Reality.
North of Frostwolf Fortress, what was once the Ice Lake had long since been buried under even thicker snow.
The original hunter’s cabin had collapsed ages ago, leaving only a few rotted wooden beams jutting slantwise from the snow, bearing silent witness to the cruelty of time.
Moyin stopped in front of a piece of Granite, half-buried beneath the snow.
The stone’s edges had been worn smooth and clumsy by centuries of wind and frost.
She slowly reached out her hand, fingertips brushing over the cold surface, pushing aside the heavy layer of frosty white.
Two characters emerged.
Though blurred, the strength in each stroke and slash still let anyone who saw it feel the power of the person who carved it, all those years ago.
Gui Xue.
Moyin’s fingertip lingered for a long time on the last downward stroke of the “Gui” character, until her finger turned pale with cold.
Her silver hair danced madly in the freezing wind, brushing against her expressionless face, unable to hide the glimmer that occasionally flickered deep in her eyes.
That was the firelight from a hundred years ago, the lingering warmth she could never escape in this lifetime.
“Your Majesty.”
Hilna stepped forward, lowering her voice as a reminder.
“The wind here is strong. The tents are set up. Please, Your Majesty, move inside.”
Moyin didn’t move. She just quietly watched the stone, as if she could see through it to the figure of that man wielding his dagger in the firelight.
Apprentice maid Lilith shrank her neck at the side, curiosity making her look at the Granite, muttering softly.
“Miss Hilna, what’s special about this rock? Looks like just a random stone out in the wild—there isn’t even a magic circle…”
Hilna’s face turned stern, and she immediately stopped Lilith’s careless words.
She sighed softly, her tone complex.
“Be silent, Lilith. Some names are themselves faith. And here, faith began.”
Moyin finally withdrew her hand and turned around, her voice cold and even.
“We’ll camp here.”
She wanted to keep watch over these ruins, guard this name, waiting for someone who might never return.
Even if this was just a centuries-long vigil, waiting beside a tree for a hare that would never come.
Simulated Instance: Oath of Embers.
Gui Xue Cabin.
Pine branches in the hearth crackled, sometimes popping sparks.
Shen Luolin sat at the table, idly turning a Crystal Test Tube in his hands.
Inside the test tube flowed a brilliant blue liquid, its texture in the firelight viscous and strange.
That was an Alchemical Potion Ella had left behind.
“Come. Drink this.”
Shen Luolin’s voice rang out in the silent room, leaving no room for refusal.
Moyin was crouched in a corner, arranging hay, and froze for a moment at his words.
She looked at the softly glowing test tube, a wave of instinctive aversion rising in her heart.
That color was too much like the cold things in those alchemy labs.
But when she looked up to meet Shen Luolin’s gaze, all her resistance quietly melted away.
She obediently walked over, took the test tube, her fingertips brushing his hand in passing.
The warmth from that patch of skin calmed her panicked heartbeat just a little.
The potion was icy cold at first, as if she’d swallowed a shard of millennium-old ice.
But soon after, that cold burst in her throat, turning into a scalding current that raced through her veins to every extremity.
The chill that had gathered deep in her bones these days was violently expelled in that moment.
A flush crept onto Moyin’s pale face, her breathing quickened.
She instinctively grabbed Shen Luolin’s wrist, her slender fingers tightening.
“Master… I’m so hot…”
Shen Luolin let her hold on, his brow finally relaxing a little.
“Your body is too weak. This is a necessary step in your recovery. Endure it.”
Moyin nodded heavily, clinging to the warmth of his palm. The panic brought on by the potion was miraculously soothed by this brief comfort.
As long as he was here, the pain didn’t seem so bad.
The next day, clear skies after snow.
For once, the northern lands let a few strands of golden sunlight fall on the thickly frozen lake, dazzling to the eyes.
To improve their meals, Shen Luolin brought Moyin to the center of the lake.
He used his Tactical Dagger to carve a round hole in the ice, then fashioned a makeshift fishing rod from a slender branch and beast sinew.
“Watch. When the line goes taut, pull.”
Shen Luolin sat by the ice hole, holding a branch, looking a bit ridiculous, but his calm and collected air made it feel as if he was commanding a battle.
