Two days after...

"You were blessed with such a person to be wife, Alaric."

"And I am wholeheartedly grateful to have her at my side."

Boss, in his human form for the sake of the current situation, stood with Mnemon perched on his shoulder, watching the quiet commotion in the center of Frosthaven as food was distributed to the citizens. His wife, Astrid, was also spotted helping the lesser, now walking with her own two feet. His wife was especially given the Panacea since Boss demanded that she was needed to support her husband and Frosthaven in general. He remembered the scene vividly— Boss just gave Astrid a small pill to drink, and only a few seconds later, his crippled wife could stand up on her own, still wobbling, since the giant later explained that she hadn't used her legs for a long time and that would be expected.

Alaric, being the steadfast leader, had just announced in the evening of the day that Frosthaven and the Stormravens would become vassals to Lord Blackblood, just as their ancestors had done generations ago. The declaration still hung heavy in the air. Skepticism rippled through the crowd, their faces strained with fear, the harshness of the Northern reaches clinging to their bones like frost.

Rumors had begun to swirl like the ever-present northern winds—rumors from the invited guests that Lord Blackblood was far from human. Whispers of his unnatural power and dark origins spread, especially in light of the incident involving the eldest son of Stormraven, who had wronged their honored guests. Yet, to everyone's surprise, Lord Blackblood had forgiven the boy's transgressions and offered him a chance to learn under his warrior wife. Some dared to call the giant merciful despite his fearsome appearance. Others, however, were more cynical, suspecting the entire situation to be a calculated ploy—a trick orchestrated by the witch-wife to lure the son into trouble, only for her demon-like husband to swoop in like a vulture circling a dying animal.

Boss couldn't blame them for their suspicions. Noira had a gift for stirring the darkest corners of a person's mind.

The takeover had been peaceful, perhaps due in part to the announcement that slavery was to be banned. It was a long-held tradition in Frosthaven, but none had expected a mysterious force like Lord Blackblood, rising from the Misty Woods, to support such an ideal. Boss chuckled in his mind since the man doubted such a statement. The people feared his soldiers more than any decree. Espsilon-6 and Delta-5 were the most visible to the common folk, and despite being the friendliest and friendlier of the MTFs, their sheer size and power were enough to unsettle anyone. Even the shortest stood at least 6'5"; they loomed like giants. There was also an accident related to them—one of his soldiers had swung his arm too broad, and a stone house had crumbled to rubble with barely a touch.

"I'm genuinely impressed that you and your people have survived this long on hunting and foraging."

Alaric's voice pulled him from his thoughts. "They were slaves, Boss. They survived the harsh journey from the Empire to the Middle States to get here. Many died along the way. Those who made it are stronger than you could imagine. Some were lucky enough."

Boss regarded him for a moment. "Lucky, you said?"

Alaric nodded, a shadow of a smile passing over his face. "Indeed. I have a noble friend in the Middle States—Rodrick of Ivarstean, a merchant by trade. My second son is staying with them to learn. Rodrick and his wife usually buy back slaves and re-educate them, teaching them to read and write. Some become servants in their house, while others are sent here to Frosthaven since their estate is rather small compared to ours. A minor house, if I may say, Boss."

Boss tilted his head, intrigued. "Can I meet him?"

"Of course. Rodrick personally oversees each transfer, and we also do tradings. He's due here in a week. My second son, Matthew, will be traveling with him."

"Didn't you say Matthew was returning sooner?" Boss asked, raising a brow.

"He was," Alaric explained, "but a snowstorm delayed them in Cynerice, our neighbor, far to the south. It seems they'll be staying there for a while."

"Hmm..."

A tall, commanding figure approached as the giant stood lost in thought. It was Legien, dressed in her usual attire—the same woman Alaric had first met at Boss's mansion. He felt a sudden sense of smallness, though not because of her height. Despite living in the North, where the cold could freeze a man's bones, it still gnawed at him. And there she was, wearing an outfit that bared parts of her skin like the chill didn't dare touch her. She placed a hand on her chest and saluted her husband.

"Hello, Legien," Boss returned the gesture, and so did Alaric. The giantess turned to him, offering a slight nod, her expression unreadable.

"I hope you take no offense that Legien neither greets nor speaks to you," Boss said casually, though with a subtle hint of pride. "Both of my wives are possessive, but Legien, in particular, has taken a vow of silence. She only speaks when I command it."

Recalling the formalities of the guest party, Alaric nodded, feeling oddly relieved. "None taken, Boss."

