Smoke rose from the northern mines.
The message came wrapped in frost-damaged parchment, delivered by a trembling courier:
> *“Miners dead within hours. Veins blackened. No cure holds. We found old imperial canisters buried in collapse. Please—send the Wolfbone General."*
Karl read the note twice beneath a sky that refused to snow.
He hadn't been called that name in three years.
And yet—
He packed his satchel.
Not with a sword.
With rose seeds. And a journal—leather-worn, ink-faded.
Lia's protocols, annotated in his hand.
---
The mine sat like a broken tooth in the ice.
Collapsed shafts. Makeshift tents of canvas and soot.
Miners coughed blood in corners. Children buried their faces in soot-streaked blankets.
Karl entered without escort, wearing only his gray coat.
“He's
