If the Capital is a deceptive golden symphony, then The Ash-Hell of the North is a killing silence. Here, the snow is not white; it falls as black ash—the charred remains of countless monster carcasses.
Harold de Croul stood atop the ramparts of Isfellan Fortress. His black armor no longer gleamed, marred by deep gouges and stubborn stains of frozen blood. His dark eyes scanned the horizon, where an ashen blizzard began to choke the view.
"General," a heavy voice called from behind. "The supplies from the center have failed to arrive again. Our grain reserves are only enough for three days. The soldiers in the barracks have begun eating the leather of their boots."
Harold did not turn. His voice was raspy, like a blade scraping against stone. "And the Church? What is their excuse this time?"
"They say... the grain is needed for the welcoming ceremony of the new Saintess in the Capital. They call it the 'Offering of Voice'."
Harold gripped the stone battlement until it cracked. "The people starve so a girl can sing upon an altar? William has truly lost his mind."
Suddenly, the sound of galloping hooves echoed through the ashen mist. It was not a heavy warhorse, but a lone rider charging with frantic speed through the storm. The gate guards immediately aimed their bows, but Harold raised his hand.
"Hold," Harold commanded. He recognized that dark blue cloak.
The rider skidded to a halt beneath the tower. He dismounted with efficient, calculated movements. His name was Julian, the right hand and confidant of Lady Anne Marie Vain. His face was pale from the cold, but his eyes were as sharp as a freshly whetted dagger.
Julian climbed the fortress stairs and bowed respectfully before Harold. He pulled a silver tube sealed with sea-blue wax from beneath his cloak.
"General de Croul," Julian's voice was steady, a sharp contrast to the roaring Northern winds. "Lady Anne sends her regards. She apologizes for not being able to attend in person; William's spies in Vaine-Castell are watching her every move like vultures."
Harold took the silver tube. "Then why did she send you to this hell, Julian? Does Anne Marie wish to flaunt her remaining wealth over my soldiers' suffering?"
"She sends a solution, not a display," Julian replied undaunted. He handed over a document containing a secret logistics manifest. "Lady Anne has secured three cargo ships of grain from Aethelgard. These ships will not pass through official ports. They will land at Skull Bay—a route known only to Lady Anne's people."
Harold scanned the document quickly. His eyes narrowed. "Grain, medicine, and... anti-resonance armor? She knows what the Church is working on?"
"Lady Anne knows everything William wishes to remain hidden," Julian stepped closer, lowering his voice. "But Lady Anne does not give this for free. She offers a permanent alliance. A marriage of convenience between yourself and her, to unite the military might of the North with the economic power of the West."
Harold let out a cold laugh, a sound that seemed to hurt his throat. "She wants to marry a man who sleeps atop piles of monster corpses?"
"She wants to marry the man capable of tearing down the Cathedral," Julian corrected firmly. "Lady Anne said: 'Tell Harold, if he agrees to sign this contract, the grain will arrive before dawn. If not, then we are both simply waiting for our turn to be executed by William's holy song.'"
Harold stared at the document in his hand, then at his soldiers shivering in the cold below. He took a small dagger from his waist, sliced his own palm, and pressed a blood-seal onto the document.
"Tell your mistress, Julian," Harold said, handing the parchment back. "I will marry her plan. But if she betrays me, I will personally ensure her head falls before mine."
Julian accepted the document and bowed once more. "Lady Anne anticipated your answer. The wedding ceremony will be performed in absentia tomorrow morning. By law, from this moment forward, the wealth of Vaine-Castell belongs to the North."
As Julian spurred his horse back into the mist, Harold gazed toward the South. Far in the distance, the Cathedral bells began to toll, welcoming Rainnes Juoi into her gilded cage.
The true war had just begun.