The Frostveil Highlands were a cathedral of ice and stone—jagged peaks rising like the shattered fangs of gods, their crowns shrouded in moonlit mist. Wind screamed through the valleys like the wail of the dead, bearing whispers of old betrayals and colder vengeance.
This land had defied the Empire.
Kael had come to remind it of consequences.
His army, cloaked in silence and steel, moved like a living machine across the frozen plains. Ten thousand soldiers, their discipline honed by blood and battle, formed a wall of frostbitten resolve. Armor gleamed beneath the moon, and the black banners of the Empire whipped like shadows against the white world.
At the front, Kael rode his warhorse, still as a statue carved from night. His golden eyes were fixed on the fortress ahead—an ancient behemoth carved into the heart of the mountains.
Frostveil.
The last bastion of rebellion.
But Kael didn't come to storm it.
He came to open it—from within.
They made camp in Blackthorn Pass, a narrow gorge winding like a serpent's spine through the highlands. Snow blanketed the tents. The wind never stopped screaming.
Inside Kael's command tent, the lanterns burned low, casting long shadows over the war map. The room crackled with tension.
General Varian leaned over the map, one hand resting on his sword hilt. "The rebels hold the cliffs. Their archers have perfect line of sight. If we charge, we'll be cut down before we reach the gates."
Lady Saria smirked from her seat, flicking her dagger into the map. "Then we don't charge. We invite them to open the gates."
Kael's voice was low. "Explain."
She leaned forward, her smile cold. "They expect siege. Expect blood. But what if we offer them peace?"
Varian scoffed. "You would parley with traitors?"
"No," she said. "I'd deceive them. We send an envoy. Offer to recognize their independence in exchange for neutrality. Let them believe they've won. Let them drink. Let them celebrate."
Kael folded his hands. "And then?"
"Then we strike when they're too drunk to scream."
Varian hesitated. "And if they see through the ruse?"
Kael's eyes glinted. "They won't."
His voice cut like black steel through frost.
Saria's grin widened.
Dawn.
An imperial envoy, cloaked in white and gold, rode alone beneath a fluttering banner of truce. From the cliffs above, rebel archers watched in silence, arrows nocked. One twitch—one wrong move—and the snow would run red.
But the envoy rode steady.
Within Frostveil's stone hall, Lord Alric sat on a throne of iron and frost. His face bore the lines of a man who had seen too many winters, too many broken oaths.
The envoy bowed and presented the message.
"Kael of House Rathen offers peace. In exchange for an oath of neutrality, the Empire will recognize Frostveil's sovereignty. No blood need be spilled."
Silence fell like snow.
Then—laughter.
Alric stood. "So the fox learns to kneel." He turned to his warlords. "The Empire bends. The Highlands stand. Let us drink to the end of war."
The warlords roared approval. Wine flowed. Flames danced. The fortress echoed with songs of victory.
No one noticed the traders and diplomats slipping through the gates that night.
No one saw the flicker of blades in the dark.
Kael stood beneath the stars, watching the distant fortress flicker with torchlight and false joy. Around him, his soldiers waited in disciplined silence.
Then—
A raven cry. One long, two short.
The signal.
Inside Frostveil, shadows moved like ghosts. Imperial assassins struck with surgical grace—throats slit, gates unbolted, command posts silenced. No screams. Only wet gasps, and the whisper of steel through flesh.
By the time the outer walls opened, Kael's army was already in motion.
As dawn crept over the mountains, casting gold across snow and blood—
Frostveil was already his.
The warlords lay dead or bound.
And Lord Alric?
Dragged from his hall, the wine still on his lips.
Kael rode through the gates without resistance, the wind carrying his banner high above the fortress that once defied him.
No siege. No drawn-out battle.
Only a whisper of war.
And a storm that never gave them time to scream.
To be continued...