The journey to Frostford began before dawn, the city of Reven’s Gate fading behind us as we headed north. The air was crisp and cold, the sun a faint glow on the horizon.

Frostford was known for its unforgiving winters and its leader’s icy demeanor. Lady Serin was a key figure in the Freeholds, controlling the northern supply routes that fed half the region. If we could bring her to our side, it would be a major step forward.

But that was a big “if.”

“She’s not going to make this easy,” Jessa said as we trudged through the frost-covered plains.

“She’s already against Ecclesion, though, right?” I asked. “That should help.”

“Not necessarily,” Jessa replied. “Lady Serin doesn’t just oppose Ecclesion—she mistrusts anyone who tries to unify the Freeholds. If we don’t handle this carefully, she could see us as just another threat.”

“Wonderful,” Farron said, adjusting the strap of his bow. “So, what’s the plan? Smile, nod, and hope we don’t get thrown out?”

“Something like that,” Jessa said dryly.

The terrain shifted as we moved farther north, the grassy plains giving way to rocky hills and sparse, leafless trees. The cold intensified, the wind biting at our faces and tugging at our cloaks.

Ryla and Toren took point, their Frostblade instincts keeping us on high alert. Despite the quiet, the weight of potential danger hung heavily in the air.

“Anything we should know about Frostford’s defenses?” I asked Ryla as we climbed a steep incline.

“It’s a fortress city,” she said without looking back. “High walls, narrow gates, and archers who never miss. If Lady Serin doesn’t want you there, you won’t make it inside.”

“Great,” I muttered. “I’m starting to miss the mountains.”

Farron smirked. “Come on, Ash. Where’s your sense of adventure?”

“Buried under three layers of frostbite,” I said.

By midday, we crested a ridge and saw Frostford in the distance. The city was nestled in a frozen valley, its stone walls rising high against the snowy landscape. The buildings within were made of dark wood and stone, their steep roofs dusted with snow. Smoke rose from chimneys, curling into the pale sky.

“Looks... cozy,” Farron said, squinting at the city.

“Cozy if you’re a wolf,” Orin muttered.

As we approached, the gates loomed larger, flanked by towering watchtowers. Guards in heavy cloaks stood at attention, their spears gleaming in the weak sunlight.

One of them stepped forward, his face partially obscured by a fur-lined helmet. “State your business,” he said, his voice sharp and direct.

“We seek an audience with Lady Serin,” Jessa said. “We have urgent news regarding Ecclesion.”

The guard’s eyes narrowed. “Lady Serin doesn’t entertain strangers without proof of their intentions.”

“I’m the Chosen One,” I said, stepping forward. “I need to speak with her.”

The guard’s expression didn’t change, but he stepped aside reluctantly. “Wait here. I’ll inform the Lady of your arrival.”

The wait was agonizing. The wind howled through the valley, stinging our faces and numbing our fingers. The guards watched us warily, their hands never straying far from their weapons.

Finally, the gates creaked open, and a second guard emerged.

“Lady Serin will see you,” he said. “But tread carefully. She does not tolerate fools.”

“No pressure,” Farron whispered as we followed the guard into the city.

Inside, Frostford was as imposing as its walls. The streets were narrow and lined with snow-dusted buildings, and the people moved with purpose, their faces marked by the hard lines of a life spent in the cold.

The keep at the heart of the city was no less intimidating. Built of dark stone and reinforced with iron, it loomed over the rest of Frostford like a sentinel.

We were led into a grand hall lit by flickering torches and a massive hearth at its center. Lady Serin sat on a carved wooden throne, her pale hair pulled back in a tight braid. Her sharp features were framed by a fur-lined cloak, and her piercing blue eyes seemed to see straight through me.

“So,” she said, her voice as cold as the air outside. “The Chosen One comes to my city. Why?”

I took a deep breath, stepping forward. “Ecclesion is expanding its influence, and the Freeholds are their next target. If we don’t stand together, they’ll destroy everything.”

Serin’s lips curled into a faint, humorless smile. “Unity. Always the rallying cry of the desperate.”

“It’s not desperation,” I said. “It’s reality. Ecclesion isn’t just another threat—they’re a force that will consume the Freeholds if we don’t fight back.”

“And you think you can stop them?” she asked, raising an eyebrow.

“With your help, yes,” I said.

She leaned back in her chair, studying me for a long moment. “I’ve heard many promises over the years, Chosen One. Few have been kept.”

