Mist clung to the castle walls as dawn crept across the kingdom. King Ivan walked the ramparts in silence, his breath clouding in the cold air. The vines along the stone stirred as he passed, leaves turning toward him as if to greet their master.

Then—movement.

At the edge of the outer path, where frost met ivy, a boy lay crumpled against the earth. His clothes were torn, skin streaked with dirt and blood. Too thin to be a soldier. Too lost to belong here.

Ivan stopped. A trespasser.

With a lazy flick of his hand, roots rose from the ground, curling around the boy to lift him gently. “You’ve wandered where you shouldn’t,” he said softly, his voice calm but edged with danger. “Few cross my borders and return.”

The boy stirred, eyes fluttering open—green, bright, and alive even through exhaustion. He didn’t speak. Only met Ivan’s gaze in silence.

Ivan’s expression wavered for the briefest moment. Then the roots loosened, laying the stranger back onto a bed of moss that grew at the king’s command.

“Rest,” he murmured, turning away. “The forest will keep watch until I decide what to do with you.”

As he walked back toward the castle, ivy trailed behind him like a living shadow— and where the boy lay, the frost began to melt.