It was late afternoon in the barracks. Frost stood leaning against the cold, unyielding stone wall of the main hallway, his silhouette cast long by the waning light streaming through the narrow windows. The air was thick with tension and the lingering scent of sweat and iron. He pulled out a pack of cigarettes, the paper crinkling softly in his hands, but after a moment's contemplation, he sighed deeply and slipped them back into his pocket. His mind was a tempest of thoughts, and he needed clarity, not a clouded mind.
A heavy oak door creaked open, revealing a young priestess. Her face was pale and drawn, etched with exhaustion rather than fear. Tears welled in her red, raw cheeks, tracing glistening paths through the soot that streaked her once-sacred robes. Her hands trembled as a guard, his face grim, escorted her away, a stack of parchment clutched tightly under his arm. The stark whiteness of the papers seemed to mock the priestess's despair.
Next came a civil servant, an elegant woman in a tight, meticulously tailored blue dress that clung to her like a second skin. Her glasses perched delicately on her nose, and she carried an air of professionalism that was slightly marred by her shaken composure. As she caught sight of Frost, a shy smile flickered across her face, a momentary reprieve in the grim scene unfolding before them, before averting her gaze and hurrying away, her heels clicking a rapid staccato on the stone floor.
Finally, Doyle emerged. He was a young guard, saved by Astra and Bang years ago. He adjusted his brown hair with a nonchalant flick and scratched his cheek. Taller but less muscular than Frost, Doyle's presence was both familiar and unwelcome. His eyes, usually downcast, now looked straight at Frost, a silent challenge hanging in the air. Everyone knew of the deep-seated animosity between them, a simmering tension that was palpable.
"Well?" Frost's voice was a low growl, laced with repressed urgency.
"In summary, when the attack began, she hid in the basement. She couldn't recall what they were after, but one name stuck with her," Doyle began, his tone carrying the weight of the interview's gravity. Frost straightened, his muscles tensing in anticipation.
"Ash Blackfrost," Doyle finished, his voice strained. The name sent a jolt through Frost. It was a name he didn't recognize, yet it sparked a flicker of unease deep within him. A nagging suspicion pricked at the back of his mind, a sense of something forgotten, something crucial. He frowned, furrowing his brow in concentration as he tried to grasp at the elusive memory.
Frost exhaled slowly, his expression hardening like stone. "Anything else?"
Doyle shook his head, his nervous energy radiating like a palpable wave. He rattled off a list of mundane details, but Frost barely registered them. His focus had narrowed to the single name, a chilling whisper in the back of his mind. Frost turned and left without another word.
"Damn it!" Frost cursed under his breath as he navigated the bustling marketplace. The cobblestone streets were alive with the sounds of merchants hawking their wares and children laughing. "The Captain won't be happy hearing this." The scent of fresh bread mingled with the acrid tang of sweat and dust, a chaotic symphony of the city's daily life. He fumbled for his cigarettes again, the familiar comfort a tempting escape from the churning thoughts in his head. With a grimace, he shoved them back into his pocket.
"Ash Blackfrost," he muttered under his breath, the name a mantra echoing in the cavernous emptiness of his mind. He tried to dredge up a memory, a face, anything to connect to that name, but his past remained stubbornly opaque.
A soft voice cut through his internal battle. "Excuse me, sir?"
"Excuse me," the voice repeated, more insistent this time. Frost, his brow furrowed in concentration, continued his unwavering pace through the bustling marketplace. The weight of the investigation pressed down on him, the name "Ash Blackfrost" echoing in the cavernous emptiness of his mind.
"Mr. Guardsman, stop, please!" Finally, a breathless voice cut through his thoughts. He stopped and turned, his gaze landing on the civil servant from the barracks. Her cheeks flushed a rosy hue, and her chest rose and fell rapidly from her exertions. For a moment, he was captivated by the sight of her heaving chest, but he quickly refocused.
"What do you want?" Frost's voice was gruff, laced with a hint of impatience he couldn't quite mask. The encounter was unexpected, a distraction he didn't need right now.
The woman straightened up, revealing her striking beauty. Her long, straight black hair cascaded down her back like a silken waterfall, and her brown eyes, framed by long, dark lashes, sparkled with determination. Her soft, alabaster skin glowed in the afternoon sunlight, exuding a sweet, natural aroma that momentarily distracted Frost. Her simple dress couldn't hide the elegance of her movements, a quiet strength simmering beneath the surface.
