[Thorenvald Estate—Nick’s POV]

THUD! THUD!

Boots echoed through the marble halls as knights scrambled in every direction. The air inside the mansion was heavy—too heavy, like even the walls were holding their breath.

One of the knights burst into the hall, panting. "We’ve searched every wing, Sir Roland! The stables, the gardens, the outer posts—Lord Leif is nowhere to be found!"

Sir Roland’s jaw tightened, the lines on his face deepening as he slammed a fist against the table. "Damn it! It was my fault... I should’ve stayed with him. I should’ve never left his side. "

"It was my fault too..." I said quietly, stepping forward. My throat felt tight. "Because of me—Lord Leif—"

"Enough," Baron Sigurd cut me off sharply.

His voice was low but commanding, carrying through the hall like thunder. "This isn’t the time to drown in guilt. We must act—now. Whoever took him can’t have gone far. Frojnholm’s borders are surrounded by snow and ice; they’d be mad to think they can escape unseen."

Roland drew in a sharp breath, his expression hardening. "You’re right. Everyone—spread out! Comb every inch of the territory! Take your Crimson Packs—trackers, scouts, everyone we have!"

"YES, SIR!!!"

The knights roared in unison, their voices reverberating through the great hall as they dashed out into the stormy night, torches blazing.

Silence fell behind them, broken only by the howling wind outside.

I stood by the window, watching their torches scatter into the white horizon. The sky was dark and merciless, clouds rolling like a restless sea.

"I hope he’s safe..." I whispered. My voice almost disappeared into the storm.

Since Lord Leif arrived, most of us thought he’d leave the moment he saw how broken this land was. But he didn’t. He stayed. He fought. He laughed like a fool and worked like a madman, and somehow, his recklessness gave us hope.

He wasn’t just our lord anymore. He was... Frojnholm’s heartbeat.

Baron Sigurd’s voice broke my thoughts. "I wish... Grand Duke Alvar were here."

Roland turned sharply. "Then send a message to him."

Sigurd blinked. "What?"

Roland’s voice was grim. "The Grand Duke’s reach extends far. If anyone can mobilize a search fast enough—it’s him. We can’t afford to waste time."

I nodded slowly. "He’s right. The forests are thick; the mountains are worse. Even with the Crimson Packs, the snow will mask any scent. The longer we wait, the colder the trail gets."

Baron Sigurd hesitated only for a moment before rushing into his study. I followed him. The room was dim, lit only by a single flickering candle that quivered in the draft.

He tore a piece of parchment, grabbed his quill, and began writing furiously. His hands trembled—not from the cold, but from the fear none of us dared voice aloud. When he finished, he tied the letter securely to the leg of a snow owl perched by the window. The bird hooted softly, almost as if it understood the weight of its task.

Sigurd opened the window. The cold rushed in, biting against our faces.

"Please..." he murmured, his voice cracking. "Let this reach the Grand Duke as soon as possible."

The owl spread its wings—majestic, determined—and soared into the storm, disappearing into the blizzard’s heart.

We stood there for a long moment, staring after it. Outside, the snow fell thicker, and the howls of the Crimson Packs faded one by one into the distance.

I clenched my fists. "Hold on, my lord," I whispered. "Wherever you are... just hold on."

We will find you soon.

***

[Somewhere in Frojnholm—Leif’s POV — Same Time]

"Gosh... they tied it too tight! " I hissed, squirming in place. The rope around my legs was digging into my skin, biting hard enough to leave angry marks.

I tugged again, twisting my ankles until pain shot up my calves. "Ow—okay, okay, stop, stop—ugh, those idiots must’ve used half a forest worth of rope!"

At least my hands were free. Thank every merciful god in existence that they’d left those unbound. If they hadn’t... yeah, I’d probably be the world’s most useless hostage.

I scanned the room, eyes darting between the flickering firelight and the cluttered table. No knife. No sharp edge. Nothing but wood, rope, and smoke.

"Great," I muttered. "A cozy cabin of doom."

Still, I didn’t stop. I twisted, bent, kicked, and scraped my heels against the floor until my muscles burned. It felt like hours, though it was probably only minutes—but I refused to give up. I wasn’t about to die tied to a post like some helpless potato.

Then my gaze caught something glinting faintly under the firelight.

My collar pin.

"Ohhh, I can use this," I whispered. "Guess you’re not just for fashion after all."

I yanked it free, the small needle-like end catching the glow of the fire. My fingers trembled, half from cold, half from nerves, as I slipped the pin between the knots.

