The fires still smoldered.
Ash stained the stone streets, and melted snow bled into blackened soil where walls once stood. Vireloch, wounded but alive, breathed beneath veils of smoke and grief. The Hollow King's forces had been repelled, but the cost had carved deep into its people—too many dead, too many homes lost.
Zareena stood at the city's gate as the horizon cracked with sunlight.
Then the thunder of hooves.
And banners.
The Serinova crest.
Her father's cavalry rode in formation through the battered gates—armor gleaming like burnished ice, supply wagons trailing behind, filled with medicine, tools, and grain. Behind them, war-mages and engineers dismounted like descending hawks.
At their head rode Malik Serinov, unarmored, dressed not as a nobleman but as a father. He dismounted, and for a long moment, said nothing as he took in the sight of his daughter—worn, bloodstained, standing tall with a sword still on her hip.
"You did not fall," he said.
Zareena didn't answer. Her eyes, rimmed red with exhaustion, said everything.
Malik embraced her. For the first time in years.
"I came late," he whispered, "but I come with everything."
Within days, Serinova engineers had erected shelter domes. Wounded were moved into heated barracks. Grain was distributed. Blacksmiths and rune-forgers from the southern mines arrived under Serinova contract. Temple medics—even those loyal to the capital—were ordered to treat the sick under Zareena's rule, not the Church's eye.
And Malik stood before the city's gathered populace to speak:
"Vireloch is not a cursed land. It is a tested land.
"My daughter is no usurper. She is no 'ice queen' nor rogue. She stood when no crown dared. She fought the dark when others turned their gaze.
"From this day forward, know this: House Serinova backs her in full. This city will be rebuilt under her command—and no highborn decree from the capital shall threaten her place here.
"Harm her, and House Serinova will answer. Try to take this city, and you will find winter does not break—it remembers."
Cheers broke out—soft at first, then rising, until all of Vireloch roared with new breath.
In the shadows of the half-collapsed tower, Rashid watched. His arm was bandaged, his eyes darker than ever. He said nothing, but he did not look away from Zareena.
Later that night, Zareena stood on the balcony of her rebuilt war-room, watching the workers and soldiers below.
For the first time since the attack, the forge bell tolled again.
Vireloch lived.
And the frost was no longer feared—it was followed.