A seamless blanket of white snow covered Whitefang Peak, stretching across the northern horizon as far as the eye could see. Above, a heavy grey sky hung low, extending the pale winter days into long, quiet stretches. On the ground, the fresh snow was already beginning to melt, churning the streets of Ngabo into a thick slurry of mud and icy slush.
The broken walls of the city had been completely rebuilt, fortified with Alohul's finest steel and outfitted with intricate traps and automatic arrow engines, granting Ngabo the same formidable defensive strength as Nue-Li City.
High above the muddy roads leading to the riverbank, watchtowers manned by Magoli archers stood unyielding, lining the base of Whitefang Peak. Down below, military campsites stretched along the banks of the Nuazas River. The water was not yet fully frozen—only a thin, glossy sheet of ice glazed its surface—but everyone knew the relative ease of movement wouldn't last. The cold would soon deepen, locking the river into solid ice and freezing the realm in its grip.
The mountain wind swept across the glassy surface of the river, carrying a gentle scatter of snowflakes toward the watchers on the banks. Swirling with the faltering breeze, the snow drifted back into the cold, damp ruins of Ngabo.
Sitting curled in the corner of his open enclosure, Yongyee felt a sudden, sharp chill on his skin. He looked down at his hand—chapped, bone-dry, and bleeding from the bitter air. Resting right on his knuckle was a single snowflake, slowly melting away from the faint trace of body heat he had left.
It dissolved in seconds, the exact same way his hopes of freedom had died with each passing sunset.
Of the three thousand captured men, those with highborn names or ties to royal bloodlines had long since been ransomed and returned to Zouis. Bliang and Mingle, being Jietang captains, had been redeemed by their own realm months ago. Now, of all the officers who had surrendered, Yongyee was the only captain left behind alongside two thousand common soldiers. King Es Ke had flatly refused to pay for their release, abandoning them to rot—and die—in the hands of their conquerors.
Sitting motionless in the damp, freezing corner, Yongyee's dry, cracked lips trembled. He stared down at his rough, calloused knuckles, split open and bleeding from six months of biting winter cold.
Six long months.
Six months of waiting in the dirt, only for his king to decide that a loyal captain's life wasn't worth two hundred gold coins.
The longer he stared at his bleeding hands, the darker his thoughts became. Anger, slow and suffocating at first, began to boil in his chest. If the Magoli general was willing to burn an entire city to ashes just to reclaim the dead body of her captain... why couldn't his king spare a handful of coins to save the lives of the men who had bled for him?
The cold faded from his skin. His heart pounded violently against his ribs, and soon, the biting winter air no longer mattered. Yongyee's whole body was consumed by an engulfing, blinding flame of pure, unadulterated rage.
"Lunch time," a Magoli soldier called out, his voice echoing through the subterranean chill.
Yongyee looked toward the doorway of the cell. Standing alongside the guard was a young unit leader, and beside him, a teenage girl wearing fitted Magoli leather armor with a heavy wooden medicine chest strapped across her shoulder.
A sharp ache pierced Yongyee's heart. She was the exact same age as his own daughter.
The last time he had seen his daughter was at the gates of Ngabo—carrying his four-year-old son strapped to her back before disappearing into the swirling dust with the fleeing refugees. His eyes welled with hot, bitter tears. He had no idea where she was, whether she was starving in the freezing cold, or if she was being mistreated by desperate men. As a father, the sharpest pain was never the enemy's blade cutting into his flesh; it was the suffocating horror of knowing his children were enduring hardship, entirely helpless to protect them.
Further down the cell, a Paayasian soldier shuffled to the front and gripped the wooden bars tightly.
"Tell your captain this man needs a doctor," the prisoner urged, pointing to a shivering comrade behind him. "He's been coughing for four days straight."
"Bring him closer," Siqi commanded calmly.
Two Paayasian captives dragged the weak, coughing soldier to the front of the enclosure.
"Please open your mouth," Yingzi requested politely, kneeling beside the bars. "How long have you had this cough, sir?"
The harsh, guarded expressions of the Paayasian prisoners softened immediately. The girl's voice carried no malice, only genuine concern.
"I—" the sick man broke into a raspy, body-racking cough. "I've been coughing for a few days now."
"The weather is growing colder by the day, so catching a chill is normal," Yingzi reassured him with a gentle smile. "I'll have some medicinal tea boiled for you, and I will ask my father if we can find a way to trap more heat in these lower quarters."
"Thank you, young lady," one of the older prisoners murmured, bowing his head slightly.
Yingzi offered them a warm nod, picked up her heavy medicine box, and moved further down the corridor to inspect the next cell.
