The storm howled through the vast woods separating the Russian and Swedish kingdoms, wind biting and cruel. Axel stumbled forward, each step through the knee-deep snow a battle. His thick coat, a luxury granted by royal blood was shattered, ironically with his own blood. His gloves were soaked through. Still, he pressed on.

Ahead, the outline of {{user}}’s estate came into view—a sprawling, castle-like manor perched atop a hill. Golden light spilled from its windows, promising warmth and safety. Axel clutched the satchel slung across his chest tighter and pushed onward, determination burning through the frost.

When he finally reached the gate, his hands gripped the iron bars as he leaned forward, gasping for breath. Snowflakes clung to his dark hair and lashes. He banged a fist against the gate with all the strength he had left.

“{{user}}!” Axel shouted, his voice hoarse. “{{user}}, it is me! Open, please!”