"I wanted to ask you something," she stammered, her voice a touch breathless. Her cheeks flushed a deeper shade of red with every word.
In the silence that followed, Frost took in every detail of her, admiring her grace and beauty. Her elegant dress accentuated her curves, and the way she held herself spoke of a quiet strength and vulnerability that was captivating.
"Would you like to – I mean, would you be interested in going to the tavern?" she stammered, her voice tripping over itself.
"I'm busy,," Frost replied tersely, taking a few steps away. Duty gnawed at him, but there was something about this woman that sparked a flicker of intrigue. He saw a hint of vulnerability beneath her confident facade, a vulnerability that resonated with something deep within him. But then Frost paused and turned back.
A rare smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. "Evening, then," he conceded, a hint of amusement in his voice. "We can go for a drink."
"I will wait," she called out, her voice filled with renewed joy. She bounced on her toes, unable to contain her excitement. As Frost turned and strode away, a single thought echoed in his mind: "Ash Blackfrost." What secrets did that name hold? Seeing him walk further away, she wanted to run after him but was too winded from her earlier efforts.
"Gilded Griffin! My name is…" The rest of her words were drowned out by the cacophony of the marketplace. Merchants haggled loudly over their wares, children laughed and played, and the general bustle of the late afternoon filled the air with a symphony of noise. Frost continued his purposeful stride toward the first tier, intent on meeting his captain and sharing what he had learned.
As he walked, his mind wandered back to the encounter. "What a cute girl," he thought, a slight smile tugging at the corners of his lips. The sun was dipping lower in the sky, casting long, dramatic shadows that danced across the cobblestone streets, painting the city in hues of gold and amber. The smells of street food mingled with the scents of fresh flowers creating a rich tapestry of sensory experiences.
The closer he got to the first tier, the more the atmosphere changed. The bustling marketplace gave way to quieter, more orderly streets lined with well-kept houses and stately buildings.
Upon arriving at the first tier, Frost encountered his comrades, who questioned him about his visit to the restricted area. After explaining his purpose, they allowed him through. He found himself standing in the middle of a paved square dominated by a mature oak tree, its leaves lazily drifting in the wind, branches creaking, bearing the marks of old age. Surrounding the tree were various flowers and bushes, creating a vibrant and serene atmosphere. He stole a glance at the grand houses surrounding it – the Bishop's residence, austere and imposing, Fiora's mansion with its extravagant gardens.
From this square, roads led to the bishop's and Fiora's mansions. Ari's home stood out, but another mansion caught his eye—distinct in size and build, layered with brick. This was the residence of Elera Windrake. Though not particularly large or ostentatious, the mansion reflected the family's past glories. Elera's ancestors had been prominent in the military and mineral extraction, but their golden age had long since faded.
As Frost admired his surroundings, he drew more and more attention. Onlookers wondered what a guard was doing there. To dispel any doubts and avoid gossip, he headed straight for the Rosviel mansion. Standing before the majestic, intricately carved wooden walls and lush, green surroundings, he couldn't help but compare it to his modest flat, which paled in comparison. With a sigh, he reached for the iron-handled door.
Knocking on the door with an iron handle, he caused a flurry of activity inside. He heard footsteps on the polished wood approaching. The door opened slightly, and Mia peeked out.
"Who's there?" she asked, her voice tinged with caution.
Frost smiled inwardly at the oddity of the situation—being questioned in the most secure place in the city, perhaps even the theocracy, by a cautious maid. "I have come to visit Captain Astra and give her a brief report about the hearing. My name is Frost..."
"She is waiting for you. I will inform her of your arrival," Mia replied.
By mistake, Mia opened the door a bit wider. Seeing this as an invitation, Frost stepped closer, but the door suddenly closed in his face. Inside, Mia swiftly moved her tiny feet on the polished wooden floor she had recently cleaned. She passed Ari, who was climbing the stairs leading to the basement, but Mia did not notice her.
Mia reached Astra's room and, after a moment to warm up and clear her throat, knocked on the door. "Come," was the response.
Inside, Astra sat bathed in the glow of a dim light, surrounded by a mass of papers and documents. Her iron gauntlets were left near the door. She still wore her cuirass and boots, and her favourite sword was within easy reach, even at home. Asurian had taught her that for a warrior, a sword is an extension of the arm—something you simply don't put away. So, it stayed with her always.
