Compared to the endless blizzards of Snezhnaya, the cold of Dragonspine could almost be called a mortal paradise.
And yet, even amid such extreme weather, people often heard an ethereal singing voice.
For countless years, it was that song which dispelled the bitterness in the hearts of Snezhnaya's people, offering them spiritual comfort and rekindling the fighting spirit of the nation.
Some claimed the singer was a favored attendant of the Tsaritsa.
Others believed she was a bard descended from Celestia itself.
Opinions differed, guesses abounded—but one thing was universally agreed upon.
Everyone adored the singer.
Their affection for her was second only to that reserved for the Prince himself.
The melody never seemed to change, yet every listener heard something different within it—sorrow, solace, resolve—and from it drew extraordinary strength.
After spending a brief, tender moment with the Tsaritsa, Severin left the palace.
Strictly speaking, he had been chased out.
According to her, the longer he stayed by her side, the more disordered her heart became.
The wind howled as snow swept past—and Severin heard the singing again.
This time… sorrow?
As he focused on the emotion woven into the melody, light footsteps approached across the snow.
A languid woman with waist-length hair and downcast eyes stepped closer, draping an exquisitely tailored cloak over his shoulders.
Her skin was paler than the falling snow itself.
A six-winged headpiece danced in the wind.
Beneath her blindfold, her eyes remained closed, lending her an air of profound mystery—as though she carried secrets vast enough to shake the heavens.
The ethereal song flowed softly from her lips.
Out of habit, Severin took her slender hands in his own, breathing warmth into them until the icy chill finally receded.
"Columbina… are you doing well?"
"You haven't come to listen to me sing in a long time, Your Highness."
Ranked third among the Eleven Harbingers, Columbina, known as the Damselette, now wore an unmistakably aggrieved expression.
Severin smiled helplessly.
He had gone to hear her sing just two days ago—he had even stayed for tea.
And yet she still accused him.
She was becoming more and more clingy… though he could understand a girl's feelings.
"Are you worried that once I leave Snezhnaya, no one will listen to your singing anymore?"
The usually obedient Damselette nodded lightly—then shook her head again.
"A Seelie's song is forever steeped in loneliness. I've long grown used to solitude during countless cold nights. Please go and fulfill Her Majesty's mission, Your Highness. I will pray for your safe return in the cathedral."
Still as stubborn as ever—even her farewell sounded stiff and restrained.
Ignoring her token resistance, Severin took her hand and walked beside her toward his residence.
Everything felt natural, quiet, and unspoken.
Only the soft crunch of snow remained—along with the sound of quickening heartbeats.
"While I'm gone, behave yourself. Learn to control your emotions. Don't let your song destroy this country," he said gently.
"And if you miss me… you're not allowed to open your eyes. Remember that."
In all of Snezhnaya, the only person Severin truly worried about was Columbina.
Her singing was not merely music—it was a terrifying mental weapon.
If it ever went out of control, the consequences would be unthinkable.
"There is no listener more suited than you, Your Highness," she said earnestly.
"So I'll remember your words. But please—remember mine as well. You must return safely."
Thinking of his imminent departure, her mood sank visibly.
"Columbina," Severin said after a pause, "I've made up my mind. Once I finish dealing with matters abroad, you'll take me to meet your parents—and your people. I'll prove to them just how foolish it was to abandon you."
"Your Highness… that wouldn't be appropriate. I am a sinner, bearing guilt."
"That judgment was a mistake from the very beginning. The guilty ones were them."
She raised a soft finger, pressing it gently to his lips.
"Shh… Your Highness. Be careful. They might hear."
Severin pulled her into his arms, breathing in her faint, lingering fragrance.
"And what does that matter?" he said with a laugh.
"Sooner or later, you're mine anyway."
The pale woman's cheeks flushed instantly.
Shy beyond measure, yet unable to resist the prince's domineering affection.
With a soft, flustered cry, she pushed him away and vanished into the storm of wind and snow.
The song that followed was no longer sorrowful—
it turned light, cheerful, and filled with happiness.
She really was easy to please.
Just a single embrace could make her happy for a long time.
A patrol squad approached head-on, torches raised.
In the low visibility of the blizzard, the flames brought an inexplicable warmth.
"Your Highness," one of them said hesitantly, "we thought we saw… someone standing beside you just now."
Severin was mildly displeased at having his tender moment interrupted, but their diligence was their duty.
"You were mistaken. Why were you looking for me?"
"It's the House of the Hearth… the children heard you're about to depart, and they prepared something especially for you."
The House of the Hearth was, in essence, an intelligence organization dedicated to cultivating spies.
But Severin preferred another name for it.
Snezhnaya's orphanage.
It took in countless orphans from across Teyvat, and in this frozen land, it was one of the few places Severin genuinely enjoyed visiting.
Aside from their brutal daily training, the children's greatest joy was sitting around the Prince, listening to his tales of legendary heroes—especially the monkey king who defied the heavens, their absolute favorite.
To them, the Prince himself was a hero.
Hearing that he was about to leave the country on a mission, they immediately organized a farewell performance.
The moment Severin stepped through the orphanage gates, thunderous applause erupted like an endless tide.
In the children's eyes shone fervent admiration—alongside deep reluctance to part.
By the time the performances ended, noon had already arrived.
In all of Snezhnaya, only these children were allowed to claim the Prince's time so freely.
Before departing, Severin left them with a few words.
"I am a wounded wolf, betrayed by the world itself.
One day, we will build a new world—one that abandons no one."
"If you too carry dreams that cannot be accepted, wounds that cannot heal—then join us.
Let our marching boots shake the earth like thunder."
Outside the door stood a Harbinger with short silver hair, her codename Arlecchino, the Knave.
She watched Severin in silence, standing respectfully.
As the founder of the House of the Hearth, she always accompanied the Prince personally whenever he visited—no matter how busy she was.
This time was no different.
As Severin finished speaking, the fervor and admiration in her eyes rivaled even that of the children—
Though the blood-red cross-shaped pattern within her black pupils lent her an unsettling, almost androgynous air.
To read advanced Chapters, head over to p@treon:
patreon.com/SwritesTL