Years had passed, and Lucian and Leora had grown into young adults. Though they shared the same striking white hair and piercing blue eyes inherited from their mother, their personalities could not have been more different.
Seventeen-year-old Lucian was tall and lean, his face still carrying traces of youthful mischief. His unruly hair fell over his forehead, and despite his noble upbringing, his posture was always relaxed, as if nothing in the world could truly trouble him. While he had received the same rigorous training as his sister, he lacked her discipline, preferring to spend his time daydreaming about far-off lands, fine food, and beautiful women.
Leora, two years older, stood with the rigid confidence of a warrior. Her build was athletic—strong yet graceful. Though her sharp features bore a striking resemblance to their mother's, the countless hours she spent training had roughened her hands and tanned her fair skin, making her seem more like a hardened soldier than a noblewoman.
Unlike Lucian, she had little patience for idle talk, and her sapphire eyes carried the intensity of someone who lived with purpose.
The two of them sat in the Frostbane great hall—a vast chamber lined with stone pillars and banners bearing the family's emblem: a roaring white tiger.
A massive hearth blazed at the center, casting flickering light over the long wooden table where their father, Lower Jarl Ulfgar Frostbane, sat. His presence alone commanded respect. His hair, the color of iron, was bound loosely at his back, and his beard—marked with strands of silver—framed his chiseled face. Deep scars marred his muscular arms, each one a testament to battles long past.
Lucian let out a long, exaggerated yawn and slumped against the table. "Why did you call me here so early, Dad?"
Ulfgar's icy blue eyes narrowed slightly. "Today, I will explain in detail how our country's system works."
Lucian groaned, rubbing his eyes. "You woke me up just for that? I already know how it works."
Without hesitation, Leora smacked the back of his head. "Just listen to what Father has to say," she scolded, her tone sharp.
Lucian winced, rubbing the sore spot. "Damn, you hit like a bear."
Ulfgar ignored their exchange and continued. "You may understand how things worked before, but new laws were passed at the last Great Council of Norlandia. Significant changes have been made."
Lucian sighed, straightening in his chair. "Alright, fine. What's new this time?"
Ulfgar took a deep breath and retrieved a letter, its wax seal bearing the insignia of the High King. His voice was grave as he read aloud:
[ To all noble families of Norlandia aligned with the High King,
New laws have been established to determine the true worth of a noble's title.
We introduce the Duel of Dominion—a sacred and binding contest where nobles of the same rank may challenge one another to claim land, titles, and warriors.
Each noble selects three champions—be it their strongest warriors, spellcasters, or even themselves—to fight in their name.
The losing noble and their household become either vassals or thralls of the victor.
The duel must be overseen by a noble of higher rank to prevent chaos. Once a challenge is accepted, there is no turning back.
If a noble refuses to duel, they are stripped of honor, land, and title. However, a noble may reject a challenge up to three times before facing consequences.
Victors are granted a five-year reprieve to recover and consolidate their new holdings. During this period, they may issue challenges but cannot be challenged by others. ]
Lucian blinked in disbelief. "This is madness."
Leora, arms crossed, nodded in agreement. "This will throw the entire kingdom into chaos. Nobles will start tearing each other apart for more land."
Ulfgar chuckled, though there was little humor in it. "Don't worry. If we're challenged, there are few families that can best us—and even if they do, they'll suffer heavy losses. This law was made to weed out weak and lazy nobles."
Lucian leaned back, stretching his arms. "Why don't we just leave for the southern kingdoms? Mom always said it's peaceful there—parties, good food, beautiful women…"
Leora smacked him again. "All you think about is women! If you become the Lower Jarl one day, we'll definitely lose the duel at this rate."
Lucian scoffed, grinning. "And what do you know? You train like a madwoman. Your skin is rough from all that sword work. If not for Mom's southern blood, you'd look like—"
Before he could finish, Leora grabbed his ear and twisted it.
"You're training with me today," she declared with a smirk.
"Nooo! Someone help me! My sister's going to kill me!" Lucian whined, flailing dramatically.
Servants passing by merely shook their heads. One muttered, "What did Lucian do to provoke Lady Leora this time?"
Ulfgar smirked and said "When will he even mature?"
Just then, the great hall doors swung open, and a man hurried inside. His face was pale, his eyes wide with fear.
"My Lord," he said urgently, "someone has issued a Duel of Dominion challenge against us."
