Back at the Lodge
That night, as Emeric sat by the window reviewing trade ledgers, a soft knock came at the door once again.
This time, no one answered it.
A folded piece of parchment had been slid beneath the wood. Emeric rose, picked it up, and unfolded it.
A single silver white snowflake sigil was drawn at the top — the mark of Winter's Veil.
Inside were five words:
Grenthar has planted a knife.
Emeric read it twice, then tucked it away in his coat. "And so it begins."
He turned back to the fire, gaze hardening.
***
The pale light of dawn stretched thin across the ramparts of Winter Keep. Frost clung to every stone and blade, painting the courtyard in a cold shimmer. Twenty six knights gathered, their armor gleaming with the subtle glow of newly mastered battle skills.
