On the day the Dragon Temple opened, the blizzard that had raged for days came to a strange and eerie halt.
The sky was a ghastly white, casting a blinding glare upon the snow-covered ground.
Ella had changed into a new set of silver-white ceremonial attire. Her metal pauldrons were polished to a mirror finish, reflecting a cold brilliance under the snowy light.
She held a greatcoat made of Frost Wolf fur, edged with silver thread, and personally draped it over Luolin Frost Wolf’s shoulders.
“Don’t move.”
She focused on smoothing out every tiny wrinkle on his collar. The warmth of her fingertips seeped through the fabric, her movements as gentle as ever.
Luolin Frost Wolf lowered his eyes, looking at her profile so close to him. He could smell the cold scent of ink on her, mixed with a hint of feminine sweetness.
This royal grace weighed heavily on his shoulders; it felt more like a tombstone pressing down on his heart.
It reminded him of another batch of scalding blood, dripping from his own palm.
Once she was finished, Ella’s fingertips lingered on the back of his hand for a moment. Then, as if having made a decision, she took his hand in an active, forceful grip.
Her palm was warm and strong. Rather than a lover’s tenderness, it felt more like an indisputable declaration.
Side by side, amidst countless gazes filled with jealousy, awe, and scrutiny, the two walked toward the temporary ceremonial platform built in the center of the camp.
“I’ve been practicing writing your name lately, Luolin Frost Wolf.” Ella lowered her voice. The white mist she exhaled carried a rare sense of bashfulness and longing. “Frost Wolf… this surname sounds better than any other in the Empire.”
“I have already submitted an application to the Imperial College of Arms to create a new family crest for us,” she continued. Her voice remained cold as usual, but the trailing tone softened. “A silver wolf bathed under the Imperial Twin Moons. It represents the Frost Wolf family accepting the Empire’s glory and protection from now on. It will replace your old clan crest and be engraved on our armor and banners.”
“Luolin, from now on, no one will dare criticize your status.”
She paused, seemingly feeling her words were too blunt. She unconsciously looked away from his face, but she did not let go of the hand she was holding.
Every word concerning “us” and the “future” stabbed into Luolin Frost Wolf’s heart, over and over again.
He could only let her warm breath brush against his ear. His Adam’s apple bobbed with difficulty as he managed a blurred syllable in response.
As they neared the core area where the Emperor was located, Ella’s pace subconsciously slowed.
She glanced at the aging but majestic figure on the high platform, then at the silent, heavy-set guards surrounding him.
She hesitated.
But only for a fleeting moment.
Instead of letting go, she gripped his hand even tighter.
The Emperor on the platform cast a glance at them but said nothing, silently permitting his daughter’s minor act of willfulness.
“Dong—”
A distant toll of a bell shattered the deathly silence of the snowy plains.
The ceremony had begun.
The crowd of onlookers parted like a tide, creating a path.
Two tall guards, escorting a thin and frail figure, walked slowly from the end of the crowd.
They weren’t so much escorting a person as they were dragging a piece of lifeless cargo.
It was Moyin.
She wore only a thin, grey prisoner’s tunic that hung loosely in the freezing wind. Her silver hair, which once flowed like moonlight, was now dull and matted into a tangled mess.
Her wrists and ankles were locked in heavy shackles engraved with Anti-Magic Runes. The skin beneath the iron had long since been rubbed raw and bloody. With every step she took, the chains dragged a hideous scar across the snow.
Her face was as pale as paper, her lips cracked and dry, devoid of any color.
It was as if her soul had been drained, leaving behind only an empty husk shivering in the biting wind.
Luolin Frost Wolf’s breath was completely stolen away at that moment.
He watched helplessly as she was roughly shoved before the ancient, mottled stone doors of the Dragon Temple. Her knees buckled, and she collapsed heavily into the cold snow with a dull thud.
Moyin’s gaze remained hollow, fixed on the ground. She had lost all perception of her surroundings, as if all the sounds and colors of the world no longer had anything to do with her.
Until a guard, frowning in disgust, roughly grabbed her tangled hair and forced her to lift her head.
In that instant.
Her gaze, without any warning, swept toward the high platform.
It cut through the layers of people, bypassed the stern guards, and landed precisely on the man standing beside the Princess—clad in a luxurious coat, the envy of many… Luolin Frost Wolf.
Their eyes met. Time seemed to stretch and shatter in that moment. Luolin Frost Wolf’s heart skipped a beat; he was even prepared to face a tide of hatred or a venomous curse.
However, there was nothing.
Those silver eyes, clouded with a layer of grey haze, finally showed a microscopic ripple.
It wasn’t hate.
It wasn’t resentment.
It was an indifference colder and more desolate than the eternal permafrost of the North.
It was as if she were looking at an insignificant stranger, a rock, a tree—someone entirely disconnected from her life.
It was as if everything between them—the hearth fire in the Snow-Returning Hut, standing side-by-side on snowy nights, that unfinished word “Master,” even that sword through the heart—had never happened. It was as if it were all his hallucination alone.
An Old Eunuch with a feminine expression stepped forward, carrying a tray.
He picked up a gem-encrusted Ceremonial Dagger from the tray. Without even looking at Moyin, he raised the blade and brought it down, precisely slicing open her wrist.
Blood gushed out instantly.
The blood did not merely drip; it was drawn by an invisible force, turning into an eerie red line that meandered toward the ancient and complex grooves on the stone doors of the Dragon Temple.
Luolin Frost Wolf watched as her blood was continuously drained, watching her already pale cheeks lose another shade of color. Ella, who had been holding his hand, suddenly felt his fingertips become as cold as ice.
She knit her brows but did not withdraw her hand. Instead, she squeezed back with a reassuring grip.
She assumed he was nervous because it was his first time witnessing such a cruel ritual.
As the blood-colored runes were filled and lit one by one, the heavy stone doors let out a thunderous roar. With a tooth-aching sound of friction, they slowly opened inward.
An ancient, desolate aura rushed out from the bottomless darkness within the doors.
On the high platform, the Emperor, who had been leaning against a soft couch, stood up slowly with the support of two guards.
He looked at the opened stone doors with satisfaction. Then, a voice with a piercing power completely unbefitting his age rang out across the field.
“Ella.”
“Stay behind and preside over the perimeter security.”
The Emperor’s voice paused before adding emotionlessly.
“No one is allowed within a hundred paces of the Dragon Temple.”
“Yes, Your Majesty.”
Ella released Luolin Frost Wolf’s hand and bowed to accept the order.
Then, those hawklike, clouded eyes pierced through the crowd and landed precisely on Luolin Frost Wolf.
“Luolin Frost Wolf.”
“You, follow Us into the Dragon Temple.”