The air cracked, twisting in and over itself, shaping into a warped mess, into a portal, until a figure crossed over from the other side, which allowed it to reshape itself as it was before.

Snow white straight hair, long enough to reach down her waist, dressed in an elegant but militar brown uniform, known for clashing with her Arhontissian peers' fashion, much more colorful and fancy, asides from exceptions like Igern or Lox.

The figure was Winter, Arhontissa’s Queen bodyguard; teacher and supervisor of the Queen’s selected. And the portal she had crossed now was the backdoor some Arhontissian mages had sneaked into the Raticheos family pocket dimension months ago.

The Raticheos were one of the mages behind the unsealing of Frenese during the Opening, the ones previously on the Mergifari’s side. They were also the responsibles behind the creation, shaping and maintenance of several pocket dimensions.

After Dianthus’ disappearance, they had gone silent, but Cheron’s message to Lox made them try to reestablish contact, with their response raising flags.

None of them answered, yet there were living signals inside of the pocket dimension.

Clearly a trap, which was why Winter herself was the one entering.

Now, she didn’t know about the Raticheo’s involvement on the Frenese’s matter, or Arhontissa’s own involvement until a day ago, since, if she had known about what would happen, she would’ve been opposed to it. But that was exactly why no one told her.

Her position was being a weapon, not a politician.

The Queen’s weapon, not her advisor.

And that was what she preferred to be. To not need to think about the consequences of the consequences, instead simply focusing on pointing her gun at whoever she was told to.

Even so, some of the novice mages that died back then were Arhontissian. Some were even her own selected.

So she didn’t pity the Raticheos. If they had been less greedy, if they had been more loyal to the Mergifari, most of the damage could’ve been avoided. But their greed was not without reason, and, whoever didn’t pick a side before all pretenses were dropped, would be caught between the crossfire.

Because the Director would fall, and, once she did, all nations would extend their hands to reach, claw and tear all of her remains.

No one dared to do so yet, but no mage, no matter how powerful, was immortal. And the Director was approaching her final years, the signs speaking by themselves.

Her lack of public appearances, the mechanical way she behaved when she did appear, and… the way she effortlessly dealt with anyone she felt like they crossed her.

There had been incidents, previously, of the Director wiping mage families completely because they stepped out of line at the wrong moment. Moments when she listened to the Miasma’s voice a little too long, reacting a little too impulsively.

Those lapses in judgment happened to most mages, starting once they fully opened the second Esca, and only increased with time, never stopping, until the mage snapped.

That’s why most mage families only had one or two mages with two opened Escas, the heads, while the next in power were at one Esca opened and a second one at the limit, not crossing the threshold.

But the Director was a unique case. Three opened Escas, which no one else had managed.

And Winter pitied her. Not only the Director had lived through the deaths of the companions that helped her build the Mergifari, but she also would live to see it falling into another party's hands, while only being partially conscious.

Does she even care? She had asked the Queen once.

Does it matter? The Queen had answered. Humans aren’t supposed to reach the level of gods, and the Director is no more than the consequences of such hubris. No matter a mage’s strength, nothing can compensate for the lack of a god’s guidance.

And Winter trusted her words with absolute confidence.

Now, The Raticheos pocket dimension was quiet, not even the cries of animals breaking the silence. It wasn’t like this the previous time she visited, when she went with the Queen to see the blueprints of the pocket dimension for the Queen’s Selected.

Since they were a family specialized in pocket dimensions, they bragged about it quite nicely, with not only day-night cycles, but different seasons, exotic animals who were difficult to raise outside their natural habitats, and which habitats usually collided between each other.

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Exotic animals who were there no more.

There’s no blood, nor can I smell urine or anything that meant they were afraid. So, if they were killed, they didn’t notice.

Winter continued walking down the stone path, looking at the empty surroundings, but now she summoned two weapons, one in each hand.

Two shotguns, clad in silver, with sigils engraved at the barrels.

Those sigils weren’t there because she wanted to, but because it was part of the special permit that allowed her to bring guns inside the Mergifari. They actually prevented her weapons from being fired unless one of these two conditions were met.

One, the Queen’s life was being actively threatened.

