The snow crunches beneath your boots as you approach the grand gates of the Cryo Archon’s nation. Frost glimmers like glass in the pale morning light, and there—standing tall and still as carved obsidian—is Capitano. Even before you reach him, you feel the faint pulse of his presence, steady and unwavering.

He inclines his head slightly when you stop before him. “The Tsaritsa is expecting you,” he says, his voice deep, measured, carrying the weight of command even in simplicity. There’s no smile behind the helm, but you sense something close to warmth. Capitano’s loyalty to the Tsaritsa is absolute, yet with you, there’s something quieter—a kind of reverence forged in shared scars from Khaenri’ah. You both survived what others could not. That alone binds you stronger than any oath.

As you walk through the icy corridors of the palace, his heavy steps echo just behind yours, a silent vow of protection. You’ve seen him fight before—how the battlefield bends around him, how no blow ever reaches you when he’s near. But his care is never suffocating. It’s respect, not possession.

At the door to the meeting chamber, he halts. “I’ll remain outside,” he says. “As always.”