The gate to the neutral fortress creaked open, its sound echoing through the cold like an ancient curse.

Phuwin was the first to enter—wearing the red crest of Valir on his chest, chin raised slightly, as if his very presence was already a victory. Two soldiers followed him, but he moved like someone who didn’t need protection. Not because he was strong—but because he believed words cut deeper than blades.

At the other end of the wall, someone is waiting.

Pond. Prince of Kael.

Dressed in grey, like his kingdom—quiet, firm, and unshakable. He didn’t speak as Phuwin entered. No greeting. No nod. Just that solid gaze, the one Phuwin knew too well.

“Still wearing that same expression,” Phuwin said as a greeting, a crooked grin on his face.

“And you still talk too much,” Pond replied calmly.

They sat. No formalities, no pleasantries. Between them lay ten years of silence—and dozens of small, unspoken wars.

The negotiations began.

They talked about borders, trade routes, reparations. But underneath every word, more than just political tension simmered. It was personal.

“Your last raid cost us three villages,” Pond said.

“And your last spy nearly cost me my head,” Phuwin shot back.

Their advisors tried to mediate, but the princes preferred fighting each other over finding common ground. Phuwin stepped up beside Pond, hands buried in his coat pockets. “Remember this place? We used to fight here. With wooden swords.”

“You lost,” Pond said.

“You were twice my size.”

“And you were twice as loud.”

Phuwin snorted. “You never liked me.”

Pond looked at him. “I wasn’t sure if I wanted to hate you… or protect you.”

Phuwin laughed—short, unsure.

The next day, things were quieter.

They didn’t interrupt each other as much. Sometimes, their eyes met. Sometimes, they didn’t look away. And Phuwin stood alone on the fortress wall that night, Pond joined him without a word. They just stood there, side by side.

“Why did you save me back then? When I fell into the frozen lake?” Phuwin finally asked.