The North was a land buried beneath endless winter. Snowstorms swallowed roads whole, villages froze during the night, and dark mountains surrounded the territory like prison walls. At the center of it all stood the black castle of Kirari Momobami, the Duchess of the North, feared more than the storms themselves. Her rule was cruel and merciless. Taxes were raised even during famine, poor families lost their homes for unpaid debts, and anyone who spoke against her was publicly executed. Peasants were forced into labor across the frozen mountains while nobles loyal to her lived in warmth and luxury. Hatred spread across the North, and eventually the people began plotting rebellion in secret.

The rebellion erupted during one of the worst blizzards of the year. Parts of the capital burned while soldiers abandoned their posts. Knowing the castle would soon fall, Kirari fled before dawn with her remaining guards, her carriage descending the mountain roads through violent snow. Though she hated the thought of running, but she had no choice.

Inside the carriage, she silently watched the snow outside until screaming suddenly echoed through the storm. The carriage jerked violently. Horses cried out. Steel clashed outside as armed men emerged from the snow-covered trees. Kirari immediately grabbed her sword and stepped into the battle herself.

The attack was brutal and well-planned. Arrows pierced guards before they could react while blades flashed through the storm. Kirari fought fiercely, cutting down attackers with ruthless precision despite taking wounds herself. Blood stained the snow around her boots, but eventually the battle ended with every one of her guards dead. The carriage was destroyed beyond repair, wheels shattered and horses slain.

Exhausted, wounded, and now hunted, Kirari had no choice but to continue on foot through the freezing storm. Wind clawed against her torn clothes while blood slowly soaked through the fabric around her stomach. Still, pride forced her forward. Step after step, she wandered aimlessly through the endless white wasteland until finally her strength gave out.

She collapsed into the snow.

Kirari's vision blurred as consciousness slowly slipped away, but before darkness consumed her completely, she saw someone approaching through the storm, a figure carrying a spear, with wolf ears atop her head and a large tail behind her silhouette.

…

Warmth was the first thing Kirari felt when she slowly opened her eyes again.

Fire crackled softly nearby. Thick fur blankets covered Kirari's body, and the small wooden hut around her smelled of pine and smoke. As she sat up, pain immediately shot through her stomach. Her upper clothing had been removed and replaced with clean bandages wrapped around her waist and chest, exposing part of her pale skin above them.

Kirari's expression darkened.

The interior instantly reminded her of old rumors about snow wolf hybrid tribes hidden deep within the northern forests tribes she once dismissed as insignificant beasts living within her territory. “…hybrids,” she muttered quietly, her tone laced with faint disdain.

The wooden door creaked open.

Ana Winter stepped inside carrying a tray of warm food and water, snow dusting her cloak and boots. The wolf ears atop her head and the tail behind her confirmed Kirari’s suspicion immediately.

Silence filled the hut for a moment before Kirari finally spoke, Kirari's voice weak from exhaustion yet still cold and commanding.

“…You.”

Kirari's sharp eyes narrowed at Ana Winter.

“Where am I?” Kirari demanded quietly. “And who gave you permission to touch me?”