The first snow of winter fell like ash upon the streets of Eldhaven. Thin, bitter flakes that clung to rooftops and armored shoulders. A cold wind rolled down from the northern mountains—the kind that spoke of war.
Uthred stood atop the battlements, cloaked in wolf-fur, eyes fixed on the road that led north. The Frost Reign was coming. Bjorrek the Pale had united the scattered clans and oathbreakers, and his army now crept through the White Pass like a knife through cloth.
Vale joined him at the parapet, her breath rising in steam.
"Scouts say Bjorrek moves with ten thousand."
Uthred didn't flinch. "And Eldhame will meet them with twenty thousand hands—if they remember who they fight for."
"Some lords still hesitate. Old debts. Old fears."
"Then I'll remind them."
In the days that followed, Uthred summoned the banners. Nobles, warlords, clan chieftains, and guildmasters rode to Eldhaven under sigils both familiar and strange.
They gathered in Ember Hall, the old war chamber beneath the citadel, where once Uthred's father had held court in times of siege.
Maera, now Lady Chancellor of Records, opened the council with a recitation of the northern threat. Vale laid out their numbers, their tactics, their brutality.
Then Uthred stood.
"I do not ask for loyalty to me," he said. "I ask for loyalty to our people. To our children. To the soil that fed you and the rivers that named you. The Frost Reign comes not for a crown—but to erase us."
Some remained silent. Others nodded. One, Lord Tyros of Drennan, rose.
"Swear to preserve our lands and our titles, and we will ride."
Uthred's jaw tightened. "Your lands are only yours so long as Eldhame stands. Swear to the kingdom. Or stay behind its ruins."
Tyros hesitated. Then, slowly, he knelt.
Others followed.
By nightfall, the Pact of Ember Hall had been signed.
Preparations turned Eldhaven into a hive of urgency. Smiths worked day and night forging swords and spearheads. Carpenters shaped supply wagons. The Ironcloaks drilled city-born recruits in the courtyards of the palace.
Uthred trained with them, refusing to rule from a throne while others bled. He sparred in full mail, taught younger soldiers how to counter a shield rush, how to fight in snow, how to hold the line.
One morning, after a brutal dawn exercise, Vale approached him with two steaming cups of cider.
"If you collapse from exhaustion, I'll have to wear the crown," she teased.
Uthred chuckled, taking the drink. "I'd be a fool to doubt you could."
They sat on a low stone wall, watching the training yard fill with fresh faces.
"You were right," Vale said. "This kingdom... it's starting to believe."
"It has to. It's all we have before the storm hits."
Vale hesitated. "And what do you have?"
Uthred turned to her. "I have you. That's a start."
Her gaze held his for a long moment. Then she looked away.
The quiet didn't last.
A rider arrived under cover of darkness, half-frozen, bleeding from a shoulder wound. He collapsed in the palace yard, whispering a single name:
"Fennhold."
The northernmost watch-town. Burned.
Uthred called an emergency council. Jorlan reported from the front: Fennhold's defenders were overrun in under an hour. No survivors. Tracks led west—toward Silver Vale, a rich mining region, and a critical supply node.
"Bjorrek is testing us," Vale said. "Striking fast, vanishing faster."
"He's probing for weakness," Jorlan added. "Like a wolf pack."
Uthred stood. "Then we become the fire that burns the wolves. We ride for Silver Vale. Tonight."
The journey to Silver Vale took three days. Uthred rode at the head of a column two thousand strong—Ironcloaks, Ember Pact knights, and a dozen mountain riders who knew the land better than maps.
They passed burnt-out farms, frozen creeks turned red with blood, and trees stripped of bark as if marked by claw. The enemy left no banners. Only ruin.
On the second night, they made camp in a hollow near Hawk's Teeth Ridge. Snow fell heavy, and the fires were kept low to avoid detection.
Uthred sat with Vale by the edge of the command tent. They shared dried venison and a flask of spiced wine.
"It always feels quietest before something breaks," she said.
He nodded. "Tomorrow it breaks."
Vale looked at him, eyes lit by the low flame. "When this is over... what happens to us?"
Uthred met her gaze. "That depends on whether you want a crown on your head or a sword in your hand."
"I've always had both."
He smiled faintly. "Then maybe it's time you stood at my side in more than battle."
She didn't answer with words. Just leaned in, close enough that their foreheads touched.
A moment passed. Then two. Then the call of the night watch pulled them apart.
At dawn, they reached Silver Vale—and found it surrounded.
Frost Reign warbands circled the hills. Smoke rose from the outer houses. At the center of the town stood a crude totem of ice and bone, Bjorrek's mark.
Uthred rallied his commanders. "We split the force. Jorlan takes the right ridge. Vale flanks from the forest. I'll draw them to the center."
"Too dangerous," Vale said.
"All the more reason they'll fall for it."
The battle began in silence. Snow muffled the charge until the first horn blared from the trees. Arrows filled the sky. Uthred's cavalry thundered into the town square.
Steel clashed. Frost-cloaked warriors bellowed. Uthred's blade cut a red arc through the chaos. He fought like the fire he had become—relentless, burning, alive.
Then he saw him.
A giant. Pale-skinned. Ice-blind eyes.
Bjorrek's second.
The brute charged. Uthred met him with steel and fury. Their duel cracked cobblestones and echoed through the mountain.
With a final scream, Uthred buried his sword in the warrior's chest.
The battle was won.
Barely.
Silver Vale stood—scarred, but standing. Bjorrek's forces had retreated north, but they had tasted Eldhame's fire.
Vale found Uthred leaning against a ruined wall, his arm bleeding.
"You're lucky," she said. "Again."
"Maybe luck is just earned."
They stood close. Bloodied. Bruised. Alive.
"Vale," he said softly, "when this war ends—"
"Don't wait," she whispered.
And they kissed.
Snow fell around them.
But inside, the fire rose.