It took an hour for the men and women to gather. They came together at the foot of the mountains, banners flapping in the wind. Each noble sent half a dozen soldiers, a small number all things considered. Smaller groups were easy to coordinate in case a fight broke out. Nobles were present in the meeting, but few were currently around.

“Hey Pascal,” Nikita mused. “Is there a reason why the other nobles are invisible? Should I be invisible as well?”

“Knowing them, they are probably attending to pressing matters, Your Grace.”

“Ah, ‘pressing matters.’ I should have thought of that.” her shoulders sagged as she walked forward, her guards following behind her.

Her armor was an ornate red and gold, with a half cape flapping over her left shoulder. The neosteel that covered her chest bore the scale-and-scholar seal of her House. Her armor was thin and light, allowing her the mobility she needed. The clean, modern curves of her armor covered her from neck to toe like a second skin, while a pair of spears were magnetically attached to her back, long red strings flowing from their tips.

In the distance she spotted the commander, now dressed in his own armor. Flanking him were two guards, dressed in the color of the sky.

She walked over to him, saluting lazily.

“Commander Tristram.” she said. “Nikita Takahashi, reporting as requested. May I know when we’re moving out? I’m getting a bit restless here.”

The commander raised his eyebrow.

“You? Restless? I thought you hated battle.”

“I do. But the sooner we get this over with, the better. Are we waiting on anyone else? The deva seem punctual as usual, and the elves and nobles look just about finished with their preparations.”

Tristram nodded at her before he turned and spoke to his lieutenant.

He was being unusually quiet, and for a moment, Nikita found herself worrying. Commander Tristram was known throughout the kingdom as an honorable, loyal man. He fought with her against the Whispers a year ago. He helped pushed back the darkness. He was more approachable then, a bit more open with information. Now he seemed annoyed with everything.

It was probably just the stress.

Their small group of thirty-or-so soldiers walked through the snow in tight, linear formations. The commander and his men were the vanguard, followed by the disciplined deva. Nikita and her small group of personal guards were somewhere in the middle of the formation. She chose the position herself. She could protect the most people here.

“Where are the Genevedian magi?” Pascal asked, trudging along beside her.

“Genevedian magus, you mean.” Nikita said, white mist escaping her lips. “They said they were sending an S-rank magus with us. But I don’t see anyone like that.” from the corner of her eye, a soldier trips and falls into the snow. She grins. “I see some E-rank magi though. How many E’s does it take to make an S?”

“Around ten thousand, Your Grace.”

“Wait, really? That was a rhetorical question, but, hmm, okay.”

Her train of thought stopped when she sensed something in the air. She did not miss a single step. Continuing to stroll forward, Nikita began to focus on the eerie sensation. The Rift continued to pour out magical energy above them, but the energy it released was consistent— like a gas cloud that hung in the air.

This sudden sensation was more intense, more invasive.

She glanced around. No one but her seemed to notice the presence. Far ahead, she saw that the commander continued to move forward without a care in the world.

She could stop the column right now, but that would arouse suspicion and cause unnecessary panic. If someone or something was following them, that was the last thing she wanted to happen. She slowed her pace, allowing Pascal to catch up and walk beside her.

“Keep the men in formation.” she said. “Something’s not right. I’m going to check it out.”

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Pascal nodded without complaint, as he subtly takes her place in front of her guard.

She slipped out easily enough. The wind was blowing and it was bloody cold. No one was really paying attention to anyone else. This was not a single unit, not a tight-knit group of soldiers. Unit cohesion was low. Because of that, the group was very vulnerable to attack.

She walked through the billowing wind easily enough. Her superior physique allowed her to climb the steep mountainside effortlessly. She practically jogged through the loose snow, as silent as a shadow.

Nikita was many things. She was a noble, an experienced soldier, and a powerful magus. The basics of identifying and tracking a threat were not lost on her. She knew her responsibility, what she needed to do. Her instincts told her that something was wrong. And her instincts have yet to fail her.

The path she followed brought her higher up the mountain, in a path adjacent to the commander’s column. As she followed the snowy trail, she found her feeling of danger steadily grow. The trail brought her to a cliff, where a large stone statue stood, and where a man in armor sat before it.

She recognized him immediately.

With a sigh, she lowered her guard and walked toward the figure. The man moved not an inch as she approached, and instead continued to silently gaze at the statue.

He was dressed in the gold-and-blue of his house, his cape wrapping around his neck like a scarf. His eyes were green like hers. His hair was a dark brown. The air of nobility radiated from him, but his posture was aloof.

“Not a letter or an email in months, and here I find you, praying to a rock.” Nikita said, placing a hand on her hip.

“I’m not praying. I’m just appreciating the craftsmanship.” his voice was cool. She missed hearing it.

“I wasn’t aware that you were around. I assumed that House Maxwell had no interest in such a boring expedition.”

“Magical anomalies are always interesting. But I’m not here to investigate the Rift on behalf of my house.” he uncrossed his legs and stood up, the snow gently rolling over his armored shoulders and chest. “The king sent me as a representative, or rather as insurance for the rest of you.”

Nikita was a tall girl, but he was half a head taller than her. She looked up at him, staring into the pools of his eyes.

His name was Chaos Maxwell. She dared not speak the words aloud for the hurt they may give her. Like her, he was considered a hero. The world called him the Savior of Orison. His efforts singlehandedly ended a noble’s rebellion in a neighboring kingdom. His actions prevented a civil war that not only could have caused the deaths of millions, but also could have ended the world.

“You… haven’t changed.” he said, suddenly looking away. “You still have the same impressive figure, Your Grace.”

Her cheeks reddened instantly. “I uh— thanks.”

“Wait that came out wrong.” with a finger to his chin, he frowned.

“Damn straight that came out wrong!”

“I meant that you project an impressive figure.” he quickly corrected himself, slapping his fist into his palm. “Since you’re the Hero of Kria, and all that. You don’t become a hero without projecting a heroic figure, right?”

He smiled warmly at her.

“Let’s just go with that.”

And just like that, his lips were upon hers.

And for a time, nothing seemed to matter. Not the Rift, not the cold, not the soldiers marching on the path beneath them— nothing else mattered. The wind blew and her hair danced in the wind. The crimson of her cape twisted and turned with the azure of his. The coldness of winter mattered little in the face of such longing.