If not for the armored cloak wrapped tightly around him, Cendre was certain he would have frozen where he slept.
He had laid furs over himself during the night, but the cold had a way of creeping through every seam and layer. The wind in particular was relentless. It howled across the clearing, slipping beneath cloth and armor alike, leaving his muscles stiff and slow to respond when he finally stirred awake.
For a moment he remained seated near the dying embers of the fire, rubbing warmth back into his fingers.
Tarja and the others had already risen.
Voja and Maroja moved with the steady efficiency of riders long accustomed to early mornings in harsh weather. Their tents had already been taken down and folded into tight bundles. The horses were being checked and brushed free of frost.
Tarja knelt near the fire pit with a small cloth bundle resting in her lap.
When she noticed Cendre watching, she unwrapped it and revealed a wheel of pale cheese.
"Breakfast," she said.
Voja approached and drew a knife across the wheel, cutting it carefully into four portions. Each piece was thick and dense, the surface slightly cracked from the cold.
Tarja handed one portion to Cendre.
"It is made from the milk of the auroch," she explained. "The smell is strong at first, but you grow accustomed to it."
Cendre accepted the piece and brought it close to his nose.
The scent was indeed strong.
Sharp and earthy, almost pungent enough to make him recoil. But curiosity won over hesitation. He tore off a small bite and tasted it cautiously.
The flavor surprised him.
It was rich and heavy, but not unpleasant. In fact, once the initial sharpness faded, the cheese carried a deep, creamy taste that lingered pleasantly.
He moved closer to the fire pit and rummaged through his ration bag, pulling out a piece of hard bread.
Kneeling beside the coals, he placed the bread near the heat and set a portion of the cheese over it. Slowly the cheese softened, melting just enough to begin dripping between the cracks of the bread.
When he lifted it again, the smell had changed.
Warmer now.
He bit into it.
Tarja watched with mild curiosity as he ate.
She and the two riders had taken a different approach. They bit into their bread first, then followed it with a piece of cheese, chewing the two together.
Different habits for the same meal.
When breakfast ended, they wasted little time lingering.
The tents were packed away, the fire pit scattered with snow to erase its embers, and their supplies returned to the saddlebags.
Soon the four riders mounted their horses again.
They nudged the animals forward and resumed their journey along the winding path.
The terrain gradually shifted as they traveled. The grasslands fell away and the road began curving toward a higher ridge.
Eventually they reached a narrow passage hugging the side of an immense cliff.
Cendre slowed his horse slightly.
To his left rose a wall of dark stone. To his right stretched an enormous open sea.
The view was staggering.
The waters below were vast and restless, their surface broken by long rolling swells that stretched toward the horizon. The wind coming off the ocean carried a damp chill far colder than the air inland.
Cendre recognized the region immediately.
The Warm-Stars.
Few ships dared cross those waters directly.
Most sailors preferred to hug the coastline, following the shore in cautious arcs until they reached their destination. The alternative was sailing into deep, unpredictable currents and hidden shallows.
Some believed the sea itself was cursed.
Others claimed prehistoric beasts still lurked beneath those waters, ancient creatures large enough to swallow entire ships.
But the explanation Cendre had once studied at St. Alfons was far stranger.
According to an old scholar writing nearly one hundred and fifty years ago, the Warm-Stars had once housed a thriving seafaring civilization. Hundreds of islands dotted the region, each supporting towns built upon rocky mountains rising from the sea.
Ports and docks had been carved directly into the stone cliffs.
The people who lived there commanded an enormous fleet. Their ships patrolled the sea routes, protecting trade across the eastern waters.
Then one day the earth had trembled.
A series of violent quakes shook the region, followed by waves so massive that they swallowed the islands themselves. Entire settlements vanished beneath the ocean.
Cities.
Ports.
Ships.
All gone within a matter of hours.
The survivors, if any existed, had never returned.