Jessa stepped forward, her tone calm but firm. “You oppose Ecclesion, Lady Serin. That much is clear. If you don’t act now, they’ll gain a foothold in the Freeholds, and no amount of isolation will protect you.”

Serin’s gaze shifted to Jessa, her expression unreadable. “You’re bold. I respect that. But boldness doesn’t win wars.”

“Neither does hesitation,” Jessa countered.

For a moment, the room was silent except for the crackle of the hearth.

Finally, Serin stood, her fur cloak billowing slightly as she descended the steps of the dais.

“I will consider your proposal,” she said. “But if you want my support, you’ll need to prove that your cause is worth risking Frostford’s resources—and its people.”

“What do you need us to do?” I asked.

“There’s an Ecclesion outpost to the northeast,” Serin said. “They’ve been harassing our supply lines, disrupting our trade. Take it out, and I’ll know you’re serious about this fight.”

“Consider it done,” Jessa said without hesitation.

Serin’s eyes flicked to me one last time. “You’ve entered Frostford under my protection. Don’t make me regret it.”

As we left the keep, the weight of her words settled heavily on my shoulders.

“Another outpost,” Farron said, shaking his head. “Does everyone want us to fight Ecclesion before they decide to help?”

“It’s not about the outpost,” Jessa said. “It’s about trust. If we succeed, Serin will see that we’re worth the risk.”

“And if we fail?” I asked.

“Then we’re on our own,” she said simply.

We made camp outside the city that night, the stars glittering coldly above us.

As I stared into the fire, I couldn’t help but feel the weight of the road ahead. Every leader we approached would demand proof, and every proof would come at a cost.

But failure wasn’t an option.

Tomorrow, we’d head northeast to the outpost.

The fire crackled softly in the biting chill of the Frostford night. The stars above were distant pinpricks of light in the inky sky, offering little comfort against the cold. We huddled close to the fire, each of us lost in our thoughts about what lay ahead.

Lady Serin’s challenge was clear: take out the Ecclesion outpost harassing her supply lines, and prove we were worth her trust. It was a straightforward task on the surface, but the weight of her words lingered like a shadow.

Jessa leaned over the map spread on the frozen ground, tracing a path with her gloved finger. “The outpost is here,” she said, her voice low but firm. “It’s built into the base of a cliff, near the northern trade route. That gives them a natural defensive advantage, but it also means they’re limited in how they can maneuver.”

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“So, tight quarters,” Farron said, nodding. “Good for sneaking in, bad for getting out if it all goes to hell.”

“Exactly,” Jessa said. “We’ll need to be precise. If we alert the outpost too early, they’ll dig in, and we’ll be fighting uphill.”

Ryla crouched beside Jessa, her sharp eyes scanning the map. “They’ll have patrols. Small groups, probably moving in patterns. If we take out a patrol quietly, we might be able to use their uniforms to get close to the outpost.”

“That’s a good plan,” Jessa said, glancing at me. “What do you think?”

I hesitated, studying the map. “It’s risky, but it could work. If we can get close without raising the alarm, we’ll have a better chance of taking them by surprise.”

“Risky’s kind of our thing, isn’t it?” Farron said, smirking.

Orin gave him a sidelong glance. “Some of us prefer risks with better odds.”

“Where’s the fun in that?” Farron replied.

Toren, ever the stoic presence, spoke for the first time since the planning began. “The Frostblades have faced Ecclesion before. They rely on discipline and numbers, but they’re vulnerable when isolated. Take out their patrols quickly and quietly, and the outpost will fall.”

“And if they spot us?” I asked.

“Then you fight like wolves,” Toren said simply.

“Comforting,” I muttered.

The night stretched on as we finalized our plan. By the time the fire had burned low, the strategy was clear: Ryla and Farron would scout ahead to locate the patrols, while the rest of us prepared for a coordinated attack. Once we secured a way inside the outpost, we’d strike hard and fast, targeting their leaders and cutting off their ability to call for reinforcements.

Simple in theory. But nothing about this war had been simple so far.

The next morning came cold and gray, the overcast sky casting a dull light over the snow-covered landscape. We broke camp quickly, the tension palpable as we prepared to move out.

Ryla and Farron led the way, their movements silent and purposeful as they disappeared into the trees. The rest of us followed at a distance, keeping low and sticking to the cover of the terrain.

We found the first patrol near a frozen stream, their armor gleaming faintly in the dim light. There were four of them, their movements slow and methodical as they scanned the area.

Ryla crouched beside me, her bow drawn. “Take out the two on the left,” she whispered. “I’ll handle the others.”

