The iron-cold night froze the last wisp of warmth on the snow plains.
The reinforcements from Starsnatch Cliff had been trekking for days through this boundless, pure white expanse.
Now, the troops were camped at the edge of a forest, the light of their bonfire flickering unsteadily in the howling gale.
Inside the main tent, Venerare sat cross-legged on a thick fur blanket, a leather map with severely worn edges spread out before her.
Her fingers tightly gripped a brass scale rule, her gaze fixed on the blurry mark representing Mondstadt. Her fingertips traced the cold gradations on the ruler, as if measuring not only the distance to her destination but also the depth of a thirty-year-old hatred, frozen in the depths of her heart.
Outside, the wind, carrying pellets of snow, slammed against the tent, letting out a dull and constant roar.
The sound, so familiar it was etched into her very bones, yet so foreign it made her heart tighten, carried her thoughts back thirty years.
The air in her memory was warm, carrying the faint, sharp scent of graphite and the rich aroma of fine old leather.
In the study of a spacious mansion, flames danced in the fireplace, casting light and shadow upon the blueprints that covered the large table.
A little Venerare, no more than six or seven, stood on her tiptoes, straining to raise her small body just enough for her line of sight to clear the edge of the table.
She watched the adults use brass rulers and compasses to sketch countless exquisite and elegant lines on the snow-white paper—lines that intertwined to form magnificent domes, soaring columns, and spiraling staircases.
An irrepressible impulse made her reach out a small hand and touch a charcoal pencil that had been set aside.
She clambered onto a chair with some effort and, in an empty space in the corner of the blueprint, drew a house with crooked lines and windows of varying sizes.
"Look!" She lifted her head, her eyes sparkling, her voice full of excitement. "This is 'my mansion'!"
Hearty laughter echoed through the study.
Her father, a tall man, walked over exuding warmth, swept her up from the chair, and sat her in the sturdy crook of his arm.
He studied the disproportionate scribble, his eyes filled with adoration and pride.
"Well drawn! Our little Venerare will one day design the grandest of all grand halls for the Lawrence Clan, one worthy of our glory!"
...
The warm illusion shattered abruptly.
On the road to exile in the north, the extreme cold seemed to freeze the very soul.
As far as the eye could see, there was only a boundless, swirling, ghastly white. Snowflakes like sharp blades cut at her face and crept down her neck.
Young Venerare was huddled on a crude sled, the thin blanket wrapped around her already soaked through by the wind and snow, frozen into a stiff, icy shell that offered no defense against the bone-chilling cold.
Her feet had long since lost all feeling and were covered in purplish-red chilblains; every tiny movement brought a piercing, stabbing pain.
Struggling, she threw herself, weeping, onto a figure shivering beside her. It was her father, his once-vibrant face now deathly pale and numb.
"So cold... Father, I'm so cold... I want to go home..." Her cries were as thin as a thread in the roaring blizzard.
Her father wrapped his stiffly frozen arms around her. His voice trembled, but he strove to remain calm. "Don't be afraid... We'll go back... after a while..."
"How long..." she pressed, her tears instantly freezing into ice crystals on her lashes.
"Soon... really..." Her father's reply was faint and feeble, as if it might be blown away by the wind at any moment.
Beside a meager campfire, one that had been kindled with great difficulty only to be battered and nearly extinguished by the fierce winds, Venerare drifted in and out of consciousness in her father's cold embrace, her mind hovering on the verge of freezing over.
On that hazy threshold, she vaguely heard the hoarse, trembling voices of the clan elders:
"Remember! You must remember! We, the Lawrence Clan, were once the most illustrious family in Mondstadt! Our halls could host feasts for a thousand! Our gardens were in bloom through all four seasons! It was those despicable thieves, hiding behind their wind wall! They used their filthy schemes to take everything from us and banish us to this hell!"
Warmth, grand halls, thieves, schemes... These words, accompanied by the poems and stories written by the elders in blood and tears, carved two clear convictions into her tender heart:
The nobles enjoying a life of ease behind the wind wall were the mortal enemies who had usurped everything and upon whom vengeance must be taken. And the Lawrence Clan would, without fail, reclaim their lost glory and return to their homeland!
...
"Matriarch! Wolves! A wolf pack has surrounded the camp!" A guard's urgent voice pierced through the heavy memories.
Venerare's eyes sharpened, suppressing the weakness of the past. She snatched the spear at her side and rushed out of the tent.
In the dark, snowy woods on the camp's perimeter, pairs of eerie green lights had appeared, floating like will-o'-the-wisps.
The knights were experienced and had already formed a defensive phalanx, a forest of spears pointing outward. Bowstrings were drawn taut with faint creaks, their arrowheads glinting coldly in the faint campfire light.