Legien handed her husband a touchpad, receiving a gentle pat on the head in return. She closed her eyes, savoring the gesture. Boss then turned back to Alaric, all business. "Have you had a chance to read the development plan I gave you?"

Alaric hesitated, feeling the weight of the question. "I have, Boss… but some concepts and terminology are unfamiliar. It was difficult to grasp even among the other scholars—and Fraud as well."

Boss nodded thoughtfully, his understanding gaze making Alaric feel less like a failure. "I don't blame you. There's no disappointment here. Acknowledging what you don't know is the first step to learning. The fact that you've made the effort to read through that outrageous plan of mine—I commend you for it."

The giant was from a bygone era of greatness. For all his wealth and glory, Frosthaven and his family were nothing but a droplet in the endless sea. Such words soothed Allaric's soul like a balm for old wounds.

"Now, let's review Minties and Blueberries' reports," Boss continued, snapping Alaric out of his reverie.

Alaric blinked, confused by the names.

"Nicknames," Mnemon explained. "They're based on the color themes of Deltas and Epsilons. Don't worry, they won't mind if you call them that—well, those two at least. The rest… Well... "They just shook his head. "Just remember, only Minties and Blueberries take the preservation of innocent lives seriously."

Boss shifted gears, outlining the evaluation of Delta-5 and Epsilon-6. First came the housing and land usage reports. Most of Frosthaven's homes were so disrepair that demolition seemed the only option. The mortality rate in the settlement was high due to inadequate heating systems and poor insulation. Captain of Delta-5 had suggested they repair the existing houses rather than rebuild, as many residents were unfamiliar with modern household appliances.

A case of literary theft: this tale is not rightfully on Amazon; if you see it, report the violation.

"They're taking the cultural shock seriously. Good," Boss remarked. "There's no need to rush."

Both task forces had initially planned to expand into the villages, laying the groundwork for specialized districts. However, those plans had been delayed to prioritize city infrastructure and roads. Food distribution was another critical issue; Frosthaven's current agricultural output would only sustain its population in the short term. Food shipments from the Bunker and supplies from VoidTech's Gateway would be necessary.

Boss's face darkened as he read further. "Oh dear…"

"Is something wrong, Boss?" Alaric asked, sensing a shift in the air.

"It's the orphans. The Captains are discussing integrating them into the task forces. A Praetorian, just like them."

Alaric's eyes widened as the realization hit him. "They want to turn the orphans into soldiers?"

"Yes," Boss muttered, rubbing his temples with a sigh. "Scheiße..." He turned to Legien. "Please inform them we're postponing the indoctrination process. It will apply to VoidTech's troops and volunteers only. As for the orphans, have them build a communal home for the children."

The giant watched his wife, helping with the food distribution in the distance, then glanced at Alaric. "Tell me, Alaric, would your wife be willing to oversee the orphanage?"

"I believe she would, Boss. She's always had a soft spot for children. Besides, I think she'd prefer doing that kind of work rather than drowning in paperwork all day like me."

"Excellent," Boss said, returning the touchpad to Legien. "Send these notes to the rest and have them contact me immediately if they need my input—no matter how small. Understood?" Legien nodded, and Boss gave her a grateful smile. "Much appreciated, love. Now, both of you can return to your duties."

They all saluted each other before Boss turned to leave. But just as he walked a few steps away, he paused and looked back.

"Alaric!" he called out.

Alaric turned, surprised. "Yes, Boss?"

"Not my place to ask, but have you spoken to your son about the incident? As I requested?"

A shadow crossed Alaric's face. He remained silent for a moment before exhaling slowly. "Yes, I have, Boss. But… I can't help but feel ashamed. My son, so worried about me, went to such lengths—committing a crime."

Boss placed a hand on his shoulder, a rare show of empathy. "Work will always be there, Alaric. But your family is your life. Unlike me, you only have seventy or so years to live."

"Don't fuck it up," Mnemon added with a sly grin as Boss gave him a final nod. "Have a great day. I look forward to seeing Matthew and your friend's reaction to all the changes."

And then, he was gone, with Legien silently following behind. Alaric stood alone, gazing at the snow-covered sky as he thought to himself.

What had his ancestors done to earn both blessings and curses for their descendants?

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The eldest son now walked alone through the Misty Woods, the cool air heavy with the scent of pine and damp earth. No horse, no guard—only his simple garments, a sword at his side, and rations to last the journey. The beauty of the woods felt distant, irrelevant. His mind was troubled, haunted by the memory of his father's words from days past.