Click. Scratch. Click.

It wasn’t easy—the rope was coarse, and my fingers were starting to ache—but I kept working, twisting the pin, sawing at the fibers strand by strand.

"Come on, come on... yes... yes—there we go..."

Finally, the last thread snapped with a soft pop .

I exhaled shakily, yanking my legs free. Deep red marks circled my skin, angry and raw, but who cared? I could move again.

"Finally," I muttered, grinning.

Then—

CRUNCH. CRUNCH.

My heart stopped.

Boots. On snow. Getting closer.

"Damn it," I breathed, panic flooding back in. "They’re back."

I darted a glance around the small cabin. No window. Only one door. My heartbeat was thundering so loud it might’ve given me away.

I needed something. Anything.

My eyes landed on the fire. The flames danced, hungry and hot, licking the edges of the logs.

"I can’t believe I’m about to do this," I whispered, snatching up a thick burning branch. The heat seared my palm instantly, and I hissed. "Ow—hot! Hot! Okay, yeah, terrible idea, but whatever works!"

The footsteps grew louder. The latch rattled.

I pressed myself against the wall beside the door, clutching the burning wood like a sword of sheer desperation.

The door creaked open—slowly, cautiously.

One of the men stepped in first, muttering, "Do we need to feed him too—"

"SURPRISE!"

I swung. The burning end smashed across his face in a burst of embers. He screamed, stumbling back, clutching his cheek.

"WHAT THE—AAGHHH!"

Before his partner could react, I shoved him hard, sending him crashing into the table. Dishes shattered. The room erupted in chaos.

Then I ran.

Snow exploded beneath my boots as I burst through the door, lungs burning, legs already protesting.

"CATCH HIM!" someone roared behind me. "THAT BASTARD—DON’T LET HIM ESCAPE!"

Their voices faded behind me, swallowed by the howling wind.

But I didn’t stop. Not once.

I just kept running. Through snow, through cold, through the sting of the night air—because stopping meant dying.

And sorry, fate—but I’m not planning to die today.

***

[Somewhere in the Frojnholm—After running blind for who knows how long...]

Cold.

That was the first thing that hit me. The kind of cold that didn’t just touch your skin—it bit through it.

Snow whipped at my face as I ran, lungs burning, legs screaming. The wind howled like an angry spirit, swirling white into every direction I looked.

"I wish... huff ... I’d actually memorized those stupid maps of Frojnholm..." I muttered between ragged breaths. "If I had, I wouldn’t be running around like a lost snowman in the middle of nowhere."

The snow crunched beneath my boots as I half-ran, half-tripped through the snowy forest. Every step was heavier than the last, my breath turning to ice the moment it left my lips.

Behind me, faint but unmistakable, came the sound of voices. Distant shouts, getting closer.They were following.

I glanced over my shoulder, heart pounding. "My people must be searching for me already, But until then... I need a hideout. Somewhere... anywhere—"

HOWL!

I froze. My heart stopped mid-beat. That sound—deep, fierce, familiar.

"...Wait," I breathed, turning toward the sound. "That’s... my baby’s voice."

Crunch. Crunch. Crunch.

From the curtain of snow, a crimson shape burst through the white haze—fur glistening, breath misting.

"HOWL!!"

For a second, everything in me just broke.

"Oh my god..." I ran toward the crimson pup, half-laughing, half-crying. "My baby! My little murder baby!"

We collided like long-lost lovers in a bad romance novel—him jumping up to my chest, me dropping to my knees, wrapping my arms around his thick fur.

"You found me," I whispered into his neck, voice trembling. "You actually found me."

He licked my face, tail wagging hard enough to knock snow off the nearby trees. I laughed, half-choked by emotion.

"Were you alone?" I asked softly, pulling back.

He tilted his head, then gave a small nod-like movement, his ears twitching.

"Figures," I sighed, rubbing my frozen nose against his muzzle. "You must’ve looked for me all this way, huh? You clever little demon."

He gave a low, approving growl, eyes gleaming proudly.

I patted his head, voice softening. "Thank you for coming for me, sweetheart. Really. Now..." I glanced toward the direction he’d come from, squinting through the snow. "Let’s follow the path you used. Maybe—just maybe—it’ll lead us back to the others."

The crimson pup howled once, sharp and confident, before turning around and padding ahead through the drifts. His tail flicked like a little torch of hope in the endless white.

I took a deep breath and followed, every step lighter now—not because the snow had thinned, but because, for the first time since this nightmare began, I wasn’t alone.