Evelyne's journey north was an unrelenting march into the heart of her grief. The carriage jolted over uneven paths, each bump jarring her already raw nerves. The early part of their journey had been cloaked in the muted warmth of late autumn; the air was crisp, the trees heavy with leaves in hues of amber. But as they ventured further north, the vibrant landscape faded into a barren world of icy winds and frost-kissed pines. The gentler warmth of the central plains gave way to a biting chill that seeped through the carriage walls, despite the thick furs draped across their laps.
The entourage was small, two attendants, one driver, and another Evelyne's loyal maid, Hely. The other servants had either perished in the flames or fled in terror. The survivors sat in stoic silence atop the carriage, their breaths visible in the icy air, while Evelyne and Hely shared the cramped interior. A faint scent of damp wood and burning coal from the carriage's small brazier mixed with the sharper, bitter tang of the winter wind.
Hely, seated across from Evelyne, watched her mistress with a mixture of concern and affection. Evelyne's face was pale, her silver eyes clouded with exhaustion and sorrow.
"My lady", Hely ventured, her voice gentle but firm, "you've not closed your eyes for days. Please, rest. At least for a few moments."
Evelyne's gaze lingered on the frost-covered window, where fleeting glimpses of snow-laden trees flashed by. "Hely..." she murmured, her voice barely audible over the rhythmic creak of the carriage. "Do you think the northern Margrave will truly offer us refuge? Or will we be turned away, like beggars at a noble's gate?"
Hely leaned forward, her expression softening. She took Evelyne's cold hands in her own and gave them a reassuring squeeze. "I don't know, my lady. But the Ardane family has always been bound to Vargas by more than just politics. They won't abandon you. And even if they're fools enough to try," she added with a sly smile, "we'll manage. You'll charm them with your brilliance, secure some grand favor, and before you know it, the Margrave may appoint you as the head of their chamber of commerce."
Evelyne's cheeks colored faintly, a rare flicker of warmth in her otherwise somber expression. "Hely, please," she muttered, averting her gaze. "It's not time for jokes."
Hely chuckled, her tone turning mischievous. "Oh, my lady, you must let me have my fun. Otherwise, what am I supposed to do? Spend the rest of the journey staring at your solemn face and worrying myself to death? And besides," she added with a mock-serious expression, "it's not as though your beauty has faded just because we've crossed into colder lands."
Evelyne shook her head, hiding her face behind her long silver hair, a reluctant smile tugging at the corners of her lips. "You're incorrigible, Hely."
"Only because you need me to be," Hely replied with a grin. Then, her expression softened once more. "Rest, my lady. Even the strongest of hearts need respite."
The warmth in Hely's voice carried a depth forged through years of companionship. Evelyne recalled their earliest days. Hely had been a constant, steady presence. She was more than a maid; she was like a mentor. From Evelyne's first faltering harp lesson from her mother, to her late-night studies of trade with her father, Hely had stood by her, offering guidance and comfort.
And now, she was the only anchor left amidst the chaos. Outside, the world continued to shift and harden around them, the golden hues of autumn now fully replaced by the silver and white expanse of winter. The journey was far from over, but in that moment, amidst the cold and uncertainty, Hely's presence was a small but precious comfort.
Evelyne closed her eyes, allowing the rhythmic sway of the carriage and Hely's quiet hums to lull her into an uneasy slumber.
Evelyne awoke with a start as the carriage came to a jarring halt. For a moment, she thought it was just another uneven patch of road, but the chilling stillness outside whispered otherwise. The faint crackle of something unnatural reached her ears-wood splintering, muffled screams swallowed by the wind. Her breath caught, and a dreadful silence followed, thick and oppressive, before her eyes adjusted to the horrific scene beyond the frost-kissed windows.
The pristine white snow outside was smeared with dark rivulets of blood, pooling around the broken forms of the driver and Hely. Their lifeless faces stared upward, etched with terror, as if frozen in their final moments. Evelyne's hands trembled, her heart pounding in her chest. The wind carried faint echoes of violence, the tang of iron mingling with the sharp, biting air. She stumbled out of the carriage, the crimson stains on her dress seeping into her skin as though trying to claim her.
The distant sound of hoofbeats snapped Evelyne out of her daze, drawing her gaze toward the treeline. A squad of knights emerged cautiously, their armor gleaming faintly in the pale winter light. The sigil of House Ardane—a snow wolf howling against a crescent moon—was unmistakable.
The captain, a towering figure with piercing blue eyes, froze as his gaze swept over the devastation. His lips parted in shock. "Holy God..." he muttered, his composure faltering. His hand hovered near the hilt of his sword, suspicion flickering as his gaze landed on Evelyne. To him, she was a bloodied figure amidst the chaos, the sole survivor of an inexplicable slaughter.
Evelyne forced herself to her feet, though her body screamed in protest. Her trembling hands clutched the Vargas crest—a relic of her shattered life. "I... am Evelyne Vargas," she rasped, her voice breaking. "My family was destroyed. My home burned."
The captain's eyes narrowed, but after a moment, he signaled for his men to lower their weapons. "Show me your family crest."
Evelyne held up the crest, her voice faltering as she pleaded, "Please take me to the Margrave. I have urgent news to deliver."
The captain hesitated, his expression grim. Finally, he nodded, dispatching one of his knights ahead with a message for the Ardane estate. The others formed a protective circle around Evelyne.
As the group set off, the snowfall thickened, the world transforming into a silent, treacherous expanse. Evelyne sat stiffly in the saddle of a borrowed horse, her breaths shallow and her gaze fixed on the horizon. The biting wind tore at her skin, but she barely noticed, her thoughts consumed by the weight of survival and loss. Her fingers tightened around the Vargas crest, a fragile lifeline in a world that seemed determined to crush her.
Ahead, the Ardane estate loomed against the twilight sky—a fortress of stone and ice, its frost-covered battlements glinting ominously in the fading light. Evelyne drew a shaky breath, her grief sharpening into resolve. With nothing left to lose, she was more determined than ever to exact vengeance against the Imperial Family, even if it meant orchestrating a rebellion that would set the entire northern region ablaze.