Moyin was a diligent student.
She squatted beside Shen Luolin, resting her cheeks on her hands, eyes fixed unblinking on the hole in the ice.
Waiting was long, and though the wind had stilled, the air was still frigid.
Moyin glanced at Shen Luolin.
His hands, exposed to the cold, were red at the knuckles from gripping the fishing rod so long.
Moyin bit her lip, inching closer to his hand.
She closed her eyes, focusing on the wild power in her body.
A tiny, nearly transparent silver flame flickered on her fingertip.
It was dragonfire—still unformed, but already carrying some warmth.
She carefully moved the flame near Shen Luolin’s hand, trying to ease his chill a little.
Shen Luolin felt the warmth by his hand and paused.
He lowered his head, seeing the girl beside him tense with worry, afraid the flame would go out.
The flame was small and didn’t actually do much against the cold, but in this endless white, that little light seemed especially piercing.
“Master, is it warmer?”
Moyin asked softly, her eyes full of pure hope.
Shen Luolin’s Adam’s apple bobbed. He quickly looked back to the ice hole, his tone colder than before:
“Don’t waste your strength on such things. The fish has bitten.”
He jerked the rod up. A plump Ice Lake Trout arced silver through the air, landing heavily on the ice and flapping wildly.
“We got one! Master, we caught a fish!”
Moyin cheered and pounced on the fish, laughing like a child who’d won a rare sweet.
In that instant, she almost forgot the vendetta she carried, the soldiers who hunted her.
She felt that if life could always be like this, it wouldn’t be so bad.
Shen Luolin watched her tumble with the fish, and that ever-present “trouble” in his mind wavered again.
But reason quickly returned.
This peace was stolen, a mirage built on lies and deals.
When they returned to Gui Xue Cabin with the fish, a guest was already waiting at the door.
Ella, still clad in that deep blue dress, stood tall and out of place before the desolate ruin.
Behind her was a simple Snow Sled loaded with heavy wooden crates.
When she saw Shen Luolin and Moyin return, Ella’s gaze lingered for a second on the earthy, wriggling trout in Moyin’s hands, and a faint, playful smile curved her lips.
“It seems Mr. Luolin’s adaptability is as remarkable as ever. Even here, you’re living so vibrantly.”
Moyin’s smile froze.
She instinctively shrank behind Shen Luolin, clutching his fish-scented sleeve with white-knuckled fingers.
The expensive fragrance on that woman made it hard for her to breathe.
“You brought the supplies?”
Shen Luolin’s expression didn’t change as he stepped forward, naturally shielding Moyin from Ella’s sharp gaze, and took the heavy supply crate.
Ella ignored Shen Luolin and instead pulled a beautifully wrapped Iron Box from her bag.
Stamped on its lid was the logo of the Famous Dessert Shop in the capital.
She walked up to Moyin, bent slightly, and offered the box. Her gaze, however, drifted over Moyin’s head, falling—seemingly by accident—on Shen Luolin.
“When Luolin was in the capital, he always liked to have this shop’s Plum Preserves with tea.”
Her voice was gentle and flawless.
“I thought, his student probably has a similar taste. Try them, see if you like them.”
Moyin stared blankly at the box, not reaching out.
That elegant wrapping stood in harsh contrast to the shabby cabin and her patched clothes.
This box of preserves represented a world she could never reach, and the unspoken understanding between Shen Luolin and this woman that she could never share.
Ella’s manner was not so much giving a gift as looking down on a stray cat that had trespassed on forbidden ground, a kind of lofty pity.
The condescending concern of a “lady of the house” for a stray.
Moyin lowered her head, fingers nearly digging into the earthy, flopping trout.
The fish’s muddy tang, the smoke from the firewood, the faint pine scent of her master—these “Gui Xue” scents she’d just begun to find comforting, were instantly overwhelmed by the woman’s luxurious, unfamiliar sweetness.
The ornate gilded pattern on that box stung her eyes.
So this is what Master’s world smells like.
And she, like the fish in her hands, was nothing but a muddied, out-of-place creature in this barren wasteland.