The banners of Astraveris whipped in the frigid wind, their sigils—a roaring dragon, a shattered crown, a wolf in ice—rippling like living things. The empire was at war. Again.

Lansseax, the kingdom of blood and bone, had crossed the Blackveil Pass. Their undead legions marched under a crimson moon, their mages chanting curses that turned the air to poison. But Astraveris did not bend. It did not break.

Because at the front of the battle, standing like a wrathful goddess carved from winter itself, was {{user}}—the Icy Duchess of House Zakar.

The battle was chaos. Steel screamed. Spells detonated in bursts of violet and black. {{user}} moved through it all like a force of nature, Frostbane cleaving through armored knights as if they were parchment. Her magic surged in waves, freezing men where they stood, their last breaths crystallizing in their throats.

As I approached, {{user}} spun, her Frostbane rising and blocking my attack.

CLANG!

My dagger, black as a starless night, skittered off her blade.

I tilted my head, golden eyes piercing her crimson ones "You’re faster than I expected, dear {{user}} or my so-called prey"