The rise of a Frozen Star

[POV Liselotte]

The journey from the Whispering Forest to the royal army’s main outpost was a parade of desolate landscapes and a tension so thick it could be chewed. The supply wagons, now escorted by a combination of Valerie’s elite guard, Chloé at the vanguard, and us covering the rear, moved with a symbolic heaviness. Every time my hand brushed against the pocket where I kept that strange “photographic” portrait of the demonic family, I felt a stab of unease. The paper was cold, with a texture that did not belong to Whirikal’s craftsmanship—a reminder that our enemy played by rules we still did not understand.

“We’re close, Lotte. I can smell the smoke from the campfires and the iron scent of the legions,” Chloé said, scanning the horizon from atop a hill. Her nose wrinkled as she searched for something else, something specific. “But something’s off. The smell is… stagnant. Like the fires have been out for hours.”

Leah urged her horse forward, moving a few meters ahead. Her eyes, fixed on the direction where the Lion’s banner should be rising, reflected an anxiety she tried to hide behind her princess’s composure. “My father should have sent scouts to meet us the moment we crossed the vanguard’s perimeter. Silence is not his way of command.”

We descended the slope at full gallop. As we approached, the scale of the camp became clear: it was a city of canvas and steel, a nest of thousands of men destined for the great battle in the north. Yet when we crossed the outer palisades, we were not greeted by the usual bustle of troops preparing for war. The soldiers patrolling the dirt paths moved with a somber sluggishness, and their battle-hardened faces showed a confusion that chilled my blood.

“Princess Leah! Lady Liselotte!” a high-ranking officer, General Marcus, approached us quickly, offering a hurried bow but visibly shaken.

“General, we’ve brought the supplies. The line has been restored,” Leah said, dismounting in one fluid motion. “Where is my father? I need to report the treason at the academy immediately.”

Marcus lowered his gaze—a gesture that, for a man of his caliber, was equivalent to confessing disaster. “Your Highness… King William is not in the camp.”

I felt the air around me grow cold instinctively. Leah tensed, her right hand tightening around the hilt of her sword. “What do you mean he’s not here? Did he leave on a reconnaissance mission? A border skirmish?”

“Yesterday afternoon, His Majesty received an encrypted message delivered by a herald bearing the seal of the Order of the Phoenix,” the General explained, guiding us toward the royal tent, which now felt empty and cold despite the afternoon sun. “He departed with his personal guard, the Golden Lions, toward the Valley of Laments. He said it was a matter of national security that could not be delegated. He was supposed to return before dawn… but it’s been ten hours past the expected time, and there’s no trace of them.”

We entered the tent. Strategic maps were still spread across the central table, held down by small ivory figurines. But the King’s chair—William’s campaign throne—stood empty. The absence of his imposing presence made the space feel vast and desolate.

“It can’t be…” Leah whispered, approaching the table and touching the map with trembling fingers. “My father wouldn’t abandon central command on the eve of a siege unless it was a trap.”

“We’ve sent three search patrols, Princess,” Marcus continued, trying to maintain a professional tone to avoid sparking panic among the troops. “But the Valley of Laments is a territory where mana becomes distorted. Communication mirrors don’t work there, and the fog is so dense it devours light. Everyone in the camp says the same thing: the King will return soon. William is a force of nature—no demon or trap could hold him for long.”

We spent the rest of the day trapped in agonizing waiting. Chloé roamed the edges of the camp, trying to catch the King’s scent on the wind, but she returned with her ears lowered and a frustrated expression. “The fog coming from the north smells like sulfur and concealment magic, Lotte. It’s like someone threw a blanket over the world.”

Leah didn’t eat. She sat in a corner of the royal tent, staring at the entrance, waiting to see her father’s towering figure appear. I stayed by her side in silence, offering my presence as an anchor. I pulled the portrait from my cloak and examined it under the candlelight. The face of the demon woman seemed to mock our uncertainty. If King William had fallen into a trap orchestrated by the same “Merchant” who manipulated Varek, the implications were catastrophic.

“Lotte…” Leah finally said, her voice barely a thread in the dim light. “If my father doesn’t return… if he’s gone… Whirikal will break.”

“He’ll return, Leah. Or we’ll go find him,” I replied, though I knew our orders were clear. “But look at the soldiers. Marcus is right about one thing: the camp stands on faith in their King. If we stay here and word of his disappearance spreads, morale will collapse before the demons even arrive. Elliot needs us in the capital to secure the regency and purge what remains of the Valerius.”

The sun rose again, painting the camp in pale orange—but King William did not appear on the horizon. General Marcus approached us once more, his face more worn than the day before.

“Princess, with all due respect, you cannot stay any longer,” Marcus said firmly. “If rumors of the King’s disappearance are confirmed, there will be chaos. You must return to the capital and act as if everything is under control. Say the King is leading a secret offensive. Maintain the lie until we find him—or until he returns himself.”

Leah stood. Her eyes were red, but her back was straight. The frightened girl I had seen hours ago had been buried beneath the weight of her lineage.

“You’re right, General. Whirikal must believe its Lion is still hunting.”

She turned to me, and in her gaze I saw a determination that sent a chill through me.

“We leave immediately. We return to the capital, inform Elliot, and organize total defense. If my father is not here to lead, then I will take his place until his return.”

“I’ll follow you anywhere, Leah,” I said, giving a brief bow of respect.

We departed the camp under the watchful eyes of thousands of soldiers. We left behind the supply wagons we had fought so hard to recover, feeling that our victory in the forest had turned bitter. The return journey was faster, driven by an urgency that needed no words. As the camp faded into the distance, swallowed by that strange northern fog, I knew the arc of betrayal was only beginning to evolve into something far darker.

Whirikal was about to face its longest night, and its strongest pillar—the King—had vanished into thin air, leaving us with an impossible portrait and a kingdom beginning to bleed from its foundations. A shadow stretched over us, and as I urged my horse toward the capital, I swore that if William did not return, I would freeze hell itself to find him.