The journey continued through the long stretch of winter road, the carriage wheels crunching rhythmically through layers of fresh snow.
The trees on both sides grew taller as they proceeded, black silhouettes against the dimming sky. Each passing hour drew the world deeper into cold silence.
Eventually, the sun dipped beneath the horizon, and darkness crept in, soft at first, then swallowing the forest entirely.
The knights remained vigilant, their breaths forming pale clouds in the frigid air as the horses slowed. The lead knight raised a gauntleted hand.
"Halt!" he called out loudly.
The carriage eased to a stop.
The head knight guided his horse beside the carriage window. "Young master," he said respectfully, "night has already fallen. We should camp here until dawn."
Jude nodded, his voice calm but carrying the weight of command. "Very well. We'll camp here tonight."
The head knight turned sharply. "Prepare the camp!"
The four knights dismounted, boots sinking into soft snow as they moved with practiced discipline. Horses were tied to the thicker tree branches surrounding the clearing. Soon, the quiet forest echoed with the clinking of armor, the rustling of tents, and the murmurs of men preparing the night's shelter.
Jude and Brenna stepped down from the carriage. The cold hit immediately—sharp, biting, pressing against their coats. Jude exhaled, watching his breath fog in the air.
"Brenna," Jude said, "let's gather branches for a fire."
The two knights behind the carriage exchanged glances, but before Jude could take more than two steps, one of them suddenly moved in front of him.
He was tall, well-built, with striking blue hair that seemed almost too vibrant for the dim forest. His posture was confident—bordering on pride.
"Young master," the knight said firmly, "you absolutely cannot."
Jude's eyes hardened, a cold sharpness flashing across his face. "What is your name?" his tone was firm—commanding.
The knight blinked, taken aback. "Pardon?"
"I asked," Jude repeated, "what is your name?"
"…Ray, young master," he answered, voice dropping.
Jude's expression did not soften. His voice carried a weight he rarely used in the outer estate—an authority he now owned without doubt.
"Ray," Jude said, "who am I?"
Ray's brows knit together. To him, it sounded like a trick question. "You are… young master Jude…"
"Wrong," Jude cut sharply. "I am Jude Avernus. Do I look like a weakling to you?"
Ray's eyes widened slightly. "No—I didn't—"
Before the knight could speak further, the head knight stepped between them, bowing deeply to Jude with urgency.
"Young master Jude," he said, "forgive his insolence. He lacks proper discipline. It will not happen again."
He then turned his head just enough to shoot Ray a freezing glare. The blue-haired knight stiffened, swallowed nervously, and bowed deeply toward Jude.
"My apologies, young master."
Jude held Ray in his gaze for a heartbeat longer, then turned away. "Get the camp ready. We'll return with firewood."
"Yes, young master!" the knights responded immediately.
Jude and Brenna stepped off the path and into the forest, snow crunching beneath their boots. The trees were tall and skeletal, branches weighed down by frost, casting long shadows under the pale moonlight. The cold air bit at their cheeks, but Brenna walked at Jude's side with a quiet confidence.
After a moment, she spoke softly. "Young master… you have really matured." Her voice held warmth—and pride.
Jude glanced at her, a faint smile tugging at his lips, though he didn't respond verbally. Brenna didn't need him to. She had watched him grow since birth; she could read him better than anyone.
They didn't wander too far, staying within sight of the faint lantern glow from the knights' camp.
As they moved, they collected fallen branches, some stiff with frozen sap, others brittle and pale from winter decay. Jude stacked them in one arm while Brenna gathered her own pile.
On their way back, a sudden, low groan rumbled through the woods.
Deep. Harsh. Wrong.
It echoed through the trees like something dragging its breath through ice.
Brenna froze, the firewood slipping from her hands and falling into the snow with a muffled thud. She immediately stepped in front of Jude, her entire posture shifting from servant to shield in an instant.
"Stay behind me, young master," she whispered, her voice steady despite the tension gripping the air.
From the shadows between the trees, a massive shape emerged—white against white, yet darker somehow, as if the moonlight recoiled from it. Snow crunched beneath enormous paws.
A low growl rolled through the clearing, steaming out from a huge maw lined with razor-edged fangs.
An ice bear.
Its fur shimmered with frost, every breath forming thick clouds that drifted like smoke. Its eyes glowed pale blue—cold, ancient, and intelligent enough to recognize prey when it saw it.
The beast stepped forward, paw sinking nearly a foot into the snow.
Jude felt the forest tighten around them.
Brenna spread her stance, one arm slightly extended behind her as if anchoring him in place. The calmness in her voice did not match the threat towering over them.
"Young master," she murmured, "do not move."
The ice bear roared, the sound tearing through the trees like a wave of winter wind.
And the night was no longer quiet.