Yoshiya felt the reins vibrate faintly in his hands as Hayate and Nagare pushed through the early-morning chill, the first breath of southern winter brushing across the caravan like a warning from a distant glacier. His boar-hide pauldrons were heavy on his shoulders, dense and warm, radiating that faint natural heat the Frostback boars were infamous for. The warmth spread through his arms and into his fingers, keeping them sure on the reins.
Beside him, Omina exhaled a soft stream of white mist. Her pauldrons, identical to his, glowed faintly in the rising sun. She cracked her knuckles once, the sound muffled by fur lining.
"We're not even halfway to Frostholm," she muttered, "and it already feels like the world is turning into ice."
Yoshiya smiled without looking at her. "Good thing we're dressed like walking furnaces."
"Correction: I'm dressed like a walking furnace. You're just mooching my heat."
"You literally told me to lean closer," he replied, deadpan.
"That was before the temperature dropped fifteen degrees in ten minutes."
Their easy exchange drifted away with the rhythmic clop of hooves and the creak of wood. Behind them, the carriage swayed with the familiar weight of their team settling into the long journey.
Inside, Yami sat closest to the shuttered window, her eyes half-lidded but sharply aware. She held a thin mana crystal between her fingertips, watching the faint violet ripple inside it.
"Southern leyline is behaving strangely," she murmured without lifting her head. "The fluctuations are too erratic for natural frost mana."
Fukashi didn't even look up from his trunk of alchemical vials. "You say that as if Frostholm ever behaves normally. Move your foot, Yami. You're knocking into my solvent case."
She slid her foot back without apology. "Then organize your tools so they don't cover half the floor."
Fukashi scoffed but adjusted the case anyway, muttering under his breath about spatial limitations and the injustice of physics.
Across from them, Akihiro shivered beneath three layers of robes and a thick scarf. His breath fogged the air in front of his face like he was steaming from the inside.
"I invoke Kindling Light," he whispered, palms cupped before him.
Warm gold bloomed between his hands, faint but soothing, like embers waking from sleep. The warmth spread outward in a gentle wave, brushing across Yami's cheek and Fukashi's hands. Outside, Yoshiya and Omina felt the faintest ripple of it, like summer trying to breathe through a frozen curtain.
Yami closed her eyes for a moment. "Better."
Fukashi nodded. "Good. My instruments were starting to complain."
Akihiro sniffed. "Your instruments aren't the one losing feeling in their toes."
Back on the driver's bench, Omina heard the muffled voices and smirked. "Sounds like they're settling in."
Yoshiya guided the horses around a bend in the road, where the first true sign of southern winter shimmered—a line where the forest frost began. Every branch sparkled with thin ice, as if the trees themselves were crystallizing.
"The temperature drop is unnatural," he said quietly.
Omina rested a hand on her sword's hilt. "Frostholm always has surprises. Let it try something—we're the ones heading south, not running from it."
The caravan rolled deeper into the whitening world. Hayate and Nagare snorted plumes of mist, ears twitching as the wind gained a sharp edge. Frost glittered on their reins. The wheels crunched over ice-bitten dirt.
Inside, Yami's crystal pulsed faster.
Fukashi tightened a vial's cap. "Whatever's waiting for us is getting closer."
Akihiro's hands glowed brighter. "Then we stay warm. Body and spirit."
Omina leaned forward, amber eyes sharp with the thrill of an approaching storm. "Southbound Frost," she murmured. "Let's see what kind of welcome Frostholm plans for us."
The road ahead narrowed into silver breath and pale light—
and the Frostholm Team rolled on as one, wrapped in warmth, purpose, and the cold promise of the unknown.