Ulfgar's expression darkened. His grip tightened on the armrest of his chair. "Refuse it."
The man hesitated. "…There are four challenge letters, my Lord."
A heavy silence fell over the room.
Leora stiffened, her fingers curling into fists. Lucian, for once, sat up straight, his usual carefree demeanor slipping away.
"They're targeting us deliberately," Ulfgar muttered. His jaw clenched, and for the first time that morning, his voice carried a true note of concern.
The messenger swallowed. "As the ones being challenged, we have the right to decide the time and place of the duel. What are your orders?"
Ulfgar exhaled slowly, then stood. His imposing frame cast a long shadow across the table. "Summon every important family member immediately. This is an emergency council."
The Frostbane household gathered in the grand hall beneath the gaze of their roaring white tiger banner. Torches flickered along the stone walls, casting uneasy shadows over the assembled nobles and warriors.
At the head of the table, Ulfgar sat, his face unreadable. Beside him stood Solphie de Montargis—now Solphie Frostbane. She was a striking woman, her white hair cascading down her back like silk, her blue eyes sharp with intelligence. Unlike the battle-hardened warriors around her, she carried herself with quiet dignity. Her origins in the southern kingdoms gave her an elegance foreign to the rough northern lands.
Lucian and Leora sat nearby, their mother's presence calming them despite the tension in the room.
After long deliberation, the decision was made. Ulfgar, his brother Rorik, and their strongest warrior, Styrmir, would fight for the honor and survival of the Frostbane name. The weight of the decision was not taken lightly. Their ancestors had fought for their legacy, and now, it was their turn to defend it, no matter the cost.
Their opponents? The Ironfang household—a newly ascended noble family that had clawed their way to prominence through the brutal and unforgiving Tournament of Ascension. Known for their ruthlessness and calculated cunning, the Ironfangs had no intention of relinquishing their newfound power.
Their rise had been swift, and their thirst for dominance insatiable. The Frostbanes, proud and storied, stood at a crossroads—either they would crush the Ironfangs or be crushed by them.
The Jarl of Stormhold city was chosen as the Judge of the duel, a figure respected for his strength, impartiality, and unflinching dedication to the code of the arena. His word would be final, and the outcome of this duel would not only decide the fate of the Frostbane family but could also reshape the power dynamics in the region.
The stakes could not have been higher. If the Frostbanes were to lose, they risked losing not only their noble title but their land and their very identity.
The duel was set for the end of the month, a date that seemed to draw ever closer with each passing day. As the day loomed on the horizon, the tension in Frostbane Keep thickened. The family's every waking moment was consumed by preparations—Ulfgar and Rorik sharpened their weapons with a fervor that only the threat of annihilation could inspire, and Styrmir, their fiercest warrior, underwent grueling training sessions to ensure his body and mind were ready for the battle ahead.
Every strike, every movement was practiced to perfection, each one driven by the knowledge that their survival depended on their ability to outmatch the Ironfangs.
Despite the rigorous preparations, a sense of dread clung to the air. The Frostbane family had always been known for their strength and pride, but they were about to face an enemy that cared little for either.
The Ironfangs were vicious, having risen through the ranks by any means necessary. Their hunger for power knew no bounds, and their reputation for cruelty in the Tournament of Ascension was legendary.
A week passed, each day heavier than the last, as the family steeled themselves for what was to come. The walls of Frostbane Keep seemed to close in around them as they waited for the day of reckoning. And yet, there was one thing they could not control—what would come of them after the duel.
Would they emerge victorious and reclaim their honor? Or would they fall, nameless and broken, beneath the Ironfangs' iron grip?
However, there was one complication that cast an even darker shadow over the already grim situation. Lucian and Leora, the younger members of the Frostbane family, were forbidden from attending the duel. Their mother, Solphie, insisted they stay behind, unwilling to let them witness the bloodshed that was about to unfold.
The very thought of her children being exposed to such violence, such potential loss, was unbearable to her. She knew the heartache of war far too well and couldn't bear the thought of seeing her own flesh and blood caught in its grip.
And so, Lucian and Leora remained within the cold stone walls of Frostbane Keep, kept in the dark, their hearts heavy with worry. They wandered the halls in silence, the atmosphere thick with unease.
Time seemed to stretch endlessly before them, their minds racing with fear and uncertainty. Every minute felt like a lifetime as they waited for any news, hoping for word that their family had emerged victorious, that they would remain unbroken.