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"You know what you have done."

John had frozen at the sound, not recognizing the voice as his father's. It was not the gentle tone of the man who had raised him but the cold, authoritative voice of Alaric Stormraven, Lord of the North—a man who judged those who defied the laws of gods and men alike.

"I will have your reasons."

The floor had become John's sole refuge as he stared at it, the weight of the silence pressing against him. He had no words, not then. Perhaps none now.

"Look at me."

It took every ounce of will to raise his head. His father's face was worn, etched with deep lines of fatigue and disappointment. His eyes, usually so sharp, were shadowed, almost hollow. John hadn't seen him like this since the news of his mother's crippling—a day that had shattered their family. He had watched his father comfort them all, only to retreat into his work, burdened by grief. The memory of that man—the one he had disappointed—made John's chest tighten.

"Never have guest rights been broken in our land," Alaric had said, his voice low and unrelenting. "Never have we Frosthavens betrayed such sacred oaths. Even when dealing with the Empire, the slavers of our people, we held true. But you..." His father's gaze pierced him, filled with a disappointment deeper than any reprimand. "Why have you shamed us?"

John's throat had clenched, words lodging like stones. "Because I don't want our family—or our people—used as tools."

"Tools?"

"Slaves," John corrected, his voice hoarse. "Like those before us."

His father's eyes had narrowed, the weight of unspoken history hanging between them. "And that led you to this? To such dishonor, in front of our own people?" Alaric had sighed then, the sound ragged, as if the weight of John's actions had finally broken something within him.

"I told you... we know nothing of their magic, their technology. What could you hope to prevent?"

John had spoken too quickly, desperate to make sense of his own actions. "Anything. From doing anything. Perhaps... everything." The words tumbled from his lips, his thoughts a frantic swirl. "No lords or kings are without ambition. You taught me that. How can such a man, with so much power, pretend to be anything less than dangerous?"

He had dared to look up, searching his father's face for understanding, even a flicker of it. "When I saw Lady Noira, I just knew—if I didn't stop her, no one else would. I couldn't trust her. I couldn't trust any of them. And if I didn't act, I felt... I felt that everything would fall apart, and we'd have to stand by and watch."

The words had felt inadequate, a pale shadow of the turmoil inside him. He had failed to explain, to make his father see. She had looked at them like pests as if every soul in the room was beneath her.

His father's silence had stretched painfully, its weight almost unbearable.

"But that does not explain the need to challenge his wife." His father's tone had been laced with disbelief, and for the first time, John had felt his resolve crumble. "I wanted to help."

"Help?" Alaric's eyebrows had furrowed in confusion, his voice thick with exasperation.

The explanation had come in halting fragments. "I saw what they were doing to you, Father. You've been in your chambers for days, barely resting, burning through more candles than I could count. You come to us each morning looking worse than after the harshest winters. All because of them." John had looked away, ashamed, but pressed on. "I thought—if I did something—maybe it would ease the burden on you."

The admission hung between them, raw and vulnerable. John had imagined a victory would give his father leverage, a position of strength to negotiate. Instead, he found himself fighting for his life, the very thing his father had tried to protect.

"You idiot son of mine." Alaric's voice had cut like a blade, his fingers pinching the bridge of his nose. "What father would ask his child to fight in his stead? You could have been killed!" The sudden outburst had shocked John into silence. "Lady Noira could have killed you, and she would have been within her rights. Do you understand what you've done? You've declared war!"

Another long silence had followed, broken only by the crackle of the fire and the weight of their shared grief.

"What would you have me do, then?" Alaric's eyes had bored into his, demanding an answer John didn't have. "I'm not just your father. I'm a leader, John. My actions carry the weight of our name and people. The burden of leadership is heavier than you know."

His father's hands gripped his shoulders then, strong and steady, but John felt the tremor in them, the fatigue of a man pushed to his limits.

"You will abdicate from the throne."

John felt his world tilt, but he saw no surprise in his father's expression. Only a deep, quiet pain.

'Do not lament for me,' his father's eyes seemed to say. 'There is nothing to be done.'

John had wanted to protest, but his voice failed him.

"Lord Blackblood's mercy has spared you, but you will now serve under Lady Noira as her student. Perhaps, one day, you will earn back the trust you've shattered."

His father's gaze lingered on him, and though the words had been spoken in judgment, there was a faint glimmer of hope.

'This path will not be easy. But you will walk it. And maybe, in time, you will regain your honor.'

John had nodded, but inside, he wondered if his feet would ever feel steady beneath him again.