The journey from Brias City to Broissco Manor usually took half an hour on horseback. But for Captain Herigal Drasil, it felt like an eternity. He urged his steed forward, hooves pounding relentlessly against the dirt road, each beat echoing the tension coiling in his chest.
Beside him, Jean Fio, a young healer on his team, clung tightly to the saddle. Her anxious gaze flickered between Herigal and the road ahead, sensing the urgency that thickened the air. The wind whipped against their faces, but it did little to cool the dread creeping up their spines.
The bustling city streets were long behind them, replaced by the looming shadows of the dense forest. The silence was unnatural—eerie. No rustling leaves, no distant calls of nocturnal creatures. The closer they got to the estate, the heavier the unease settled in Herigal's gut.
Something was wrong. He had a very bad feeling.
Cassandra's message still echoed through the communication stone in his hand, her voice both urgent and heartbreakingly tender—so unlike the woman he had known.
"Sierra," Cassandra's voice was soft yet resolute. "You are a good child. I'm sorry for leaving you behind all these years. I'm sorry for coming so late. I wish for you to live, and someday… I hope you can say that you're glad to be alive."
Herigal tightened his grip on the reins, his horse galloping at full speed toward the manor. His thoughts were a whirlwind of frustration and disbelief. He barely knew this little sister of Cassandra's—this fragile girl who had never once stepped beyond the manor walls.
Why would Cassandra go so far for her? Why would she put her life on the line?
Cassandra was a soldier, a leader, a woman who had never hesitated to make sacrifices. But this? To trade her own life for a child barely known to the world… Herigal couldn't understand it.
The wind roared in his ears, but it wasn't loud enough to drown out the question pounding in his skull.
Why?
Her voice wavered slightly as she continued.
"If there ever comes a day when we're born as mother and daughter… I promise, I'll be the best mom you've ever had."
His throat tightened. This wasn't the Cassandra he knew—the fierce and unyielding woman who had once laughed off the nobles' scornful whispers about her "downgrade marriage" as nothing more than the petty noise of weak minds.
"They can say what they want, Herigal," she had once told him, defiant as ever. "I've fought wars. Their words are weaker than my blade."
But now… her voice trembled with something different. Affection. Regret.
The light on the communication stone flickered, dimming.
"Sierra… I regret it. I should've brought you with me when I got married… I never knew having a little sister could make me this happy."
Then, silence.
Herigal stared at the now-dull stone, his heart sinking.
When they arrived at the front gates, the sight before them made Herigal's stomach churn. The once well-guarded entrance stood eerily deserted, the silence pressing down like a heavy weight. An oppressive aura lingered in the air, thick with something unnatural.
"Captain, there's a barrier around the house. We can't force our way in," Jean said, her voice trembling.
Herigal's jaw tightened. "The city's barrier suddenly strengthened earlier, but this one should be breakable now."
With a flick of his wrist, a thin, razor-sharp wind blade formed at his fingertips. He swung it in a clean arc, sending it slicing through the shimmering veil before them. The barrier trembled, cracked, then shattered into fading glimmers.
"Captain! The barrier is gone!" Jean exclaimed.
Herigal barely acknowledged her before a frigid gust of wind struck them, stealing the warmth from their skin.
Jean shivered. "It's still early autumn... Why is it this cold?" Her breath misted in the air.
Herigal gritted his teeth and dismounted. "Jean, let's move."
They stepped into the mansion grounds, their boots crunching against an unexpected layer of frost. Inside, the sight was nothing short of surreal—monsters lay scattered across the courtyard, their bodies encased in jagged ice.
Jean gasped, recoiling at the unnatural scene. "Our Lady did all this? But… she's a fire user, isn't she? Where did the ice come from?"
Herigal didn't answer. His mind raced as he surveyed the destruction, stepping over frozen debris. Snow blanketed the once-grand halls, the bitter cold biting at their exposed skin.
"Jean, can you track the source of the snow?" Herigal asked, his voice steady despite the unease creeping into his chest.
