Just a few miles north of the Hildegard Estate, Rowenna’s Mountains curve westward, then eastward again, forming a crescent at the border between Lwenn and Mordia. The Rivers Wyrm and Lagan flood this swath of lowland with a great deal of cold, clean mountain-water, and it all gathers into a single grand lake that the people call Solenna’s Eye.

On the Mordian side, where the mountains are, the water touches their stony faces directly, but here on the Lwennian side, the shore is soft dirt and soil, perfect for farms and orchards. There’s dozens of little villages and hamlets on the beaches of the Eye, lining the old road to Torain.

Red travelled here many times, back when she was young, before the war. In the centre of the Lake itself, there’s this small island that, on a map, looks like a pupil. On that little island there’s a little house that was, a long time ago, the vacation home of the Hildegards. By now, after all these years, she can only imagine that it must look way more awful than the estate does. At best, she imagines that fishermen must’ve turned it into some little shelter for themselves, but at worst, she can imagine how the house itself sank into the muddy shore with time, until the Eye devoured it in its water.

She liked going there in winter, though. In summer, heat lowers the waterline, and while the lake does become nice and warm to swim in, and picturesque little boats start to bob up and down the little waves, she wasn’t a fan of that. Mosquitoes and sunburns and the risk of drowning was all that summertime at the Eye meant for her. In spring, the rivers would swell with rainfall, and the flooded shores of the lake became this marshy, muddy mess that, while great for all the crops, was a nightmare to wade through. Autumn was when the Eye would become nice, and all the reds and golds of the orchard leaves would reflect prettily in the crystal-clear water.

But now, she’s happy to be heading along the shore in winter. Sure, it’s cold, and sure, it’s windy… but all she needs to do is turn to look left and see the frozen-over lake. In the clear, polished ice, the water is almost like a mirror. She can imagine that for a whole season, under the icy covering, the Eye closes and slumbers to rest, and it couldn’t give less of a damn for once about the people daintily sliding, slipping and skating on its frozen eyelid. And it’s a nice and cosy feeling for her, that makes the journey ahead a bit less daunting.

“Brrr…” Red shivers, curling up a bit on the horse. A frosty gust of wind hits her head-on from the north, and she tucks her chin deep into the fur of her coat. She blows warm air on her palms and quickly pulls her gloves back on, before grabbing the reins. “I don’t know how you’re managing, love… this winter is awful.”

She strokes the horse’s mane softly, before tightening her grip around the reins.

“Here, let’s warm you up a bit. We’re almost out of this village, and it’s about time we started proper hoofing it, if we want to reach Torain on time. How about that?”

The horse neighs in what Red assumes to be agreement.

There is a paved road to Torain, cobbled decades ago by Hildegards that Red knows only the names of. It’s gone muddy by now, though, halfway sunken into the earth at points, the embankments it was built on having long since crumbled apart into the muddy soil. The sections that run through the villages are cleanly enough, though, maintained at the orders of local elders or aldermen. This little town is bisected by the old road, with slightly fancier stone buildings on one side and swaths of farmland behind them, and wooden fishermen’s buildings on the lake-facing side. The ones closest to the beach are suspended on mossy, blackened wood stilts, so that when the lakewaters rise in spring or autumn, they can remain safely above them.

She passes by an old inn and resists the urge to stop, maybe warm up by a fire and get a hot cup of tea. She’s got enough food packed for the journey, and she’ll stop to eat it later, right now she’s got to hurry if she wants to reach Paul on time.

Soon enough, the horse’s hooves start to more audibly strike mud instead of stone, and the village disappears into the whitish fog behind them. For miles, now, until the next settlement, there is nothing but white snow and ice covering vast fields to one side and polished ice to the other. She grabs the reins and clicks her tongue twice, and the horse begins a gentle gallop at first, before evolving into a full run. Though the road is gone, the cold has frozen the mud underfoot, so they can ride without worry.

