-Reina POV-
Snow fell as if attempting to bury the night before it fully formed.
The camp grew lively upon the hunters' return—Men and women moving with sharpened purpose, dragging carcasses, shouting to one another, firelight reflecting off blood and steel. The sound of laughter drifted between clouds of steam and freezing air. Even in harsh terrain, humans celebrated survival.
Reina stood a little apart from it all, near her tent, where the lamplight pulsed gently behind fabric walls. She watched Kel and Landon depart toward the hot spring, their silhouettes fading into white haze and torch-lit mist.
She did not follow.
Not because she didn't need the heat.
But because exhaustion sat differently in her body. Not like strain on muscle, but like quiet mist settling around the edges of her thoughts.
And because she needed…stillness.
Earlier – During the Hunt
When the beasts first broke through the snow-dusted trees, she felt her arm move before she registered thought. The cold breath of the warg hit her face as she slashed, steel cutting flesh in a fluid arc.
Not hesitation.
Not adrenaline.
Just…response.
One kill clean.
Another blocked for Landon's sake, her body sliding between threat and ally without conscious decision.
When Sera laughed at the end of the hunt, Reina's eyes drifted to Kel.
He was not smug from victory.
He stood like someone accepting a truth he had long carried, not won today.
And that unsettled her more than any beast could.
Now – At the Tent
She entered the tent with precise movements.
Her bow leaned by the corner, sword resting at reach-height. She unfastened her cloak and laid it carefully across the bedding furs. Her fingers lingered briefly at the clasp—no reason, no sentiment, just minor delay. Perhaps she expected courage to catch up to her.
She drew a steady breath.
The curse Kel carried had grown restless tonight—she felt it when he returned from the hunt. A certain sharpness beneath his usual calm. Not visible, but sensed.
Reina was about to loosen the ties of her boots when the leather curtain rippled.
Someone entered the tent without sound.
Reina's hand moved halfway to her dagger before she registered who it was.
Sera.
The barbarian chief stood just inside, white hair dusted with frost, steam still clinging to her cloak. She had also bathed, then. That explained the slight flush on her skin, contrasting against the scars marking her cheek.
Her eyes shifted over the tent interior with measured curiosity, then settled on Reina.
There was no hostility there.
But no softness either.
"You didn't join them," Sera said simply.
Reina's hands stilled over the cloak.
Her voice was composed.
"No."
Sera studied her a moment longer.
"Do you avoid heat," she asked, stepping further in, "or company?"
Reina did not blink.
"Neither."
Sera waited.
Reina continued after a breath.
"I avoid conversation when my mind hasn't yet slowed."
Sera's lips curved—not quite a smile.
"Interesting answer."
She shifted slightly, the end of her cloak brushing against the furs.
"The bath helps," Sera said. "Steam uncoils thoughts before they snap. You carry yours too tightly."
Reina's gaze sharpened.
Not in defense.
In agreement.
But she did not say so.
Sera tilted her head.
"Come," she said. "Before the spring cools."
Reina narrowed her eyes slightly.
"You want me to join you."
"Yes," Sera said. "Your brothers of path went. You should too."
Brothers of path.
She had chosen that deliberately.
Reina exhaled.
"Very well."
She gathered her towel with controlled movements and followed Sera out.
The Walk to the Hot Spring
Unlike Kel's path, Reina walked through quieter snow. Sera did not speak as they walked; she simply matched pace. The silence between them was not uneasy—more like two predators understanding the value of quiet before nightfall.
The path split.
Reina turned toward the side assigned to women, as Sera did.
Torches glowed softly, illuminating the rightward track.
Only then did Sera speak again.
"Two kills were yours," she said without facing Reina. "You didn't count them."
"I wasn't competing," Reina replied.
"Then why strike faster than fear?"
Reina's grip on her towel shifted very slightly.
She did not look at Sera.
"Because fear moves slowly."
Sera's breath left her in what might have been a short laugh.
"Good," she said. "Fear that moves fast is rare. Fear that freezes is fatal."
They stepped through a narrow passage in the rocks.
Steam hit them.
Reina closed her eyes momentarily as heat wrapped around her like unseen hands.
The Women's Spring
The spring lay encased between high stone walls, taller than three fully grown men. The steam rose here like silent ghosts, curling around bodies wading through water. Shapes of women—warriors, huntresses, healers—moved through fog.
None looked up as Reina and Sera entered.
Barbarians, it seemed, had mastered the art of pretending not to notice.
Reina removed her cloak quietly, folded it, then unfastened her garments without drawing attention. Her body bore scars—not many, but each placed with accuracy. No excess damage. Each one dealt or received with purpose.
She stepped slowly into the water.
Heat surged past skin, sinking deep before her nerves adjusted.
She inhaled softly.
The water lapped at her collarbone as she settled.
Across from her, Sera submerged in one motion—fluid, unhesitant.
The other women kept to their own space, speaking in murmurs too low to disrupt tranquility.
Reina closed her eyes.
She allowed heat to unwind what cold had constricted.
Only when she reopened her eyes did she realize Sera was watching.
Not invasively.
Analytically.
"You fought today without aura," Sera said quietly.
Reina didn't deny it.
"Yes."
"Would you have used it if demanded?"
Reina inhaled.
Steam filled her lungs.
"If necessary."
Sera nodded slowly.
"You fight to preserve," she said. "Not to conquer. Like him."
Reina turned her head slightly.
"Him?"
"Heral" Sera replied simply. "The one who calls himself Heral."
The steam thickened briefly around Reina's face.
"He fights to interrupt fate," Sera continued, "but not to dominate it. You and he share that."
Reina did not respond immediately.
Instead, she stared at the surface of the water—distorted by rising heat, faint ripples moving outward where she rested.
Interrupt fate…
Her fingers curled beneath the water.
"He does more than interrupt it," she said softly.
Sera glanced at her.
Reina continued.
"He walks into it."
A pause.
Sera's voice lowered.
"Will you walk beside him?"
Steam swallowed the silence.
Reina looked at the reflection of pale moonlight against the water.
"…Yes."
It wasn't loud.
It wasn't hesitant.
It simply was.
Her answer in every battle since that day she stood before him, sword in hand, acceptance in heart.
Sera's eyes lingered on her, then she leaned back against the stone.
"Then you should bathe. Rest. Tomorrow, storms follow us."
Reina shifted lower in the water, heat sinking deeper into strained muscle.
Her eyes drifted shut for a moment.
Tomorrow… storms.
Sera's voice drifted through the haze.
"You protected him in battle. Without knowing why."
Reina did not open her eyes.
"Is that a question?"
"No," Sera said. "An observation."
Reina opened her eyes.
She looked across the water.
The chief—the cursed girl with snow-white hair—watched her like someone who read the way wounds shaped movement.
Reina's voice was quiet when she finally answered.
"Then here is mine."
"He doesn't need protection."
"He needs space to fall without shattering."
Sera's eyes sharpened.
Then…
She smiled.
Not wildly.
Not like during the hunt.
Softly.
Like heat that stays after steam fades.
"Then make sure," Sera said, "that if he falls… the ground learns to hold him."
Reina let out a breath.
Steam followed.
She leaned her head back against the edge of the stone, eyes closing again.
Heat sank into her bones.
The cold outside could not reach her here.
Not yet.
She allowed herself—only for this moment—to rest.
Not as warrior.
Not as escort.
As Reina.
Someone who chose to walk beside a cursed heir through winter.
Even if tomorrow returned its teeth.
Because tonight…
Winter slept.
And the water remembered warmth.