The Ironmane cliffs loomed like broken teeth under the pale sky. Theo's strike force moved swiftly, cutting through frostbitten ravines with brutal precision. Blood stained the snow in jagged arcs. Another skirmish won. Another village "cleansed." But Theo didn't celebrate.
He stood alone near a burning outpost, smoke coiling around his armor. His chest ached—not from wounds, but from the phantom memory of eyes that watched him like judgment.
“You're reckless," muttered Captain Rovan, approaching with a grimace. “Council says your body count's too high."
“I win," Theo replied. “That should be enough."
Rovan snorted. “Not if you burn half the north to do it."
Theo turned away, fingers brushing the pendant under his tunic.
That night, as frost crackled across tents and soldiers murmure