The Hildegards used to rule these lands: the whole stretch of lakeline from their estate all the way to Torain. But it wasn’t her father, but her father’s father, that agreed to give it all away, back before she was born, as many other nobles did. And Red never minded that her family’s holdings were given over to become free land - but every once in a while, she did think of the road, or of the vacation home, or of the very estate and their last fief, even, and wondered how they’d look if only the Raven Crown never decided it was time to do away with the old ways.

Ah, well. Nothing to be done, now.

Nothing but to accept it and keep going.

Thankfully, the blizzard she and Darla were worried about never actually arrived. The sullen rain stopped shortly after she left the estate, and all that’s left to show for it are the icy crystals of frozen raindrops on her coat.

Tiredness has slowed the horse down a bit by now. It was definitely nice of Darla to get Red a horse as she wanted, but Cupcake - as Red has come to call him - is a workhorse, bred to pull heavy wagons and carriages up the winding slopes and trails of Rowenna’s mountains. Definitely not bred to be running dozens of miles without stopping like the racehorses of most nobles. Invariably, every once in a while, he needs a rest.

It’s roughly after they crest a small knoll, by now in a lighter amble, that Red sees a black, short silhouette farther down the snowy path. The approach is slow, she’s not going that much faster than they are, but eventually, she does recognise what it is she’s seeing.

A man, hunched over in a thick woollen coat, is trudging ever-so-slowly through the snow, carrying a heavy bag of something on his back. The closer she gets, the more she can tell that he’s on the older side, with hair that’s gone grey and white, and wrinkles on his face that give him the appearance of a bit of a prune. But not in an insulting way, of course, prunes are delicious, thinks Red.

It’s not long before, somewhat awkwardly, she and her horse are walking right next to him. With the eyes on the road, he doesn’t turn to look at them, and probably doesn’t even realise they’re there.

“Good day, sir,” utters Red.

Alas, however, the man doesn’t answer. His eyes remain trained forward, grunting every few steps as he stomps through the thick snow. Red gallops by him for a few more moments, coughing a couple times to try and see if he’s just ignoring her.

Feeling a surge of awkwardness that’s too much for even her to handle, the Lady grips the reins tight, and opts to try once again.

“Good day, mister.”

“Good day,” the man grunts, continuing to slowly trundle through the snow. At last, he pauses, pulling the sack off his back and setting it down, straightening his spine. A series of loud, sinewy cracks and pops echoes from his vertebrae, so loud they make Red’s knuckles tingle. “Is there something you want? I’m afraid if you’re a tourist, you’ll need to ask for directions from the next passerby.”

He looks around, and runs his hand underneath his heavy fur hat, scratching the top of his head.

“I suppose if you need directions, though, you’d be really lost to have ended up here. Aside from the lake, nothing to really see here, I’m afraid. You’re better off turning and walking back to Tor…”

“In fact, mister,” Red finds the opportunity to get the word in, stopping the horse as well. “I was wondering where you were headed.”

“Eh?” the man stops when she sees her doing it.

“Why, it’s a rather long way to the next village, sir, and you’re carrying something that seems rather heavy. Not to mention the cold.” she shrugs, daintily, before awkwardly shuffling forward on the saddle, to create some space behind her. “I was just wondering if you wanted some help, sir. There’s plenty of room on my horse.”

“Oh.” for a moment, the man pauses.

He looks up at her properly now, straining his hunched back somewhat to do so, lifting up his woolly hat to reveal his eyes. Immediately, Red notices them dart to something on her chest.

“That badge,” he says. Instinctively, Red moves a hand to grab it. The badge that Darla had noticed, too: the skull roughly cast in a ring of iron. Stamped in small font are letters all around the ring, ‘glory in death’.

Part of, Red knows, the mantra of the New Home Army, ‘virtue in loyalty, honour in service, glory in death’.

“Yes?” Red asks.

“Nothing. I’d… I would appreciate it a lot, ma’am.” the man nods slowly, solemnly.

“Where are you headed, sir?” Red pulls her feet out of the stirrups and hikes a leg across to the side, before hopping off. Her boots crunch deep into the snow, and she offers to take the man’s sack for him while he labours to get on.

“The next village over. Not a dozen miles.” he grunts roughly, struggling to climb on the beast, but with Red’s help, he manages. “Thank you, ma’am.”