I nodded, gripping my dagger tightly. The hum of Shadow Veil buzzed faintly in my ears as I activated the ability, cloaking myself in a shroud of obscuring energy.

Moving silently, I crept toward the nearest soldier. The shadows seemed to bend around me, muffling my movements as I closed the distance.

The dagger struck true, the soldier collapsing with a faint gasp. Before the others could react, Ryla’s arrows found their marks, each one striking with deadly precision.

The patrol was down.

Farron emerged from the trees, his bow slung over his shoulder. “Not bad,” he said, glancing at the fallen soldiers. “You’re getting better at this, Ash.”

“Thanks,” I said, wiping the blade clean.

“Don’t let it go to your head,” Orin said, his tone dry. “We’re just getting started.”

We stripped the patrol of their uniforms, donning the Ecclesion armor and cloaks to blend in. The weight of the armor was unfamiliar, the cold metal pressing against my skin like a reminder of what we were up against.

“Fits well enough,” Farron said, adjusting his helmet. “Though I feel like I’m cosplaying as the enemy.”

“Focus,” Jessa said sharply. “We’re not out of the woods yet.”

Ryla motioned for us to follow. “The outpost is just ahead. Stay close, and keep quiet.”

The outpost came into view as we crested a small rise. It was a modest structure, built into the base of the cliff as Serin had described. A wooden palisade surrounded the camp, with a single gate flanked by watchtowers. Inside, a handful of soldiers moved between the barracks and the central building, their movements efficient but relaxed.

“Too relaxed,” Jessa whispered. “They’re not expecting trouble.”

“Good,” I said. “Let’s keep it that way.”

We approached the gate, the stolen uniforms providing just enough cover to pass as Ecclesion soldiers. The guard at the gate barely glanced at us as we entered, his focus on the frost-covered ground.

Inside, the air was thick with the scent of smoke and damp wood. The central building loomed ahead, its windows glowing faintly with firelight.

“That’s where their leader will be,” Jessa said, nodding toward the building.

“Let’s make it quick,” Orin said, his hand resting on the hilt of his knife.

We moved through the outpost with practiced precision, taking down stragglers and isolating key targets. The element of surprise worked in our favor, each skirmish over before the enemy could react.

When we reached the central building, Farron crouched near the door, his bow ready. “How do we want to play this?”

“Swiftly,” Jessa said.

I pushed the door open, the hinges creaking softly as we slipped inside.

The commander was waiting for us.

He stood near a table covered in maps and documents, his armor polished and his sword resting casually in his hand. His expression was calm, almost bored, as he regarded us.

“So,” he said, his voice smooth. “The Frostford mercenaries come to play hero. How quaint.”

“We’re not mercenaries,” I said, stepping forward. “We’re here to end this.”

The commander smirked, raising his sword. “Then let’s see what you’ve got, Chosen One.”

The fight was brutal. The commander moved with calculated precision, his strikes heavy and deliberate. But we fought as a team, each of us playing our part to overwhelm him.

When he fell, the outpost’s defenses crumbled. The remaining soldiers scattered, their morale broken.

By the time the sun dipped below the horizon, the outpost was ours.

We gathered near the central building, the weight of victory settling heavily on our shoulders.

“We did it,” Farron said, his grin faint but genuine.

“One step closer,” Jessa said, her voice steady.

I stared at the fallen commander, the faint hum of the dagger in my hand a reminder of what lay ahead.

Lady Serin would have no choice but to listen now.

The cold night air bit at my skin as we stood in the aftermath of the battle, the outpost eerily quiet save for the occasional creak of wood from the palisade. The glow of the distant moon reflected off the frost-covered ground, casting an almost serene light on what had been chaos just moments ago.

Jessa crouched over the commander’s table, rifling through the scattered maps and documents he had been studying before the fight. Her eyes narrowed as she scanned the papers, her sharp movements betraying her frustration.

“Anything useful?” I asked, stepping closer.

“Not much,” she muttered. “They were running standard operations—raiding supply routes, disrupting Frostford’s trade. No mention of bigger plans.”

“What about this?” Farron asked, holding up a sealed scroll he’d found tucked into a satchel on the commander’s belt.

Jessa took it, breaking the seal and unrolling the parchment. Her eyes darted across the page, her expression darkening.

“What does it say?” I pressed.

“It’s a directive,” she said, her voice tight. “Orders to escalate operations in the Freeholds. Ecclesion’s not just raiding—they’re positioning themselves to take control of key trade routes.”

