.
The white horse advanced through the field.
Ahead of her—
Arkhel soldiers ran to close the passage.
Spears raised.
Shields advancing through the smoke.
Selvaria's ice-blue eyes did not even move.
CRAAAK—
Ice exploded beneath the men's feet.
Bodies froze in the middle of their advance.
Shields became trapped inside crystal.
Horses reared as sudden ice spikes tore through the ground before them.
And before the screams had even ended—
Selvaria had already passed.
The white horse surged through the opening.
The ice began breaking apart behind her.
The frozen soldiers collapsed into fragments upon the blood-soaked mud.
A hundred riders followed right behind.
Like a spear piercing through the battlefield.
"Lady Selvaria!"
The voice rose from among the riders.
She did not slow down.
"The gates!"
"Arkhel's gates are opening!"
Her pale eyes immediately shifted.
Far beyond the smoke...
The enormous gates began to open.
Slowly.
Heavily.
Like a mountain splitting in half.
And a small column of riders began leaving the fortress.
Selvaria's eyes narrowed.
She recognized him immediately.
Pale armor.
Golden hair.
Riding at the front of the formation.
Her fingers tightened around the reins.
"Alaric..."
For the first time since the battle began—
Selvaria's expression changed.
In the distance—
Blue eyes moved.
For a brief instant.
They met hers.
Nothing was said.
No gesture.
No provocation.
Alaric simply continued riding.
Toward the west.
Her fingers clenched the reins.
The white horse accelerated.
"Lady Selvaria?"
One of the riders raised his voice.
She did not answer.
Her eyes remained fixed on that distant figure.
"Lady Selvaria!"
The distance between her and her own formation began to widen.
The two riders exchanged glances.
In the distance—
Arkhel's archers noticed the break in formation and one of them shouted.
"NOW!"
SHHHHHKKK—
The rain of arrows rose.
Darkening part of the sky.
The riders of the North looked up.
"ARROWS!"
"LADY SELVARIA!"
She continued staring in Alaric's direction.
Without blinking.
Without noticing the rest of the battlefield.
SHHHHHKKK—
And then they fell.
And Selvaria kept advancing.
Then—
BOOM—
A rider hurled his own horse into hers.
The impact ripped the animal from its path.
Broke its speed.
Forced it to turn sideways.
At that same instant—
Another charged from the right.
Raising his shield above her.
And the arrows struck both men at the same time.
Piercing armor.
Flesh.
The first rider was ripped from the saddle along with his horse.
The second remained mounted.
Barely.
His arm trembled.
His body bent over the saddle.
But the shield remained raised.
The remaining arrows struck the earth around them.
Selvaria blinked.
As though the battlefield had finally come back into existence.
Her eyes slowly moved.
First to the man fallen upon the ground.
Motionless.
His horse collapsed beside him.
Then to the second.
Still mounted.
Shield raised.
The man's eyes met hers.
And then he gave a relieved smile.
"Lady... Selvaria..."
She remained still.
For a moment.
Her eyes fixed on him.
"Are you... injured...?"
The words struck her harder than any blow.
No answer came.
The man watched her face for another second.
Like someone who had received the only answer he needed.
His smile became slightly lighter.
"I'm glad... you're alright..."
His fingers loosened.
The shield slipped.
His body fell from the saddle.
Heavily.
Dropping into the blood-soaked mud.
Selvaria's eyes followed the fall.
The silence lasted only an instant.
"SECOND VOLLEY!"
SHHHHHKKK—
The arrows rose once more.
And this time the infantry advanced with them.
"ADVANCE!"
"ATTACK THE BREACH!"
The infantry began advancing.
Shields raised.
Spears pointed forward.
Riders emerged right behind them.
Trying to take advantage of the North's disorganized formation.
Selvaria's ice-blue eyes slowly lifted.
There was no anger.
There was no sadness.
Only absolute coldness.
A coldness that made the battlefield itself seem warm.
Her hand rose.
"Fimbul."
CRAAAAAAK—
And the battlefield split in half.
Ice exploded across the plain.
It did not rise like a wall.
Nor like a fortress.
It exploded.
Gigantic crystals tore through the earth in every direction.
Arrows vanished inside the ice.
Horses reared.
Arkhel soldiers were ripped from the ground as frozen pillars emerged beneath their feet.
The battle line itself disappeared beneath a forest of white crystal.
Gigantic crystals rose between the armies.
Dividing the war itself.
The wind crossed the ice spikes.
Carrying glacial air.
And for a brief instant—
only silence remained.
Behind her—
the riders of the North watched in absolute silence.
No one dared say a word.
No one dared move.
Selvaria dismounted.
The sound of boots sinking into frozen mud seemed absurdly loud.
She walked to the first rider.
The one who had thrown his own horse into hers.
She knelt.
Slid one arm beneath the body.
And lifted him.
None of the men around her dared interfere.
She carried the rider to the base of the ice crystals.
Then returned.
Did the same with the second.
Laying the two side by side.
As they had protected her.
Selvaria knelt before them.
Her ice-blue eyes remained on the bodies for a moment before slowly closing.
"May the cold carry your names."
A thin layer of ice began spreading across the bodies.
Silently.
Climbing over armor marked by arrows.
"May the snow preserve your footsteps."
The ice covered them like a white mantle.
"And may no god make you wait before the gates beyond."
When the final words left her lips—
the two were already completely encased in ice.
Her eyes opened once more.
Unshaken.
"You have done your duty."
Her hand briefly rested upon the chest of the first rider.
Then upon the second.
"Now I shall do mine."
Selvaria rose.
Long black hair moved beneath the wind.
"Far vel."
The ice answered.
Thin cracks spread across the ice surrounding the two riders.
The crystal shattered.
Into hundreds of small butterflies of ice.
They took flight.
Crossing through the golden light of dusk.
Shining for a few seconds beneath the reddened sky before disappearing.
Selvaria turned.
Walked toward the white horse.
Mounted without haste.
Her eyes moved toward the horizon.
The sun already touched the distant edges of the plains.
"Reorganize the lines."
Her voice came calmly.
"The sun will soon set."
The riders immediately straightened the formation.
"We are withdrawing."
"Yes, Lady Selvaria!"
The orders began spreading through the line.
Horses turned.
Formations began reorganizing.
Selvaria remained still for a few seconds.
Watching the forest of crystals that still divided the battlefield.
Then she closed her right hand.
The enormous ice spikes began to collapse.
Fragmenting.
Breaking apart.
The path reappeared between the armies.
Selvaria watched the archers for a brief moment.
Then turned her horse.
And rode alongside the rest of the formation.
On the other side of the field—
a young Arkhel rider immediately pointed.
"Sir!"
"They're retreating!"
"This is our best chance!"
Beside him, the platoon leader remained watching the withdrawal.
His eyes fixed on Selvaria's distant figure.
Then on the fragments of ice still scattered across the plain.
The man remained silent for several seconds.
"No."
The young rider turned toward him.
Confused.
"Sir?"
The veteran adjusted his helmet.
His eyes remained upon the battlefield stained by dusk.
"When a storm retreats..."
"Wise men do not chase it."
A brief pause.
"They give thanks for still being alive."
The sun continued descending.
Slowly.
And for the first time that day—
the battlefield began to fall silent.