The night in the Northern Territory is bone-chilling, and the high towers of Frost Halberd City are engulfed by wind and snow.
Inside the study, a faint candle flickers, casting mottled shadows on the heavy curtains.
Duke Edmund sits in that familiar high-backed chair, wrapped in a thick blanket, yet unable to stop the slight tremor in his fingers.
His figure is gaunt like dry twigs, no longer the majestic figure akin to a city wall from months ago.
He slowly pours the black potion into the wine cup, its bitterness mixed with intensity, and drinks it in one go, feeling a knife-like burning spiral along his spine.
But Edmond doesn't even frown, he simply gazes silently at the wall opposite.
There is the map of the Northern Territory, the genealogical chart of the family, and three portraits.
His father Bertran, who stayed awake for seven days and nights, fought alongside three snow oath elders until the end, dying with a long spear in hand.
