The sun had not yet reached its peak when Aya rode ahead of her small company, the hooves of their horses kicking up dust along the border trails. The stretch of land before them was quiet—too quiet—but she welcomed the silence for now. It was the kind that spoke more of watchful eyes than open threats.
The wind lifted her long, dark hair from her shoulders as she drew her hood back. Around her, a handful of trusted riders—veterans from the Northern army, and some loyal to Athax—spread out in careful formation. These were not just patrols for appearances; these were soldiers she had bled with in the past, men and women who had once shouted her name from the ramparts after their victory in the North.
Aya's gaze swept the ridgeline where familiar banners still fluttered in the breeze—Elex's outposts holding fast even now that he'd returned to Vetasta. She had made this ride not out of duty, but instinct. The quiet since the wedding was too long, too still.
Shin rode just behind her, alert and sharp-eyed. "No signs of movement from Ceadel?"
Aya shook her head. "Not here. But the stillness... It's like waiting for a wave to crest."
She heard Masa's voice from the rear call out as they passed a hilltop: "Scouts say the Western roads are active again. No caravans. Just wagons. Supplies."
Aya pulled her horse to a stop, eyes narrowing. "They're preparing," she murmured. "They'll test us before they confront us."
Shin looked at her carefully. "Are we ready?"
Aya didn't answer right away. She slid from her horse and walked a few paces to a high rock, looking out across the plains. From here, the line between peace and war was faint—like a shadow just waiting for the right light.
"We will be," she said. "And so will Athax."
After making sure the outposts are secured, Aya's company headed back into the city. The ride back to the castle was a steady descent from the wild openness of the hills into the shadowed stone walls of Athax. The air grew warmer as they reached the lower roads, the noise of the city growing in slow, welcome degrees—the clang of smiths at their forges, children chasing each other through the narrow alleys, merchants calling out to passersby with baskets of dyed cloth and sweet, sticky dates.
Aya guided her horse through the gates with practiced ease, nodding at the guards who snapped to attention at the sight of her. Masa dismounted and handed his reins off to a stable hand before falling into step beside her.
They were just passing the outer training grounds when a shout rose near the front courtyard.
"Lady Aya!" came Shin's voice, sharp and raised with tension. "Stand back!"
In a heartbeat, Aya turned. Shin stood a few paces ahead, hand already on the hilt of his sword, his stance low and ready. Beside him, Masa had picked up his hammer—not threatening, but warning.
Across from them, a group of riders stood in dusty travel leathers, their horses battle-tested and lean. At their center sat a man with hair like burnished bronze, cropped short, and eyes like dark ink. His bearing was quiet but coiled, as though every breath passed through a trained filter of restraint.
He did not flinch at Shin's defensive posture. Instead, he slowly dismounted, hands lifted in cautious peace.
"My Lady," the man said, voice calm, low, but edged with steel. "I mean no harm and seek only words."
Aya stepped between her men without hesitation. "Stand down," she told them, her voice clear. "They're Northerners."
Masa frowned but obeyed, putting his hammer down. Shin stepped aside, eyeing the man warily.
Aya turned to face the new arrival fully.
"Frost Fire," she said quietly, eyeing the stitching on their clothes. "You are from House Medea."
Shin and Masa glanced at each other, stepping slightly closer to Aya again. "The mercenary band? What are they doing here?" Shin whispered as Masa shrugged.
"You've heard of us, my Lady?"
"The name was not one easily forgotten," Aya responded.
A feared and disciplined band in the North, Frost Fire had risen out of Afleu—one of the last frontier cities before King Ive's campaign happened. Mercenaries by title, but soldiers by discipline, they were trained in brutal terrain, schooled in skirmishes with bandits and wild creatures, and known for fighting on when others would flee. Rumor had it they could track a man through snow-blind storms, scale vertical rock like cats, and move silently enough to surprise even wolves.
They were loyal to one Northern House, yes—but also to the old Northern codes: honor, restraint, and silence in service.
And House Medea—long scorned and quiet—had birthed them.
"You've come far from Afleu," Aya said, her voice still even, though her thoughts raced. "Frost Fire does not travel without purpose."
The man—Seth—gave a single nod. "No, my lady. Nor do I."
Behind her, the wind shifted, carrying the faint scent of smoke and pine. Aya didn't look away from him.
"Then speak," she said. "And I will listen."
Seth inclined his head. "We came to serve the last surviving Summoner from House Svedana."
Aya's brows furrowed, but she did not say anything.
"My name is Seth, son of Darnel and Sora from House Medea. My mother served your father's court. She's gone now. Her final wish was that I find you, Lady Aya. That I serve you."
"Lady Sora?" Aya stepped forward, but Shin raised an arm to block her.
"Yes, my Lady," Seth answered.
"She's gone?" Aya weighed her words carefully. "You mean she's dead."
Aya lowered her head and closed her eyes for a moment before fixing her eyes back on the man before her.
"I know of your mother when she was in Vetasta, but nothing beyond that. I don't know your mother's wish, and I don't know you. But you've come in peace. That's something." She gestured toward the heavy doors of the castle. "Rest. Eat.Then we'll speak."
She gestured to one of Athax's soldiers to guide the group, for they knew better where to guide the company to rest and have their horses tended to.
He nodded once, then looked past her, taking in the castle—its walls, the banners of House Svedana now hanging alongside the red and black of House Valmird. Something flickered across his face—regret, or memory, or something darker. But it passed.
Aya turned and walked towards the castle, her guards falling into step behind.
The chamber doors creaked open just as Killan was pulling off his gloves, his sword still resting on the table beside a spread of fresh reports.
Vignir stepped in, looking windblown. "A new company's arrived, Killan. Riders. Northern, by their looks."
Killan glanced up, immediately alert. "Trouble?"
"No, not exactly," Vignir said. "They came through the gates under a merchant's banner. The one leading them—he called himself Seth of House Medea. Claims to have come to the aid of Lady Aya."
Killan frowned slightly. "Medea? I haven't seen any emissaries from that House."
"Aye. I guess we'll know more when she speaks with them." Vignir paused, his mouth tightening around the next words. "He said she was the reason he and his group came. That he intends to serve."
That had Killan on his feet. "Where is he now?"
"Lady Aya met him outside the castle walls. He's with her now."
Killan moved to the window, where he could see the distant shadows of the new riders being led toward the lower stables. Aya walked just ahead of them, posture upright, confident—but her expression was unreadable even at this distance.
He exhaled slowly, tension spreading down his spine like heat on steel.
"Send word to the Council. I want to know everything about House Medea and this man. His record. His family. Whatever he's done before now."
Vignir nodded. "And Lady Aya?"
Killan's gaze lingered on her silhouette as it disappeared through the castle's doors.
"She's capable," he said quietly. "But I want eyes on this Seth character. He may have come in peace, but we do not truly know what his intentions are."