The wagon wheels crushed over loose gravel with a sharp crack.
Crunch.
The sound echoed through the empty valley, like someone snapping a bone right next to your ear.
Jarek flinched, his shoulders hunching instinctively as his spear nearly jabbed the horse's hindquarters. He glanced around in panic, but all that surrounded them were black, dead trees embedded in frozen soil. No birds. No insects. When the wind passed through the forest, it made no sound at all—because not a single leaf remained to rustle.
On the entire road, the only noise was the wagon axle, grinding away with a dull, monotonous screech that set one's teeth on edge.
The fog ahead began to thin, but it brought no comfort. The horizon was cut off.
A jagged black silhouette tore through the gray mist—the Grey Spine Mountains. And between two peaks, a checkpoint that should have existed only on maps abruptly forced itself into view.
Ash Limit.
It wasn't lifeless. On the walls, dozens of crimson military banners were whipping violently in the wind.
Snap! Snap! Snap!
The mountain gale pulled them taut, the sound sharp and explosive, like whips cracking the air. It was the only sound left between heaven and earth.
Nothing else. No horns. No footsteps of sentries. The massive black iron gate was not closed, but left open wide enough for two wagons to pass side by side—like a gaping maw, waiting to swallow them.
Varn pulled hard on the reins. The horses snorted uneasily, their iron-shod hooves striking sparks against the stone.
The escort captain, who had survived more than a decade on the frontier, did not panic. He narrowed his eyes at the unmanned gate, tugged at the corner of his mouth, and let out a crooked grin uglier than a crying face.
"Hah."
Varn shook his head, the mockery of a veteran who had seen the world rot. "The times really have changed. Used to be, you had to turn your pockets inside out just to get through this gate. Now it's wide open, inviting you in…" He snorted. "And nobody dares to."
He glanced back at the guards. "Stay sharp. Looks like we saved on tolls—but don't expect a hot meal."
The wagons rolled into the checkpoint.
Several overturned barrels lay scattered across the square. A few spears remained on the weapon racks, their tips already coated with a thin layer of rust. No bodies. No blood. Even the ashes in the stoves had been blown away by the wind.
Varn dismounted and walked to the familiar three-way junction. The paint on the stone signpost had peeled badly, but the carved arrows were still clear: Straight: Trade Highway (North) Right: Fort Oakhaven (East)
Varn stood there, staring north. The wide road was cut off by a wall of gray fog. At the fog's edge, the military banners snapped wildly, as if issuing a warning—or crying for help.
He watched for a moment, then turned decisively.
"Right." No hesitation. No discussion.
"If those five thousand regulars weren't dead, they'd be clogging the gate right now, collecting tolls," Varn said, pointing at the fog. "Since they're not here, they're in there. And we're not going looking for them."
He walked over to Kael and once again reached into his coat, pulling out a heavy coin pouch.
"Mr. Tom."
Varn looked at Kael. The probing suspicion from before was gone, replaced by naked awe. He handed over the pouch. "This route wasn't really on your way, and you weren't obligated to escort us. But you should take this."
Kael looked at the pouch. "Why?"
"Call it currying favor," Varn said with a frank smile. "In times like these, an archer like you—if you don't die—you're bound to become famous. This money can't buy your life, but maybe it can buy goodwill. If one day I'm in trouble somewhere, and by chance I run into you…"
"I don't want it." Kael cut him off.
The pouch full of gold froze awkwardly in midair.
"In that fog, gold is too heavy," Kael said softly, his gaze locked on the northern mist. "And it doesn't burn."
Varn froze. "Then… what do you want?"
Kael turned his head and pointed toward the rear wagons. "That."
"All the dried beef. All the hard cheese. That barrel of animal fat. And the keg of ale."
Varn followed his finger. That was the caravan's remaining rations. "All of it," Kael added.
Varn fell silent for two seconds. He weighed the choice. One more day's mountain road to Oakhaven—even starving, they could make it. And if these dead-weight supplies could be exchanged for this monster's goodwill…
"Take it." Varn waved his hand decisively, agreeing faster than he had with the gold. "Unload everything for him!"
As the guards hauled the mountain of food down, Varn stepped closer, lowered his voice, and spoke with grave seriousness.
"Mr. Tom… no, I don't know your real name—but that doesn't matter."
He stared into Kael's eyes, as if carving that face into his memory. "If you make it out of that fog alive—even if the chance is one in ten thousand—then in the future, all trade routes under my charge, anywhere… even if it bankrupts me, I'll hire you as escort. Even if it's just in name. I'll pay double—no, triple."
This was a veteran's instinct. He was gambling—on the madman who dared walk alone into a dead zone, believing that one day, he would become someone utterly out of reach.
"I make no promises," Kael said calmly, glancing at the food on the ground. "But I'll remember."
Varn let out a long breath, like a man who had just completed a massive high-risk investment. "That's enough. Truly. That's enough."
He stepped back two paces and gave a clumsy but sincere salute. "Good luck, sir."
The caravan wagons began to move, their axles groaning under the weight. Kael stood alone beside the pile of provisions stacked like a small hill.
Urgent footsteps sounded behind him—lighter than a soldier's, carrying a reckless kind of resolve.
It was Lina.
She stopped in front of him. Her face, roughened by wind and travel, was flushed red. She didn't look at the food at all—only stared straight into Kael's eyes. Then, suddenly, she rose onto her toes.
Kael saw it clearly. His [Dynamic Vision] broke down every movement: the slight lean of her shoulders, the lift of her chin. With his reaction speed, he could have stepped back, or turned his head aside.
But he didn't.
In that instant—that fatal half second—his body seemed to glitch, frozen in place.
Warm. Soft.
Her lips brushed lightly against the corner of his mouth. It wasn't a passionate kiss—just the last trace of warmth in a world about to freeze solid.
Lina stepped back half a pace. Her eyes were red, her voice trembling in the wind.
"Take me with you."
She clenched the hem of her clothes, as if gripping the last straw. "Anywhere. I don't care where. I'm not afraid of hardship. Take me with you."
Kael looked at her. That face was still like a mask, cold enough to chill the heart. He didn't speak. He didn't nod. He didn't shake his head.
What he gave her was silence—dead silence.
Two seconds passed. The light in Lina's eyes went out. She understood.
"…Goodbye, Tom."
She lowered her head, turned, and ran back toward the slowly moving wagons, never once looking back.
Kael remained where he was, the faint warmth still lingering at the corner of his mouth.
He raised a hand and rubbed it hard with his rough leather glove, wiping that last trace of warmth away completely.