The wind howled through the ruins.
It carried the stench of dried blood and rotting corpses.
I walked.Or rather, I staggered.
My body screamed in protest with every step. My muscles were numb, my bones frozen by the biting wind. Each breath burned my lungs.
But I kept moving.
Because if I stopped…
I would die.
I looked down at my hands. They were trembling, stained with blood. Not mine.
The blood of the scavenger I had killed.
The blood of the corpses I had looted for anything useful.
Clothes, a cracked water flask, an old, dull dagger.
Anything that could help me survive.
A wave of nausea rolled over me.
Me, a noble.
A Valenhardt.
I had grown up with luxury and discipline. I had been taught etiquette, swordsmanship, politics.
And now?
Now, I was no better than the scavengers I had slain.
I clenched my fists.
There is no nobility anymore. No pride.
Only survival.
A sudden noise snapped me out of my thoughts.
I froze, holding my breath.
Something was moving in the shadows.
A crack.
A low growl.
I pressed myself against a crumbling wall, gripping my dagger tightly.
Another scavenger?
I risked a glance.
No.
Not a beast.
Men.
Three figures stood near a makeshift fire, gathered in the ruins of what was once a northern outpost.
Raiders.
The kind of rats that crawled out from the gutters after every war, scavenging, killing, and looting without remorse.
I observed them carefully.
One of them wore a thick fur cloak, a rusty sword hanging from his hip. Another, skinnier, was toying with a pouch filled with stolen coins.
But the third one caught my attention.
He had someone pinned to the ground.
A child.
Couldn't be older than fourteen. His clothes were torn, his face covered in dirt and tears.
— You're lucky, kid. We won't kill you just yet.
The raider grinned, revealing yellowed teeth.
— Tell us where your family is hiding, and maybe we'll let you go.
The boy shook his head frantically, his entire body trembling.
— I… I don't have anyone! I swear!
— Wrong answer.
The man raised his hand.
And struck.
A dull thud echoed in the night as the boy collapsed into the snow.
I took a slow breath.
A weight pressed down on my chest.
It's not my problem.
I have to leave.
I closed my eyes for a moment, trying to silence the storm inside me.
I could barely keep myself alive.
Saving a kid?
That would be suicide.
Iopened my eyes.
The raider raised his sword.
The boy curled up, lifting his arms in a desperate attempt to shield himself.
My hand clenched around the dagger.
My breathing quickened.
I knew what I should do.
Leave.
Forget about him.
But the boy's eyes locked onto mine.
A silent plea.
Begging.
I didn't move.
I turned around.
And I walked away.
The boy collapsed into the snow, his frail body shaking violently. His ragged breaths came in sharp gasps, each one clouding in the cold air.
The raider towering over him let out an exaggerated sigh, shaking his head as if disappointed.
— Come on, kid. Just tell us where your family is hiding. We ain't got all night.
The boy whimpered, shaking his head frantically, his entire frame trembling under the weight of fear.
— I don't have anyone! Please, I swear!
The raider scoffed, rolling his shoulders as if preparing for something tedious.
— Wrong answer.
His hand tightened around the hilt of his sword, and he raised it high, the metal catching the dim light of the fire.
I inhaled sharply. My pulse pounded in my ears.
Three men. Three targets.
If I struck first, I could—
No.
My breath hitched. My muscles locked up.
This isn't my fight.
I swallowed the lump in my throat, trying to push down the nausea rising in my stomach.
My legs felt like lead. My fingers twitched around the handle of my dagger. I could feel the sweat pooling in my palm despite the biting cold.
The boy's eyes darted around, wild and desperate—until they landed on me.
For a brief moment, the world stood still.
He had seen me.
He knew I was there.
A silent plea filled his gaze. A desperate, wordless cry for help.
And I…
I did nothing.I turned my back.
And I walked away.
A dull thud echoed behind me.
Then another.
Then… silence.
I didn't look back.
I didn't let myself listen.
I forced my legs to keep moving, step after step, as if nothing had happened.
As if I hadn't just left that boy to die.
As if my own heart wasn't rotting inside my chest.
The wind howled, carrying with it the stench of blood and death. I adjusted the cloak around me, pulling it tighter to shield myself from the cold.
But the cold wasn't the real problem.
I walked aimlessly, barely noticing where my feet were taking me.
The chill of the wind should have bitten into my skin, but I barely felt it. My hands were stiff, my body aching, but my mind was elsewhere.
Something heavy sat in my chest. It wasn't just guilt. It wasn't just regret.
It was the weight of understanding.
I knew what I had done.
Or rather, what I had failed to do.
I could have stepped in. I could have saved that child.
But I hadn't.
Because I knew what it would mean.
Icannot afford to play the hero.
Not in this world. Not with what I had lost.
Being a hero meant dying first.
I had chosen survival.
I repeated those words over and over, forcing myself to believe them.
But then why?
Why did it feel like I had lost something anyway?
I exhaled slowly, watching as my breath curled in the freezing air.
A realization settled over me like a weight I would never shake off.
That was the last piece of my humanity.
And I had left it behind, buried in the crimson snow.
Meanwhile, at the Imperial Palace…
The Azure Palace stood at the heart of the empire, untouched by war, pristine and grand in a way that felt almost insulting.
Here, there were no ruins. No bodies strewn across the streets. No blood soaking the soil.
Only polished marble, towering columns, and nobles wrapped in their silks and jewels, far removed from the suffering that had consumed the North.
At the center of the grand hall, Arthur Valerius stood before the Imperial Council, his hands clenched into fists at his sides.
His voice, though steady, burned with restrained fury.
— The House of Valenhardt has guarded the North for a thousand years.
Silence stretched through the chamber, thick with unspoken words.
— And you expect us to do nothing?
A man draped in gold and velvet shifted in his seat, raising a hand in what was meant to be a calming gesture.
— Prince Arthur, we understand your distress, but—
— Distress?
Arthur let out a hollow chuckle, though there was no amusement in it.
— The North has fallen. We have lost our first line of defense against the unknown. And you speak of distress?
His gaze swept across the room, searching for any sign of resolve, any hint that someone—anyone—understood the gravity of the situation.
He found nothing.
They had no intention of acting. Not yet.
Not until they had weighed the costs of war against their own interests.
Arthur took a slow breath.
Then, finally, he understood.
He was alone.
Seth was alone.
No one was coming.
If the North was to be avenged…
He would have to do it himself.