Adjusting her crimson fringe, Astra looked at Mia with questioning eyes. "A guard with the hearing report has come. His name was Mrost, he said."
Raising her eyebrows and shaking her head slightly, Astra said, "Bring him here."
Ari had been eavesdropping the entire time. Upon hearing Frost's name, she knew her guardian from yesterday had come. Ari rushed to the door, gliding on the polished floor, and grabbed the door handle. She slowly opened the door, revealing herself to Frost with a smile, eager to impress him. But the reality was more disappointing than her dream. Frost wasn't in the mood for flirting or joking around. With a blank expression, he showed no reaction to Ari's welcome.
"Hi, Frost," she said.
With a forced smile, he answered, "Hi, Miss. I hope you're feeling better today."
Mia joined them and didn't let Ari play small talk with the guard. "Ms. Astra is waiting for you. Please come inside."
Ari stepped aside, letting Mia take the lead. She waited in the living room, laying on the couch and observing. Frost hesitated before taking his first step into Fiora's mansion. He looked at his dirty, rusty iron boots with a little disgust on his face, then met the eyes of the maid.
"Leave them inside," Mia said. She wasn't about to let him in with those filthy boots, not after recently cleaning the floor.
Inside, Frost looked around, increasingly admiring the beauty of the household. He didn't consider himself a man who appreciated aesthetics, but here he was. His eyes moved to his armor and gloves, also dirty and rusty. His thoughts were disrupted by Mia, who appeared behind him out of the blue, pushing him further inside.
"Go. Go. Go. She is waiting."
Hastened by this little woman, Frost moved on. He met eyes with Ari, who was still lying on the couch, observing his entire journey. His eyes, eager to satisfy his appreciation for beauty and composition, rapidly moved all around, trying to admire as much as he could in this short walk. Standing before the half-open door leading to his captain's private solitude, he knocked and said, "Captain, it's Frost. I'm going in."
The door revealed a dimly lit room, with silk curtains and wooden carved furniture. A king-size bed with fresh bedding, an empty armour stand in the corner, a bookshelf with military texts, and a shelf with gems and statues of soldiers and warriors. On the desk was a marble statue of Hirako, the kitsune goddess, gently stroked by Astra, who was clearly lost in thought. Seeing her in this circumstance, Frost truly saw the attractive woman in her, with her long crimson hair, fluffy ears now floppy, and her tail peacefully sweeping the floor. Sighing, Astra looked at the door. Upon seeing him standing and peeping at her, she turned red. A heavy silence hung between them. Clearing her throat, Astra started:
"Erm… So, what is the report?" Astra's voice broke through Frost's wandering thoughts, bringing him back to the present. He shook his head, trying to refocus.
"Not much..." He scratched his ear, feeling the weight of the information he had to share. "Doyle said that the only valid information was the name of a person who might be the leader of the attack."
"Doyle said that?" Astra's eyebrow arched in surprise. She turned her whole body to face Frost, crossing her arms over her chest. "You weren't with them?" Her tone was incredulous, her eyes narrowing as she scrutinised him.
"No. I was late. He got the civil servant, the scribe, and the witness quicker than he said he would," Frost admitted, his frustration barely contained. He hated being outpaced by Doyle, especially on such an important matter.
Astra lowered her chin, her gaze shifting to the curtains that let a straight beam of light inside the room. The soft afternoon light illuminated the room, casting intricate shadows on the wooden floor. She stood up and walked to the window, opening the curtains further to let the light flood in. The warm glow accentuated the elegant furnishings, from the finely carved wooden furniture to the rich tapestries adorning the walls.
"I will have to talk with him about that. Your behaviour towards each other is... unacceptable," Astra said, her voice carrying a hint of disappointment. The tension between Frost and Doyle had been a recurring issue, one that she could no longer ignore.
Frost crossed his arms over his chest, his face a mask of neutrality. "I will meet the civil servant who was at the hearing this evening. I will ask her some questions."
Intrigued, Astra turned to face him fully. Her sharp eyes studied his, noticing how he avoided her gaze. She walked closer, her presence commanding and unyielding. "Why will you see her in the evening?"
"It's a private matter," Frost responded, his tone guarded. He wasn't ready to share the details of his personal intentions.