Two, she wasn’t in places owned by the Mergifari. That’s to say, private pocket dimensions or the Unnamed Forest.

The second condition was met.

Winter reached the end of the stone path, facing the Raticheo’s mansion. They built it quite far away from the entrance, so that visitors could see the full extent of the pocket dimension, and so, add more things to their own building plans.

Still no one. The house looks undamaged, no signs of fighting anywhere. Yet she didn’t get any closer. It was a trap, no need to straight up walk into it.

“First one is a warning.”

Raising one of her shotguns, Winter opened the chamber with a single motion and only with the hand holding it. Then she pressed her thumb against the bullet, its aura changing, before closing the chamber with only a shake, pointing at the building.

Doing these three things didn’t take her half a second, and pressing the trigger didn’t close the remaining gap.

The shot quickly closed the distance to the house, hitting the mansion’s front wall with a bang, an explosion that increased to unbearable levels in an instant. The impact was a sound wave, blasting the glass windows to smithereens, making the walls vibrate.

She had her own methods to keep her bullet’s effects away from herself, so she was unaffected, quickly recharging the next shot.

“The second one…” She stopped, hearing steps between the sounds of falling glass and broken walls. That wouldn’t be possible for a human, nor for most mages, but it was for her.

Around a meter and half in height… and it's dragging something. She changed the bullet, from “warning” shots to lethal ones.

The steps walked towards the now broken down door, grabbing the now useless handle and pushing it open, to which the door finally gave up, falling down.

“Oh, it broke.” Cheron said.

Winter’s hold on the triggers tightened, her gaze moving momentarily to what Cheron was dragging.

It was a corps- no, it was breathing. Some crystal shards had stuck into its body as it was dragged around, bleeding across a line on the floor, but it… he, was alive. And not only bleeding due to the glass cuts in his body, but the arm he now lacked.

Arm that was in Cheron’s hands, that she raised to her mouth, biting down into it.

The crunch made clear that it went through tendon, bone and marrow, blood dripping down her chin as she munched, swallowing after some seconds.

“Hm… I know yo-”

“What did you do to him?” Winter asked, pointing her shotgun at her. Deep into Cheron’s eyes, she saw Hasdrubal’s silhouette, sitting in his office, caressing his beard.

“It’s not nice, interrupting people when they talk.” Cheron said, pulling the body a bit forward, next to her. “But ignoring a question is also. Not. Nice.” She released the body, which fell with a thud to the ground, motionless. “There’s a part of the brain, one that only needs a little nibble to make them. Like. This.”

So it wasn’t fixable. Winter thought.

“They don't rot or complain, and that makes them last longer. Like a… a… refri… refri…”

“Refrigerator.”

“Yes! Re-fri-ge-ra-tor!”

Click.

Winter pulled the trigger, but, instead of blowing Cheron’s head clean off, she shot upwards, towards the sky.

Cheron didn’t move, but her smile grew, showing her metallic teeth covered in blood. Before taking another bite from the arm.

A wet thing dropped into Winter’s face, red and with a metallic smell, but she paid it no mind, recharging.

“Second one is your last chance to leave.”

“What made you notice?” Cheron asked. “I played my part perfectly.”

“You’re a messy eater. And hate is very difficult to hide, even if it's behind a hundred illusions.” Winter said, turning to the side. “A good hunter doesn’t need to see the tiger to know it’s hunting him back.”

“Are you a good hunter?”

“The very best.” One, two, three… Winter counted the mages hiding behind the illusions. Delusion mages could fake everything, from shapes to smells to voices. Cheron was very real, though, but not a threat to her.

Sirius Tarius was the mage to her left, a hundred meters away.

The one she shot on top of her was the second, the one that couldn’t hide her hate. The Coatheno. The one whose son ripped out his own stomach during the Opening.

The third one… she didn’t know, but it was behind her. Ten meters.

She didn’t need to know their names, for they didn’t matter.

“My name’s Winter. The Queen’s Sword.” She announced, voice loud enough to reach the silent corners of the pocket dimension.

“We already know who you are.” Cheron said, the only one bothering to answer her.

“No you don’t. If you did, you would’ve brought an army.”