Chapter 14 · free to read
Word went along the border the way warmth does: quietly, downhill, to whoever needed it most. The Frost General shelters. That was the whole message.
The south had raised him to run a kingdom before it decided to kill him. Nine years of that schooling had been sitting behind the silk this whole time, waiting for something to do.
From the ridge it looked like a hearth. From whatever was still awake under the glacier, it looked like a plate set out on a table.
Nineteen years holding a wall for them, and the thanks came in six characters. The last line was the one that mattered: with all who shelter him.
Artwork and narration generated with AI.