The Empire had lost not only a powerful maritime ally but also the navy that once guarded those waters. Over time the Warm-Stars became something else entirely, a haunted region avoided by merchants and sailors alike.
"Ka-Cendre?"
Tarja's voice pulled him from his thoughts.
She had halted her horse several paces ahead.
The animal pawed uneasily at the rocky ground, reminding him how narrow the path had become. Voja and Maroja had already moved slightly farther along the ridge.
Tarja turned in her saddle, studying him.
"What were you staring at?"
Cendre nudged his horse forward again.
"Have you ever heard of the Warm-Stars, Tarja?"
She frowned slightly.
"Warm-Stars?"
Her gaze drifted toward the sea below.
"I am not familiar with that name. I assume it has something to do with the water you were watching?"
"It does," Cendre confirmed.
He gestured faintly toward the distant horizon.
"Hundreds of nautical miles in that direction lie the Warm-Stars Islands."
He spoke slowly, recalling the old histories.
"They once held the greatest fleet in this part of the world, about one hundred and fifty years ago."
Tarja listened quietly.
"Then one day," Cendre continued, "they simply disappeared."
He shrugged faintly.
"As if they had never existed."
Tarja stared toward the distant ocean for several seconds.
Then she shook her head.
"A common fate," she said.
Her answer surprised him.
"You cannot sympathize with them?"
Tarja met his gaze calmly.
"No."
"Why not?"
She considered the question before answering.
"Because they are gone," she said simply. "Forgotten."
Her voice carried neither cruelty nor indifference, only a quiet certainty.
"We cannot celebrate the dead."
Cendre raised a brow slightly.
"That is your custom?"
Tarja nodded.
"It is our law."
She looked ahead again, guiding her horse along the narrow path.
"When our people die, we burn them," she explained. "Their ashes are scattered into the soil so they may return to the earth."
Her tone remained steady.
"We do not build monuments or remember them for long."
Cendre rode beside her silently for a moment.
"That seems… unusual."
Tarja shrugged lightly.
"To us it is natural."
She gestured toward the ground beneath them.
"The living must walk forward. If we spend our lives honoring the dead, we forget to live ourselves."
Cendre nodded slowly, nudging his horse onward.
A strange custom indeed.
Still, as the cold wind from the sea swept across the narrow cliffside path, he could not entirely dismiss the quiet logic behind it.
Once they quit the narrow path along the cliff, what welcomed them was another basin.
This one, however, looked as though it had been flooded.
Cold water from the Far-North flowed slowly across the land, spreading through a wide scar that cut through the basin like an old wound. From a distance it almost appeared as though some giant blade had sliced open the earth, leaving a channel through which snowmelt and thawing ice now seeped and pooled.
The water was shallow in most places, though it still reached the horses' knees as they moved forward.
Clusters of trees stood partially submerged, their trunks darkened by the constant soaking. The branches above were thin and pale, weighed down by frost and strips of hanging moss that swayed gently whenever the wind passed through.
What made travel possible were the natural stoneways scattered through the basin.
They formed narrow ridges of exposed rock that wound across the flooded ground, creating a crude but reliable path. The Ja-kin riders guided their horses carefully along these raised formations, allowing the animals to maintain steady footing without straying too far into the water.
Without those stoneways, the journey would have been far slower.
Their horses were strong and sturdy creatures, bred for rough terrain and harsh climates. But even the best mount could falter in icy water if its footing slipped.
A single fall could mean disaster.
The cold alone would sap strength from both rider and beast. Armor would grow heavier with water, limbs would stiffen, and before long the chill would creep into the bones.
One bad fall could bring complications that no rider wished to test.
Cendre guided his horse along the stones carefully, keeping his posture balanced while the animal stepped from one patch of rock to another.
He had traveled across much of the Empire in his lifetime.
From the southern provinces to the northern reaches, he had crossed countless plains and riverlands throughout the Mid-Central regions. He had ridden through fertile farmland, dense forests, and barren steppes where the wind never seemed to rest.