"Wait!" a deep voice called out. It was Lupus, the gray-haired man raised among wolves, now one of the troop's keenest scouts. "They aren't attacking directly, just warning us. I'll go see."
He looked at Venerare, his gaze resolute. Venerare gave a slight nod.
Lupus signaled for his companions to lower their bows and walked alone, empty-handed, toward the mass of eerie green eyes.
He walked slowly, a low whimper emanating from his throat.
The pack's agitated growling subsided somewhat.
The alpha wolf, its frame exceptionally massive and its silver-gray fur making it nearly invisible against the snow, had eyes as sharp as blades. It stepped forward and met Lupus's gaze in silence.
A moment later, the alpha let out a soft rumbling sound and took the initiative to approach, gently resting its huge head and warm body against Lupus's side—a gesture of trust and intimacy.
Lupus squatted down as well, reaching out to expertly groom the thick, coarse fur on the alpha's neck.
The atmosphere eased. The alpha wolf tilted its neck back and, toward the moon obscured by the blizzard, let out a long, desolate howl.
The surrounding green lights began to move, retreating into the deeper darkness, eventually vanishing into the vast, snowy woods.
Lupus stood his ground, not turning back immediately.
He took a deep breath, the frigid air flooding his lungs, seeming to still carry the familiar scent of his childhood companions. His figure looked somewhat lonely against the wind and snow.
Venerare walked to his side. Looking at his still somewhat dazed profile, she asked, "Still can't bear to leave them?"
Lupus lowered his head and looked at his open palm.
From long-term training and sparring with the knights, it was now covered in thick calluses, a stark contrast to the feel of wolf fur.
His palm trembled slightly.
"Once I smell them, hear their call," his voice was a bit hoarse, "it feels like something inside me... wakes up. What if... what if I'm not really ready to leave them for good?"
Venerare's gaze seemed to pierce through his inner turmoil. "No, perhaps you aren't reluctant to leave the pack. Otherwise, you never would have come to us in the first place." Her voice was calm and certain. "What you're truly reluctant to leave is the 'life' with them—that past where you lived by instinct, without needing to contemplate right and wrong."
She patted the young man's sturdy shoulder. "Go on back. Your comrades are waiting for you."
Lupus turned his head almost instantly, looking toward the camp.
By the bonfire, his fellow knights—the ones he trained with, patrolled with, and shared food with—were all looking at him, their faces showing undisguised gratitude and relieved smiles.
He stared at those smiles, stunned for a moment. Then, something that had been coiled tightly in his chest seemed to quietly unwind.
He turned back and said to Venerare, "Thank you."
Then, he strode toward the bonfire, toward his waiting human comrades.
As soon as he drew near, a tall knight picked up a large piece of roasted jerky and thrust it at him. "Here! A reward for 'persuading' that furry bunch just now!"
Lupus pushed the food back, a nearly sly curve playing on his lips. "Give me a break. Your footsteps crunching in the snow are louder than a charging wolf pack. You're the one who should eat more, get some strength, and learn how to 'sneak' properly."
His words instantly set off a round of cheerful and boisterous laughter around the campfire, chasing away the last trace of tension.
The laughter carried on the wind and snow. Someone started it, their gruff voice singing the tune of an ancient war song. More joined in, and their singing, along with the flames, leaped and soared across the frozen snowfields.
...
The resistance now controlled the great city gate of Mondstadt.
Gunnhildr stood quietly with a few soldiers clad in mismatched armor.
In the distance, a troop approached in silence.
Venerare walked at the very front. The knights behind her, whether they were remnants of the Lawrence Clan or the displaced people from Gunnhildr's contingent, all marched with the same, perfectly synchronized steps.
The joy of reunion was suppressed within their chests. A fleeting light flickered in people's eyes as they gave slight nods to one another. With no superfluous greetings, the silent column entered the city gate in an orderly fashion.
Venerare walked a few steps forward alone, past the welcoming party, and stood at the entrance, where a stone bridge led toward the high tower.
Her gaze drifted down from the bridge, sweeping over the dense array of noble manors within the city.
She was searching her memory, trying to find a clock tower, and the workshop that had once represented the Lawrence Clan's superb craftsmanship.
But there was nothing.
Where the clock tower should have been in her memory, there was now only an empty lot with some ruined walls. And on the original site of the family workshop, an incongruous noble's tower had been erected in its place.
That tower... it had strange proportions, bloated and top-heavy; the stone on its facade was haphazardly pieced together; its windows were set crookedly, and its decorative carvings were crude. It reeked of a nouveau riche's ostentation, yet possessed no aesthetic sense whatsoever.
Venerare stared at the ugly structure, her eyelid twitching uncontrollably.
"How hideous..."
___
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