-Reina POV-
Ashstone breathed a different kind of cold.
Not the merciless winter of the borderlands, where frost gnawed at flesh with open hunger, but a quieter chill—like distant grief settled upon stone and wood. The snow here did not fall with intent to kill. It simply draped itself across rooftops, veiling the town in silence, as if asking those beneath it to walk softly.
I did.
The moment we set foot inside the city last night, I knew this would be our only day of pause. Kel had declared it as such—not with emotion, but with calculated practicality. "Today, what we need for travel, we buy."
No more. No less.
So I woke before dawn, as I often did.
Not from duty.
But from a long-trained inability to sleep beyond necessity.
Morning — Balance and Steel
My boots pressed into freshly fallen snow as I stepped outside The Brass Dagger while the world still yawned. The sky was that muted shade between night and day, where color had yet to remember itself. Only a faint purple glow at the horizon promised sun.
I trained.
Not for spectacle.
Not for improvement.
Simply to remember.
My blade cut through the crisp air in slow arcs. I traced steps in the snow, each movement deliberate, controlled. Breath visible. Arms steady. Muscles remembering scars that eyes could not see. My fingers brushed the hilt at the exact millisecond required between motion and restraint.
I repeated the drill.
Again.
And again.
Until the faint warmth from the rising sun kissed the ice crystals on my sleeve.
That was when I stopped.
Not because I was exhausted.
But because I felt the soft ache Kel often forces himself to ignore—that whisper beneath the ribs that says "if you wish to walk far tomorrow, step gently today."
Late Morning — Markets and Masks
After cleaning my blade and changing into warmer attire—long wool coat, dark grey, bound with leather straps at waist—I walked into Ashstone's market streets.
The vendors were busy sweeping snow from their stands, arranging goods atop cold-resistant cloth.
I bought travel rations first—dried meat, hard bread, preserved fruit in sealed jar. I examined each item carefully, pressing lightly to test texture, calculating weight against nutritional value.
When the merchant tried to overcharge, I met his eyes.
I did not raise my voice.
I did not threaten.
I simply stared.
Cold.
Still.
He adjusted the price immediately.
After that, I visited a craftsman who worked with fur-lined leather. I purchased a new pair of gloves—for Landon. His were worn. He would ignore that. So I did not tell him. I had them packed in waxed cloth and put in my pack.
For Kel, I considered warmer layers, but hesitated. His frames of movement are precise. Too much thickness would hinder him. I settled on purchasing two thin-layered thermal wraps instead, lightweight and insulating, designed for archers who track prey at night.
I also purchased one extra.
I told myself it was in case of emergency.
I knew it was for me.
Midday — Crossroads
At noon, I stood at the northern watchtower, overlooking the road we would take tomorrow.
I observed snow patterns on the wind.
The caravan tracks.
Footsteps.
And the way frost gathers thicker toward the northeast.
I recalled what he said last night.
"Tomorrow, we move."
He said it like a fact.
Not a choice.
I wondered if he ever gives himself permission to choose anything for his own sake.
I wondered… if the world had allowed him to.
Afternoon — Library of Glass
I entered Ashstone's public library not for books, but for silence.
Books spoke too much to me.
Silence spoke just enough.
I sat near the window, where snow pressed against the glass, melting in small rivers. I watched the streets.
I saw a child slip and laugh.
I saw two mercenaries argue over rations.
I saw a trader adjust his sledge harness.
I saw Kel walk alone toward weaponry once in that time. His shadow long across white.
He did not look toward the library.
But I sat very still.
Until he passed beyond sight.
Even then, I waited ten heartbeats before shifting.
Evening — Return
When I returned to the inn, I brought bread fresh from an oven—steam still rising behind parchment paper.
Kel arrived later, long after the sun dipped.
Walking alone.
Snow swirling in his hair.
He sat across from me.
Landon stood behind him for a moment, expression unreadable, then left to retrieve bandages.
Kel's fingers had small cuts.
I noticed before he removed his gloves.
He looked at them as if noticing damage for the first time.
…He behaves like a blade.
Precise.
Sharp.
Enduring.
But even a blade becomes brittle in winter if not warmed.
So I said nothing when I set the bowl of warm water before him.
He watched the steam rise.
Slow.
Measured.
He did not say thank you.
I did not need him to.
He rested his fingers in the water.
I didn't miss how his breath eased.
Night — Writing in Snow
I sat in my room as night deepened, snow brushing against the window again like it had in the morning. I unwrapped the parchment and ink I bought from the library. I wrote only six words.
"He walks beyond where others do."
I did not sign it.
I folded it and put it into the second thermal wrap.
I do not know if he'll find it.
I do not need him to.
It is enough that I wrote it.
Final Thoughts
Tomorrow we walk.
Into colder lands.
Into harsher winds.
Toward something I do not fully understand.
Kel knows.
He does not say.
I will not ask until he chooses to speak.
All I know is…
He stands like someone already walking his last season.
Yet fights as someone who refuses to let it be.
My duty is clear.
Not to follow.
Not to protect.
But to walk beside.
Even if others freeze.
Even if he burns.
Even if the road ends.
When I blew the candle out, the world dimmed to shadow.
Outside, snow fell restlessly.
Inside, I whispered to the cold air.
"If winter intends to take him… it will have to go through me first."