Siqi remained behind, his gaze shifting until it locked onto Yongyee in the corner. His expression turned ice-cold. "You there. Let this be your only warning: if you so much as cast a foul glance in her direction, I will gouge those eyes out myself."
Yongyee's lips curled into a dry smirk. "She isn't your wife, is she?"
"Keep smiling," Siqi growled through gritted teeth, "and I will ensure those promised winter blankets and warm coats never find their way into this cell."
Yongyee pushed himself off the damp wall and sauntered toward the wooden bars, his eyes burning with spite. "Tough words coming from the son of a traitor," he mocked softly. "I've heard the rumors. You're the son of the Tanggolian traitor, Zhi."
It was far from the first time Siqi had heard that word thrown in his face. Instead of flinching, he took a firm step closer to the heavy timber bars, squaring his shoulders proudly.
"I would rather be called a traitor's son by my enemies," Siqi said, his voice ringing with quiet steel, "than be a forgotten, rotting prisoner abandoned by my own king."
He turned on his heel to leave, but paused, looking back over his shoulder to lock eyes with the former captain.
"My father once taught me that men do not turn their backs on their king—unless their king turns his back on them first."
Siqi's gaze swept across the silent cell, taking in every Paayasian soldier listening. "My mother was raped and murdered by Xin Zhiyuan, a high-ranking Tanggolian of royal blood. My grandparents, my sister, and I were all cast into chains, awaiting execution by royal decree. And my father was dragged across the Scorched Graves to be executed at Lao-Da Pass... simply because he refused an order to slaughter the helpless wives and children of his fallen foes."
He stepped closer, his voice dropping into a harsh, piercing whisper.
"So, tell me, Captain... would you remain loyal to a king who murdered your wife, condemned your entire lineage to death, and dragged you in chains to be executed in front of your enemies—all because you chose to act with honor? You have no right to judge my father... when your own king wouldn't even spare two hundred coins to buy back your head."
Siqi rolled his eyes at the stunned, silent cell, turned his back on them, and walked away down the corridor to catch up with Yingzi.
Yingzi shook her head softly as she watched Siqi march past her, flanked by three soldiers carrying wooden food crates. She paused, then turned back, taking a few quiet steps toward the cell where Yongyee was held.
"I am sorry, sir," Yingzi said gently. "My brother is not usually so harsh. It is just that... we witnessed what was done to our mother, and it left a scar on his heart that has never truly healed."
She reached through the wooden bars, handing Yongyee a small wooden tin. "This ointment will soothe the cracks in your hands and lips." She offered a warm, quiet smile and turned to leave.
"Little girl," Yongyee called out, stopping her in her tracks. "What did that female general give your father... to make a warrior like him bend his knee to her?"
Yingzi turned back, her clear eyes meeting his. "Chinua and her men broke us out of the imperial dungeons in Haishi City. My father pledged his service to her in exchange for our freedom."
She stepped closer to the heavy wooden posts. "Sir... why sell your life to a ruler who sees no value in you? Why not give your loyalty to someone who treats you and your family with dignity—someone willing to march through the deepest valley for you in the name of brotherhood?"
Looking at Yongyee in his torn, ragged clothes, a sudden wave of grief washed over her. She realized that when her own father was chained in Xin Zhiyuan's dungeons, he must have suffered the exact same cold, miserable fate as this man.
A single tear spilled over her cheek, and she brushed it away with the back of her sleeve.
"I am sorry," Yingzi whispered, her voice trembling slightly. "I was just thinking... back when my father was captured, he must have suffered just as you are now."
Yongyee looked up at her, the ice in his heart finally shattering.
"Tell your father," Yongyee said, his voice firm and steady, "that I am willing to serve Hmagol's Eastern General."
"Captain!"
Low, shocked murmurs erupted from inside his cell and spread down the dark corridor.
Yongyee scoffed, turning to face his men with cold determination. "You all heard me!" he declared, his voice echoing through the subterranean prison. "This young lady speaks the truth—why are we throwing our lives away for a king who doesn't care if we live or rot? You saw it with your own eyes! The Magoli general was willing to burn down all of Ngabo just to reclaim the body of her fallen captain. Yet here we are—breathing! Alive! And our king won't even spare twelve thousand coins to bring us home!"
He looked back at Yingzi, a fierce, newly discovered ambition gleaming in his eyes.
"If Suo Zhi, the God of Spears, is willing to serve Hmagol—if his son can command a unit and his daughter can save lives—then I want that same future for my own children. I want my son and daughter to have a chance at a real life, instead of being bound by caste laws, living as forgotten peasants whose lives mean nothing to their king!"