They reached the fortress a day later, the sun already low and pale. The gates opened without ceremony; another squad was just returning; their armor streaked with soot. The smell of burnt pitch and iron drifted through the courtyard.
Inside the debriefing hall, General Aedra sat behind the long table. Garron gave his report in clipped tones:
"Duskfall Village subdued. One civilian escaped. No rebel weapons recovered. Minimal resistance."
She nodded once. "Good. Casualties?"
"None," Garron said. Then, after a pause, "Except discipline."
Aedra's eyes shifted to Kairo. "Explain."
He stared at the flag behind her, white wolf on black field. "There was a child. He would have died for nothing."
"You don't get to decide what nothing means," she said. "Your heart is a weapon, not a compass."
Kairo didn't argue. He saluted, turned, and left. The door closed like the end of a sentence.
He couldn't sleep. Every time he closed his eyes, he saw snow melting under blood.So, he walked. Down the stairs, through the silent yard, into the narrow streets outside the fortress where the soldiers' families lived. Lights flickered behind shutters. Laughter drifted faintly from a tavern. For a moment he let himself imagine being part of that world.
Then he heard coughing in an alley. A woman sat slumped against a wall, one arm wrapped around a small bundle. The smell of herbs and smoke surrounded her.
He knelt beside her. "You're hurt."
She shook her head weakly. "Not hurt." Her eyes were glazed with fever. She pulled the cloth away just enough for him to see a sleeping child. "You were there," she whispered. "At Duskfall. You told him to run."
Kairo froze. "The man, he made it?"
"He didn't. But you gave him time." She smiled faintly. "That's more mercy than most."
He didn't know what to say. Her fingers brushed his sleeve; the touch was light as falling snow. "Don't let them take what's left of you," she murmured. "Even ghosts deserve rest."
She went still a heartbeat later.
Kairo sat with her until dawn, the child breathing softly against her shoulder. When the first light touched the rooftops, he closed her eyes and whispered, "The snow remembers."
Then he carried the child to the fortress gates and left him there before anyone woke.
That night he dreamed of a plain of ice stretching forever. On it stood Varin, unarmed, smiling the same tired smile. "You still hesitate," the ghost said. "Good. It means you're still human."
When Kairo reached out, the world shattered into shards of frost that melted into darkness.
He woke gasping, the blankets frozen to his skin. His chest glowed faintly blue. The Specter Heartbeat so loud he could hear it. Each pulse sent small ripples of frost across the floorboards.
He stumbled to the window. Outside, dawn painted the snowfield silver. He pressed a hand to the glass and felt it crack under his touch.
"The snow remembers," he whispered again. "And so will I."
For the first time since the Blood Oath, he wasn't sure which side he was on, or if sides mattered at all.