Jean, attuned to mana as a healer, closed her eyes. A shudder ran through her as raw magic surged against her senses. "It's coming from above. There should be stairs nearby."
Herigal nodded, his expression grim. Without a word, he knelt and scooped up clumps of snow, storing them in his magic pouch—a battlefield habit. If this was magic, he needed to analyze it.
Something about this cold wasn't natural.
Frost clung to the walls, glistening like glass in the dim torchlight. Each step sent a sharp crunch echoing through the silence. The unnatural chill seeped through Herigal's armor, biting at his skin.
As they moved through the frozen halls, his thoughts drifted.
His sister-in-law was no ordinary child. A six-year-old capable of conjuring a winter storm and obliterating monsters—it defied reason. And yet, she was the only one left alive.
Had she truly been the one fighting off the beasts? Or had she invited them in?
The thought unsettled him. Sierra was a child—but she was also a Broissco.
Herigal had never harbored much affection for the Broissco family. Their influence was vast, their motives elusive. His marriage to Cassandra had been a calculated move, orchestrated by the royal family to curb the Broisscos' power.
Yet, despite the political nature of their union, life with Cassandra had been unexpectedly peaceful. She was nothing like the rumors that surrounded her family—grounded, kind, fiercely loyal. There had been no grand romance between them, but there was trust, a quiet companionship that he had come to appreciate. She never looked down on his humble origins, never resented the sneers of high society.
And now, that peace was shattered.
His grip on his sword tightened. He didn't understand why Cassandra had risked everything for a sister she barely knew. And this "Fairy" she had spoken of—what kind of being had influenced her to such an extent?
"We're here," Jean said, pulling him from his thoughts.
Before them stood an ornate door, frost creeping along its edges, its surface radiating an unnatural cold. Bracing himself, Herigal pushed it open.
Inside, the air was still, heavy with an eerie quiet. But the source of the cold was undeniable.
Cassandra Broissco lay encased in a coffin of translucent ice, her armor gleaming beneath the frost. Her expression was peaceful—too peaceful, as if she had merely drifted into sleep.
Jean choked back a sob. "Captain… our Lady… she's gone."
Herigal's gaze locked onto his wife's frozen form. A hollow ache settled deep in his chest.
"I told you to wait," he whispered. His voice was barely audible, swallowed by the freezing air.
"Why didn't you listen?"
Jean, tears streaming down her face, knelt beside the small, unconscious figure near the ice coffin. The child's frail body was covered in frost, her breaths faint but steady.
"This child… she's alive, but barely," Jean murmured, her hands glowing with healing magic. "Captain, our Lady poured everything into saving her. She even restrained the child's mana vein. That kind of delicate work—only someone with immense skill could pull it off."
There was awe in Jean's voice. Cassandra had never been a healer, yet her mana control had been precise, almost surgical. It was no wonder she had been such a force on the battlefield—a warrior whose strength inspired both fear and admiration.
But now, the kingdom had lost not just a powerful mage, but a leader. A potential future general.
Jean gently brushed the frost from the little girl's pale face. "If she learns to control her mana the way her sister did… she'll be even more formidable. The Broissco family may rise again soon."
Herigal didn't respond. His gaze remained locked on Cassandra's frozen smile, memories replaying in his mind—moments of quiet companionship, unspoken trust, the life they had built in their own way.
Jean's voice trembled as she worked. "Lady Cassandra gave everything to ensure this child lived. I'll save her, Captain. I swear it. She has to live."
Then, a soft voice echoed through the cold, carrying warmth despite the frost.
["Thank you."]
Jean gasped, eyes widening as tears spilled freely down her cheeks. "Lady Cassandra? Is that you?" Her voice broke with emotion. "Captain, did you hear that? She said thank you!"
But Herigal remained silent, staring at the child. He heard nothing.
A weight pressed against his chest—heavy, suffocating.
Perhaps it was because he had never truly wished for this child to survive. Not deep down. Not where it mattered.