“Which means they’re planning to make a move soon,” Orin said grimly.

Jessa nodded. “If we don’t act fast, the Freeholds won’t just be fractured—they’ll be under Ecclesion’s thumb.”

We spent the next hour securing what was left of the outpost. Most of Ecclesion’s soldiers had fled, but Ryla and Toren kept a close watch as we worked, their presence a steadying force amidst the uncertainty.

“Anything else worth taking?” Farron asked, rummaging through the supply crates near the barracks.

“Mostly food and basic supplies,” Jessa said. “Take what we can carry. The rest will go to Frostford.”

“Lucky them,” Farron muttered, tossing a bundle of rations into his pack.

By the time we were ready to leave, the adrenaline from the fight had worn off, replaced by the dull ache of exhaustion.

As we gathered near the gate, I turned to Ryla. “Think this will be enough to convince Serin?”

“It should be,” she said, though her tone was cautious. “But don’t expect her to fall at your feet. She’ll listen, but she’ll still expect more.”

“Of course she will,” Farron said, rolling his eyes. “Why make it easy when you can make us work for every inch?”

Jessa smirked faintly. “You wouldn’t know what to do with easy.”

“Probably nap,” Farron said, grinning.

The journey back to Frostford was uneventful, though the tension in the group was palpable. The weight of what we’d found at the outpost hung over us like a storm cloud, each of us acutely aware that Ecclesion’s plans were moving faster than we’d anticipated.

When we reached the city, the gates opened without hesitation. Word of our victory must have reached the guards, their expressions shifting from suspicion to something resembling respect as we passed.

Lady Serin was waiting for us in the great hall, her pale features illuminated by the flickering torchlight. She stood as we approached, her fur-lined cloak trailing behind her like a shadow.

“You’ve returned,” she said, her tone carefully neutral.

“The outpost is destroyed,” Jessa said. “Ecclesion’s forces are scattered.”

Serin’s eyes flicked to the sealed scroll Jessa held. “And that?”

“Orders,” Jessa said, handing it over. “Ecclesion is planning a larger push into the Freeholds. They’re targeting trade routes, positioning themselves to choke off your resources.”

Serin unrolled the scroll, her expression unreadable as she read the contents. When she finished, she folded the parchment and looked at me.

“You’ve proven capable,” she said. “And you’ve brought me valuable information. But this war is far from over.”

“We know,” I said. “That’s why we need your support.”

The room fell silent as Serin studied me, her sharp eyes seeming to pierce through any facade I might have tried to put up.

“Frostford will stand against Ecclesion,” she said finally. “But I won’t commit my full resources unless I see a true chance of victory. This alliance of yours—it needs to be more than just words.”

“It will be,” I said firmly.

Serin’s lips curved into a faint, humorless smile. “We’ll see. For now, you have my cooperation. Use it wisely.”

As we left the keep, the weight of her words settled heavily on my shoulders. Frostford’s support was a victory, but it was only a small piece of the puzzle. The Freeholds were still fractured, and Ecclesion’s plans were moving faster than we could counter them.

“Two leaders down,” Farron said, his tone light but his expression serious. “Only, what? A dozen more to go?”

“Three key leaders,” Jessa corrected. “And the next one won’t be as receptive as Serin.”

“Darnell,” I said, recalling Lord Enric’s words. “The merchant prince of Ashreach.”

Jessa nodded. “If Serin is cold, Darnell is colder. He cares about coin and power, and nothing else. Convincing him to help will take more than just a victory.”

“Wonderful,” Farron said. “Guess I’ll dust off my charm.”

“You’ll need more than charm to deal with Darnell,” Orin said dryly.

That night, as we prepared to leave Frostford behind, I found myself staring out over the city from the walls. The cold wind bit at my skin, but I barely noticed.

The war was growing larger with every step we took, the stakes rising higher. Frostford’s support was a start, but it wasn’t enough.

Not yet.

“Deep in thought?” Jessa’s voice broke the silence.

I turned to see her standing beside me, her cloak pulled tight against the cold.

“Just thinking about what comes next,” I said.

“You’re doing fine,” she said, her tone softer than usual. “Better than most would in your position.”

“Not sure if that’s comforting,” I said with a faint smile.

“It should be,” she replied. “Because whether you like it or not, the Freeholds are starting to notice you. Keep this up, and they’ll have no choice but to follow.”

I nodded, though the weight of her words pressed heavily on me.

Tomorrow, we’d head south to Ashreach.