And in all those journeys he had learned a simple truth.
The greatest enemy of any traveler was rarely bandits.
It was the road.
Or the weather.
Bandits could be fought.
The road could not.
Fortunately, much of the Empire's road network was well maintained.
By law, every major road fell under imperial oversight. Once a year, an imperial taxman or inspector traveled along designated routes, examining their condition carefully. They recorded damages, erosion, collapsed bridges, or neglected repairs.
Those reports were then sent back to the capital.
From there, letters would follow.
Usually stern ones.
Local governors and magistrates were reminded that imperial law required the upkeep of all major roads. If repairs were ignored too long, the penalties could be unpleasant.
The Empire depended heavily on its roadways.
Unlike maritime kingdoms that relied on fleets, the Empire was largely landlocked. Its greatest cities were built not along oceans but along the vast network of rivers that branched across the continent like veins.
Some rivers were enormous, deep enough to carry trade vessels and barges laden with cargo.
Others were narrow and shallow, little more than winding streams that no boat could navigate.
Because of this, roads had become the arteries of imperial trade.
The Empyrilar and the Empire's merchant guilds understood this well. Traders and merchant houses willingly contributed funds each year to ensure the roads remained functional. Without them, commerce would slow to a crawl.
It was even written into imperial law that all major roads must eventually lead to the capital.
The idea was simple.
No matter how distant a town or province might be, it would remain connected to the Empire's heart.
Cendre explained some of this as they rode across the flooded basin.
Tarja listened quietly while guiding her horse along the stone path.
"So it is law," she muttered when he finished.
Her gaze drifted across the waterlogged basin.
"Then do you think the Emperor would demand that we open the roads again?"
Cendre shrugged slightly.
"Most likely."
He nudged his horse over a narrow stretch of rock before continuing.
"Your city is large. Large enough to attract attention once word spreads."
He glanced briefly toward her.
"There is also a chance the Emperor himself might wish to visit."
Tarja blinked.
"Visit?"
"It would not be impossible," Cendre said. "It is not every day that a city thought lost for centuries suddenly appears again."
He adjusted his cloak slightly as the cold wind swept across the basin.
"And knowing the Emperor," he added thoughtfully, "he might even bring his youngest son along."
Tarja frowned.
"Why the youngest?"
"Because the boy has been ill for much of his life," Cendre explained. "His health has improved recently."
He shrugged.
"A journey north might appeal to the Emperor if he believes it would strengthen the boy further."
Tarja considered that possibility in silence for a moment.
"That is concerning," she admitted. "My people would be honored by such a visit, of course."
She gestured vaguely toward the rugged landscape surrounding them.
"But the lands between here and the south are not easily tamed."
Cendre nodded in agreement.
She was not wrong.
If the Emperor truly traveled this far north, the responsibility placed upon Carcove would be enormous.
An imperial visit was not a simple affair.
Hundreds of attendants, soldiers, servants, and advisors would accompany him. The journey itself would require preparation across every region they crossed.
And if anything were to happen to the Emperor during such a visit, even a minor accident, the consequences could ripple outward with dangerous force.
For a city newly rediscovered after centuries of isolation, that kind of scrutiny would be difficult to survive.
Carcove had managed to sustain itself independently for generations.
But the Empire had its own way of reminding cities where authority ultimately rested.
Sometimes gently.
Sometimes not.
If the Emperor arrived and something went wrong, the situation could turn very unpleasant.
Cendre studied the flooded basin ahead as these thoughts crossed his mind.
Tarja was right to be cautious.
Still, such concerns belonged to another day.
"For now," he said at last, "that is a problem for the future."
Tarja glanced at him.
Then she nodded slowly.
"Yes."
For the moment, they had a far more immediate task.
They still needed to reach Icy's End.
And the journey north was far from finished.