“Don’t mention it.” Red ties the sack to the saddlebag full of other various supplies and curiosities Darla had packed for her. And then, sprily, she hops right back on and takes the reins. “Comfortable?”

“I’ll manage for the duration,” grunts the man, rubbing the bend in his back.

“I can simply walk by the side while you rest on top, sir,” offers Red.

“No no, I wouldn’t want that. I’ll be fine, ma’am,” insists the man. “Thank you.”

The woman nods and ushers the horse forward, at a soft speed rather than a hard gallop. It’ll take longer, but it’ll be less strenuous for him. She glances down at the heavy sack.

“What are you carrying, sir? Taking something to the market?”

“No, girl. Too late for that, the snow’s inches-thick. It’s flour for an old friend. She can’t move too well, so it’s difficult for her to even leave the house. I try to visit, stay in touch. Bring her flour to make bread, and in the winter, help her cut firewood. And… ah.” the man sighs. “Sorry, girl. We’ve barely met, and here I am, talking you ear off. The age is showing…”

“I don’t mind, sir. I’d tell you if I did. But talking helps the journey go faster,” Red answers calmly.

“Very well… but what about you, girl? What has you wandering the Lake Road at this hour?” the man asks.

“I need to get to Torain, sir. I’m chasing a friend who made a mistake. Trying to stop him,” Red says.

“Ah. I must apologise, then… I imagine I’m slowing your chase down.”

“Nonsense, sir. Don’t apologise.”

“Well, who are you chasing?”

“A good friend of mine,” Red says. “He’s running off to join the army. I figured the best place to check for him is in Torain.”

“Join the army?” the old man coughs a short, ragged laugh. “Ah. A young bloke, I imagine. Doesn’t know what he’s getting himself into…”

“That’s precisely what I’m thinking.”

“Well, girl, if you’re chasing him, chances are, he won’t be in Torain by the time you get there,” says the man, and Red glances over her shoulder at him, confused. “Aye. If he’s young, he’s got paperwork to complete to join. There’s a whole process, and it’s not happening in Torain. Most likely, they’ll have put him on a train bound straight for the capital. I know that’s what they did with me,” croaks the old man. “So if you’re asking me, when you get there, you’re better off not looking for him at all, heading straight for the train station instead. Get the first ticket to Ravenheart.”

“That’s useful to know,” Red murmurs, but her hands grab tight around the reins. This will be more difficult than she imagined. “Thank you, sir.”

If you stumble upon this narrative on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen from Royal Road. Please report it.

“Don’t mention it, girl.”

“You said… it’s what you had to do?” Red asks, after a moment. “When? Were you also in the army?”

“Who wasn’t, my dear,” exhales the man. “Corporal, I was. A decade ago. I’m sure you know… the war with Tawal.” he reaches into his own thick, woolly coat, feeling around for a moment, before reaching out and showing her a badge of his own, sitting quietly in his rough old palm.

It’s similar to hers, but there’s no skull. Instead, there is a raven with its wings spread out majestically, and the lettering around the ring shows a different part of the mantra: ‘honour in service’. Instinctively, almost, Red pulls off her badge, holds it carefully in her fingers next to his to take in the differences.

“Aye. You do know about it, then,” says the man, in a far softer voice. His hand closes around his badge, and he pulls it back into his coat. “Yours is…”

“I got it a few days after I heard the war had ended. It arrived home instead of dad. It, and a letter, and some money.”

“Yes. I’m sorry for your loss, girl. Your dad, I’m sure it was quick and valourous.”

Farther afield, away from the icy road, there’s a mound of earth that forms another hillock. It’s a hard silhouette to spot in the falling darkness of winter night, but Red notices. Atop it, there are no houses, but there are the outlines of stone foundations, and from some there jut up spines of dark wood that sway like the boughs of old oaks in the whipping wind.

“I think so. I hope it was.”

“Do you remember what unit he fought in?”

