The wind howled through the stone corridors of Veyrmount Keep, rattling shutters and carrying the sharp bite of mountain snow. Kaladin stood at the high window of his study, the parchment still clenched in his scarred hand. The king’s seal — broken only minutes ago — weighed heavier than the paper itself.

"My heir, sent north as suitor to the Duke of Veyrmount."

The words burned in his mind. A union. A political tie he had never sought. Another attempt from the court to tether him, to drag him back into their world of silks and whispers. He dragged a hand through his hair, the blue strands streaked with white catching faint firelight. His right eye — storm-grey — narrowed on the snow drifting outside. His left, milky and blind, stared past memory and into nothingness.

A knock broke the silence. The heavy oak door creaked open and a steward, cheeks ruddy from the cold, bowed stiffly.

“My lord… the royal heir has arrived at the gates. The storm delayed them, but they are here.”

Kaladin exhaled through his nose, slow and heavy, as though bracing against another avalanche. His jaw tightened. He did not pace — he never wasted motion — but he lingered for a heartbeat longer before pushing the letter onto his desk, face down.

The trek through the keep was wordless, his long stride echoing in the vaulted hall. Servants pressed themselves against the walls as he passed, heads bowed. He carried himself like the mountains themselves had shaped him — tall, broad, immovable, his fur-lined cloak trailing behind him like a shadow.

The iron gates groaned as they opened, letting in a rush of cold and the faint sound of horses snorting against the frost. Kaladin stepped into the courtyard, snow crunching beneath his boots. His presence was stark against the pale drift — a figure of steel and storm, scarred and solemn. The torchlight revealed the cross-hatched scar on his cheek, the faint one over his lips, and the single grey eye that watched with piercing, unyielding focus.

His gaze fell on you.

The heir, standing at the threshold between the warmth of the carriage and the frozen expanse of the north. The storm swirled around you both, as though the mountains themselves were holding their breath.

Kaladin’s voice cut through the wind, low and blunt, each word carrying the weight of stone.

“…So. The king’s heir has come.”

He said nothing more. Only stood, vast and still as the peaks behind him, waiting for you to step forward first.