Astra smiled and patted his shoulder. It was unlike the shoulders of her siblings, her touch registering the distinct difference. This shoulder was thick and strong, his muscles like rock stuffed inside his skin, and his armour only compounded this effect.
"I won't drill into this." Stepping back, she placed her hands on her hips, her posture exuding authority. "So, what was this only valid information?"
"Oh yes..." Frost, momentarily confused, gathered his thoughts. "A name the priestess heard was... Ash Blackfrost."
Astra's eyes narrowed, her mind racing to place the name. "Ash Blackfrost... never heard of him. Did the priestess provide any more context?"
"No, Captain. She was too shaken to remember much else. She only mentioned that name amidst the chaos," Frost explained, feeling the weight of the uncertainty in the room.
Astra walked to her desk, her fingers drumming rhythmically on the wooden surface. The marble statue of Hirako, the kitsune goddess, seemed to watch over her, its serene expression contrasting starkly with the turmoil within her. The room was filled with the scent of aged wood and parchment, a testament to the countless hours she spent immersed in her duties.
"This complicates things," she muttered to herself, her thoughts racing. Her hands became motionless as silence grew. Holding her chin again, she walked to a bookshelf and scanned the titles stored there. The books were a mix of military texts, historical accounts, and religious scriptures, each one meticulously organised. "This name doesn't tell me anything. I have a lot of work to do here. Go now, we will talk tomorrow and remind me to tell this to Mike."
"Yes." Frost took a few steps back, his mind still processing the interaction. As he grabbed the door handle to close the door, he heard, "Or you can tell him when you meet him by any chance."
"I will. Good day, Captain."
Frost closed the door and was immediately met by the intrigued maid who had been watching him closely. Her eyes followed his every move, curiosity evident in her gaze.
"I'm going," he said brusquely, feeling a mixture of relief and tension as he left the room.
Frost walked down the elegant hallway, his footsteps echoing softly against the polished wooden floor. He instinctively glanced at the plush couch in the living room where Ari had been lounging earlier, but now she was nowhere to be seen. The intricate designs on the walls and the lavish decorations of the Rosviel mansion surrounded him, a stark contrast to the utilitarian decor of the barracks he was used to.
"And you?" A mature, commanding female voice echoed through the household, breaking the silence.
Frost halted immediately, bowing deeply, his body rigid with respect and a touch of nervousness. He did not dare move an inch, sensing the presence of someone important.
Fiora, the matron of the mansion and High Priestess, appeared before him. She was a vision of grace and authority, her red dress clinging sensuously to her figure, highlighting her elegance and undeniable allure. The dress cascaded down her form, accentuating her curves, while a delicate cloak covered her bosom and legs, adding an air of mystery to her appearance. Her dark hair was impeccably styled, and her eyes, sharp and knowing, seemed to pierce through him.
"Oh right. We have met before…" Fiora's voice trailed off as she looked up at Frost. Her presence was magnetic, and despite the cloak, her sensuality and poise were palpable.
"Yes, it was me and my friend and guard, Samuel," Frost replied, his voice steady but imbued with respect.
"Thank you for that, I appreciate it," Fiora said, her tone softer yet still regal.
"Don't mention it, ma'am," Frost said, bowing again, sweat forming on his cheeks. Clenching his hands, he spoke earnestly, "It's an honour to serve under you. Don't thank me for anything."
Fiora smiled, a gesture that illuminated her face, adding warmth to her otherwise imposing presence. She turned gracefully and ascended the grand staircase to her room, her movements fluid and elegant, leaving Frost alone with Mia. The maid, ever vigilant, was already behind him, ready to usher him out.
He put on his boots, each step feeling heavy with the weight of his dirty, rusty iron footwear. He glanced around the opulent foyer one last time, taking in the richness of the surroundings—the carved wooden furniture, the gleaming floors, and the luxurious tapestries that adorned the walls. With two steps out, the door was immediately closed behind him, the sound resonating like a final punctuation to his visit.
Feeling like an intruder not only in the Rosviel mansion but in the entire first tier, Frost hastened his movements to leave this place as quickly as possible. The sense of being out of place gnawed at him, a stark reminder of the divide between his world and the opulence he had just left behind. As he walked away, the crisp afternoon air filled his lungs, and the familiar roughness of the marketplace began to envelop him once more. The scents of baked goods and fresh produce mingled in the air, grounding him back to reality.