“Not quite. I was ten at the time, I don’t think anyone had ever even told me. It might be in a letter somewhere in the house, but I never remembered. I think he was an artillery officer, however,” Red says, staring off to the side, at the faraway hill: burnt houses, rotting, shrouded in ash that’s frozen to the charred beams. Ruins that have been there for a long time, longer than she remembers, from a war fought before she was born. From a war whose scars still stain her home.

“Aha. What is your name, girl?”

“Red. Red Hildegard, sir. Yours?”

“Hildegard… What a name to hear! Is it the…” he trails off, and Red nods. “Ah, it is the Hildegard I’m thinking of. The pleasure is all mine, my Lady Hildegard. Your father… Damian Hildegard?”

“Yes.”

“My memory hasn’t begun to elude me just yet. But as I said… the pleasure is all mine, and… you have my gratitude,” he says, as the horse continues its amble across the frosty road. “My apologies. I hope that strange tangent didn’t… sour your mood, my lady.”

“Certainly not. Don’t worry. Death’s death.”

“Indeed, my lady. Indeed…”

Ahead, the road begins to curve upward. Another hillock rises lazily out of the flat earth, and rather than go around, the old road crawls over it. The horse doesn’t mind the incline, but Red can hear the gentle grunting of the older man behind her. Struggling to stay on the saddle, especially now, is putting some strain on his back, and rather than continue, she quickly hops over the side and lands in the snow again.

“What are you doing, my Lady?” asks the man, sighing, his face winced with pain.

“Take the whole saddle, it might be more comfortable. My legs are fine, I can walk,” she insists, taking the horse’s reins and beginning to lead Cupcake up the hillock. “Don’t worry about me.”

The man looks to want to protest - but alas, when another flare of pain shoots through his rump and up his back, he shuffles forward, taking the whole saddle. He sighs, somewhat more relieved, before looking at her.

“You don’t have to go so far out of your way just to help an old man, my lady.”

“Maybe. But I want to do it anyway. Comfortable?”

“Definitely more now, thank you.”

Soon, they crest the knoll and roll back down to the empty, flat road, but Red continues by the side. As she walks, though, she notices how the man is looking at her - her eyes, in particular.

“I’m sorry if they bother you. I’ve been trying to mostly look ahead. I know they tend to… bother most people.” she blinks.

“Aha! Eyeshine!” laughs the man, before swatting the air dismissively. “No, no no. Don’t worry at all, girl. Eyeshine’s never bothered this old crow.”

“Oh?” Red looks at him. “That’s a relief.”

“I’ve met people in the past with eyes that glow all sorts a’ colours, girl. Don’t worry, none of them made me even budge.” he chuckles. “There was one that… ah, no no. Not a story to tell a stranger on the road.” he stirs a bit, then that chuckle turns into more of a warm laugh.

“Ah. I know mine never bothered Paul, but with other people, I tried to train myself to mostly look away. I’m fairly sure I upset his mother quite a lot by accident,” Red murmurs.

“I see. I can sympathise. Not a lot of people can stand to look at my face either, now that I’m old.”

“I wouldn’t say that, sir.”

“I’m making a joke, girl!” he smiles again.

“I’m wondering, though. Paul said he doesn’t feel weird when he looks at them, but he told me that even when he was looking away, he could… feel me looking at him. I’m not sure if that was just something about him, though.”

“Oh, no. Eyeshine does that, girl. Everywhere you look, it’s like you’re glaring daggers into it. Everyone can feel it when you look at them. And most of them, you can imagine, get pretty bad goosebumps. Hence why I suggest you mostly keep your eyes on your boots when you reach Torain, for your own safety,” he says, a bit more thoughtfully.

“I see. Alright. Duly noted.”

Her mind wanders, eyes staring ahead. A sort of frosty wind has picked up, carrying with it flakes of snow from the topmost layers of frost on the ground, steaming the air with frigid, foggy mist. Snowflakes glisten in the golden light shining out of her pupils, and Red wonders - for just a moment - about her father. And it’s a question that crept into her mind a few times before, in situations like these, and one that she always chose not to think about.

How did her father look at her? How did the old Lord Hildegard, before marching off to fight Tawal and never return, kiss his daughter on the forehead? She was too young at the time to think about it, to even know she had eyeshine. Was he as immune as Paul was? Or did her father have to look at his own daughter with his eyes closed?

