Chapter #63: The Ice Queen Awakens
The letter reached General Olivier Mira Armstrong on a clear morning, when the sun barely managed to glint off the frozen walls of Briggs. The messenger, still gasping from the cold and the altitude, barely had time to snap to attention before handing it over. Olivier took the envelope without ceremony, broke the seal, and read in silence. She needed only a few seconds.
A brief smile—sharp as the edge of her sword—crossed her face.
"Good," she said to herself. "It's time to change this base."
Her recovery was complete. The fractures had healed, her muscles responded as they always had, and exhaustion was a thing of the past. Olivier was not the type to allow weakness to linger. Briggs would not accept it… and neither would she.
That same day, she went out to patrol the fortress. She walked the corridors, watchtowers, and training yards with a steady stride, accompanied by officers still adjusting to seeing her not as a colonel, but as a general. She gathered the troops, one unit at a time, and delivered the Führer's decision plainly. There were no long speeches, no comforting words.
"From today on," she said, her voice echoing across the main courtyard, "this base is under my permanent command. Briggs is not just a fortress. It is a wall. It is the North itself. And it will be the place where the finest soldiers of Amestris are forged."
There was no applause. She did not need it. There was silence… and then the sharp thunder of boots striking the ground. Absolute acceptance.
The soldiers of Briggs did not follow titles. They followed strength, consistency, and results. And Olivier Armstrong had already proven all three.
In the days that followed, she personally oversaw the reconstruction. Not from an office, but with her hands stained by snow, metal, and dried blood. She helped clear rubble, reorganized guard shifts, reinforced defensive protocols, and reviewed every report as if her life depended on it. Because at Briggs, it always did.
It was during one of those inspections that they found the remains.
Parts of General Falken's body—and that of his brother—emerged from beneath the hardened snow left by the explosion. There was no horror in the discovery, only a heavy solemnity. The soldiers stood still, silent, as if even the wind had chosen to respect the moment.
On their own initiative, without a direct order from Olivier, the men raised an altar outside the base. They placed metal plates, fragments of armor, and lit several bonfires around it. At night, the flames illuminated the altar from afar, glowing against the snow like a silent beacon.
"Let it burn like he did," one soldier said. "Until the very end."
Olivier watched the fire from the wall. She said nothing. But she inclined her head once. A minimal gesture, heavy with meaning.
Deep down, she felt something approaching. An invisible pressure, like the change in the air before a storm. She didn't know what it was, or when it would arrive. But she did not believe in superstitions.
Olivier Armstrong believed in facts. And facts always arrived.
As the weeks passed, her subordinates began to change—not just in discipline, but in the way they looked at her. Respect blended with something else… fear, perhaps. Nervous jokes started to circulate among the lower ranks.
"They say she's the Empress of Evil," some whispered.
"No, no," others replied. "She's worse… she's the Ice Queen."
The nickname reached her ears sooner than expected. Olivier heard the murmurs as she crossed the training yard. She stopped. The soldiers tensed, bracing for an explosion of fury.
She raised an eyebrow.
"The Ice Queen?" she repeated.
Absolute silence.
Then she smiled.
"I like it," she said. "It's shorter than 'General Armstrong.'"
From that day on, the nickname became official. No one dared to use it to her face… unless she allowed it. And little by little, fear turned into pride. Briggs didn't just have a general. It had a queen.
One afternoon, Olivier received another letter. This one bore no official seals, no weight of politics. She recognized the handwriting instantly.
Alex Louis Armstrong.
She held it for a moment. Her fingers tightened slightly around the envelope. She did not open it. Instead, she slipped it into the inner pocket of her coat.
"Later," she murmured. "Not now."
It seemed the Ice Queen did have a heart after all. It just wasn't the time to show it.
That night, she decided to take watch personally. The wind was brutal, the sky clear, and the stars looked like blades of light. Briggs slept… or pretended to.
Then the alarm sounded.
A deep, urgent sound. Not a drill. Real.
A messenger arrived almost collapsing, consumed by the cold, lips purple, breath ragged. Two soldiers held him up as he spoke.
"Urgent… message… from Central…"
Olivier stepped forward at once.
"Speak."
The messenger swallowed.
"We are… at war with Ishval."
The world seemed to stop for a second.
"The people of Ishval have risen against Amestris," he continued. "The order is immediate mobilization. They need reinforcements. And…" He hesitated. "…the instructions are clear."
Olivier stared at him.
"Say it."
"If an Ishvalan is found… they are to be executed on sight."
The wind howled, as if the North itself were reacting to those words.
The Ice Queen's peace had been short-lived.
Olivier closed her eyes for a single instant. When she opened them, the decision had already been made.
"Prepare everything," she ordered. "Briggs does not stop. And neither do I."
The ice crunched beneath her boots.
History was about to be stained red.
End of chapter