Back in the frozen northern cold, Soren sat across from Alaric inside the commander's tent.
The canvas walls fluttered softly as icy wind pressed against them, but the air inside was heavy for an entirely different reason. This time, Soren was not here to ask for guidance, nor to plead for understanding because he had already reached his conclusion.
He would leave the North.
Leaving meant more than simply crossing its borders but abandoning everything tied to it.
The blood, humiliation and the memories he had buried and the ones that still clung to him like frostbite.
It meant walking away from a place where he had given everything he could, only to be reminded again and again that it was never enough.