She chose, all the other times the question crept into her mind, to ignore it. Today, she chooses to do the same.

“Speaking of Torain, girl,” the man croaks again. “I wanted to thank you again, for this. With how the cold is picking up… it would’ve been nasty being caught in it back on the road without you to help me.”

“Don’t mention it, sir.”

“Trust me, I won’t,” he jokes. “But I do want to say, once you get to Torain, your best bet for getting to Ravenheart is by the railway. Unfortunately for ya now… I imagine most of the civilian trains are running late with all the army traffic.”

“Mhm?”

“Well, for your help… I do happen to know somebody. Perks of working in the army, girl,” he cracks a smirk that lacks most of his teeth. “And if you want to get to Ravenheart quickly, to catch your friend, you can go and talk to them at the station. Tell them I sent you, and they’ll find you something to hitch a ride on.”

“Ah! That’d be…” for the first time, Red feels her cheeks warm up. She’s blushing, she realises after a moment, and she quickly grabs onto the furry collar of her coat to lift it and hide the lower half of her face. “That’d be wonderful, sir. Thank you.”

“Ah, don’t mention it. All you’ve got to do is find a man named Constantine at the station. Victor Constantine. Find ‘im, tell him Bluebird sent you, and he should get what’s going on. Got it?”

“Yes, sir. Thank you, sir.”

“Don’t mention it, kid.” the man looks ahead. Not far away, through the intensifying fog, the black outlines of village houses are becoming visible. “Doing my part. Save your friend, will ya?”

Another village: thatched roofed houses of blackened old wood and mossy stone foundations, swallowed slightly into the muddy ever-hungry ground. Here, closer now to the mouth of the rapid Lagan, there are thick bunches of cattails and reeds, wilted and darkened in the wintry air, all along the frozen shore.

The man requests to be helped off the horse at a house that looks like any other. Inside, a lone and flickering candlelight shines weakly through a dirty window. No smoke rises from the old chimney.

“Thank you, Lady Hildegard.”

“I only did what dad had always taught me to do, sir.” she nods, looking at the door. “Do you need any more help?”

The man, too, looks at the house. Slowly, he steps forward, trudging boots through icy mud, until he reaches the window. He places his hands on the sill, runs one against the grime that’s accumulated across the pane to peer inside. And he looks within, then, for a good long moment.

“Sir?”

“Ah… sorry, girl. But no, no. I can handle myself from here,” he says morosely, walking back to the horse and untying the sack from the saddle.

Red looks at him for a moment, then glances at the house.

“I’d like you to keep the horse, sir. For a little while, at least.”

“Eh?” the man looks over his shoulder at her.

“Well, Torain’s only a few miles away, and if I’m taking the train, I won’t be able to bring Cupcake with me on board. Besides, something will have to help you come back to your home. I’ll take her back on the way when I return, if that’s okay.”

“Ah, girl…” the man pauses, placing a hand on the door to the house.

“You would have to take care of her while I’m away, though,” says Red. “Sorry.”

“No, no. It’s fine. Thank you. I’ll take good care of her while you’re away, Lady Hildegard,” utters the man, and he stops in front of the door, setting down the sack. Red watches him, but says nothing. “I… need a moment before I can go in.”

“Take all the time you need. I’ll be off myself, sir.”

“Good luck in finding your friend, girl. And… I wish for you to reach him on time.”

“I will, sir. With your help. Thank you.”

“Thank you too, Lady Hildegard. Take care. The winter is going to be brutal this year. It already is.”

“Duly noted.”

“Sol be with you,” utters the man, leaning his back against the door, slowly slumping down into a sitting position on the snowy front step. “Sol be with you.”

Red watches for another moment, before just nodding. Sol was not her god. But that didn’t need to be something many people knew. She glances into the building once again - by now, the candle’s gone out.

“Goodbye,” she turns and leaves. There’s not much more until she gets to Torain, and then it’s a race to Ravenheart.

