The wind howled through the stronghold, rattling loose shutters and slipping through the cracks beneath the door. Elias curled deeper into his thin cloak, the threadbare fabric offering little against the biting cold. Sleep came in restless fragments—brief, uneasy moments before the chill or the distant clang of boots in the corridor jolted him awake.
He had learned to exist on little rest. He had learned to wake without expectation.
And when morning came, dragging gray light through his small window, he rose like always.
Another day. Another war.
---
The summons came earlier than usual.
A pounding at the door. A rough voice.
"Up. Now."
Elias obeyed without hesitation, his limbs stiff as he pushed himself upright. The cold had settled deep, numbing his fingers, making his movements sluggish. He followed the soldier through the narrow corridors, past other servants bent over their own tasks.
But this path was different.
Not to the kitchens. Not to the storerooms.
They were leading him elsewhere.
Elias kept his expression neutral, though tension curled in his gut. The soldiers never wasted effort without reason.
The grand hall was dimly lit, the embers in the massive hearth casting flickering shadows. A handful of men were gathered, their voices low, their armor half-fastened as if they had dressed in a hurry.
Something had happened.
Elias was shoved forward.
"On your knees," the soldier beside him barked.
He complied, feeling the cold stone bite through his trousers. His gaze remained lowered, his heartbeat steady. Whatever this was, they wanted something from him.
A new voice cut through the air. Smooth. Measured.
"You are a quiet one, aren't you?"
Elias recognized that voice.
Dain.
The captain of Caidren's personal guard.
Slowly, Elias lifted his gaze.
Dain was watching him, arms folded, a faint smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. His dark hair was damp with melted snow, his cloak dusted with white. He had only just returned.
Which meant—
Elias didn't allow the thought to take root.
Not yet.
Dain stepped forward, crouching before him, studying him like one might examine a curiously obedient dog.
"You should be grateful," he murmured. "The Alpha doesn't have time for you. But we do."
A beat of silence.
Elias did not move. Did not react.
Dain's smirk widened.
"That blank look of yours is starting to bore us." He tilted his head. "But maybe you're more useful than you seem."
Another soldier stepped forward, dropping something onto the floor between them. A roll of parchment, the seal broken. Elias didn't need to read the words to understand.
A message had come.
Caidren was still gone.
And the stronghold, restless and waiting, had found a new purpose for him.
Dain straightened, his voice light. Almost amused.
"We need a messenger," he said. "Someone small. Unassuming." His eyes gleamed. "Expendable."
Elias stared at the parchment.
A cold dread settled in his bones.
The war was drawing closer.
And for the first time in a long while, the soldiers had given him a choice.
Obey.
Or refuse.
Either way, he would not leave this hall unchanged.