It’s a hard journey to continue on foot, as the weather gets worse and the snow grows thicker underfoot with every step. The fog has reached a point of opaqueness, by now, where it becomes difficult to even see a few paces ahead of oneself, and the wind has picked up and is beating like a whip against Red’s front side, fluttering the coat behind her like a dark flag.

She takes in a deep, slow breath, warmed somewhat through the collar she’s pulled over her mouth and nose, before exhaling deeply, trailing a thick white-coloured mist behind her. It was midday when she left the estate, and she presumed to be in Torain by nightfall.

Red looks up, at a sky that’s slowly darkening. Complications, it seems, have gotten in the way of her timetable. The inky blackness of the horizon hides the thick clouds of a stormy winter. To the west, the peaks of Rowenna’s mountains are awash with a lining of gold from the setting sun, but from the east, there is nothing but shadow.

The moon is ornery. It comes out only when it feels like it, Red knows. And though it likes people like her more than most, she still knows to be glad not to be caught alone under its gaze. Tonight, the skies will be black: starless and void.

“Couldn’t he have chosen… sometime else? Autumn, or spring… Even summer. I would’ve taken summer gladly over this.” Red sighs and wraps her coat tightly around herself. The road from the estate to Torain isn’t a long one, necessarily - it takes a few hours to traverse at worst. But as the winter solstice approaches, the days grow shorter, shorter and shorter, and the sun shies behind the mountains more and more, until at last the solstice hits in late-December, and the sun doesn’t even show itself, and the moon shines in a bright lavender colour straight overhead.

Hexentag, they call it. The day of endless night.

It’s just a few weeks to Hexentag, remembers Red. I always thought he feared that day, like any other sane person. Yet he left so close to it. What an idiot.

Alas, there are lights on the horizon. Not the lights of stars, but of windows and streetlamps. Lights and the sound of rushing water: Torain, the city of rivers, nestled between the mouths of the Wyrm and the Lagan.

The muddy old road turns to hard slabs of rock under her feet, as it crosses with the wide boulevard that enters the city from the south side. Slush and half-melted snow sloshes as she steps across it, boots sometimes crunching against crystals of salt and gravel sprinkled across the stones. Immediately, the smell is awful, and Red lifts her collar over her face. The stink of car exhaust, she can smell from miles away as she approaches the city, but worse is the refuse left behind by hundreds of horses and their carriages going up and down the Torain-Ravenheart road.

She keeps to the side of the road, and like any place in the dead of the winter night, the Torain roads appear empty. There’s chatter and talking from inside the buildings on the road; buildings of stone and sturdy wood, with tiled roofs and clean windows. The buildings of richer people than those living out in the sticks her family used to rule.

There’s not many that line the road just yet, however: stocky, short houses with picturesque chimneys and small inns meant more for traders or people intending to just pass through, rather than stay. Pubs, too - lots of pubs. But Red’s pockets are empty. As is her stomach, for that matter, but as she pats herself down, she remembers with an internal groan how all of her saddlebags were on Cupcake, and in all her rush to be polite, it quite slipped her mind to take them off for the road.

Maybe I’m the one that’s an idiot.

It’s late, though, and all the walking has tired her out. She hasn’t gotten the laurels - neither the fancy silver coins stamped with the Raven Crown, nor the new, papery blue banknotes that have gone into circulation - to pay for an inn. She only planned for this to be a ride to Torain and back, but again, complications got in the way. But it’s fine - it wouldn’t be the first time she’s gone cold or hungry. The estate was dark and dreary, and not many people would dare to go there.

She’ll go to the train station in the morning, she decides. Or whenever she wakes up. But, for now, a cold wind sweeps through the streets and hits her like a rain of icy knives, and Lady Hildegard shuffles around a random house on the side of the street.

There is the sound of chatter from the inside. She crouches carefully under the window to not be seen - it’d be strange to interrupt the family having dinner inside with the sight of shiny eyes staring at them from the darkness past the glass.

She sits down, slowly, against the outside chimney. The stone is slightly warm from the fire burning against the bricks on the other side, and it’s just enough for her to rest her back against and let her eyes close.

Tomorrow is another day.