Frost's Gate and the Unyielding Vow
To cling to their pipe dreams, the northern reaches of the Varkadia Empire are shielded by the Caldera Mountains—known as the White Wall, or Frost's Gate. Beyond those peaks stands Loopheim Fortress, bastion of the empire's guardians, the revered Bronheim ducal house, who hold back the northern nomads.
Silvena Bronheim was born the eldest daughter of that lineage and stepped onto the battlefield at just sixteen. For most young men, that age marks their debut into high society via the debutante ball—a pivotal rite of passage. Women, no less eager, flock to those same circles to find suitors who suit their hearts. But Silvena donned armor and took up the sword instead. She grew more familiar with the auroras dancing over the northern snowfields than the dizzying lights of ballroom chandeliers. The whispers of admiring suitors faded against the war cries of charging nomads.
"Daughter, go to the academy."
In the study, summoned by her mother, Altena Bronheim, Silvena heard those unexpected words and widened her eyes.
"Pardon...? What do you mean, Mother?"
"Exactly what I said. The northern nomads have quieted compared to before, so leave this land's defense to me. Go to the academy, learn more, and make connections beyond our world."
Silvena could grasp the first part. Nomads weren't endlessly churned out like parts from some black mage Nemesis's factory. Generations of Bronheim purges had driven them to the frozen fringes to lick their wounds. Her absence wouldn't tip the scales now.
But the academy? That was a different matter entirely.
"What could I possibly learn at some academy? Everything I need to know exists right here on this soil, Mother."
She still had mountains of duties and lessons here. Not out of ducal obligation or imperial duty, but the pride handed down from comrades who'd vanished before her eyes over the past four years. Her wise mother couldn't possibly be blind to that—so why now?
"I know your noble resolve, Silvena. But learning isn't forged solely in blood-soaked battles. Sometimes, you must mingle with peers and study at a desk."
"The north has plenty of friends my age. If my poor social graces are the issue, I'll work on them."
Silvena knew she kept outsiders at arm's length, beyond family retainers and soldiers. Fair point, but hardly reason enough to drag her to an academy she cared nothing for.
"Those 'friends' are all tied to the Bronheims anyway. What I want is for you to encounter the unforeseen, to see a wider world."
"The Bronheim name—and this northern expanse—is my entire world."
"I know. As my heir, that's music to my ears. However..."
Altena slipped off her ring and held it out. Silvena's eyes widened. It was the symbol of the Bronheim house head.
"That's a story for after you've seen more of the world. Repeat those words then, and I'll rejoice. For now, obey your mother's will."
"...If that's your deeper intent, Mother."
She couldn't defy her further. Altena was the woman Silvena revered most, the embodiment of her own aspirations. For her to override her daughter's will so firmly for the first time meant there was a profound reason—perhaps something vast she'd overlooked.
"And there, find the one you truly wish to protect. The path you're so desperately seeking... that person will show it to you someday."
Silvena's body jolted. Had her mother seen through her aimless wandering, her lack of true enlightenment? Awe at that uncanny insight mingled with doubt.
"The one I truly wish to protect...? Beyond the northern folk, such a person exists?"
"Only you can know. But I am certain."
'Because I was the same.'
A rare, gentle smile touched Altena's lips—the one reserved for Silvena's father. Knowing that, Silvena held her tongue. For now, she'd study at the academy as bid and return.
"...Um, Aren. 'Lend you myself'? What does that even mean?"
Silvena's usual stoic face twisted slightly as she asked.
Ah, yeah—expecting her to get that phrasing was a bit much.
"Sorry. I meant borrowing a bit of your time, but it came out wrong."
"...Your slips are always so artfully done. I sense malice."
Malice? That's harsh. Everyone misspeaks sometimes. But facts are facts; no point playing the victim—that'd be shameless.
"Anyway, why ask for my time? Didn't we skip extra exams?"
"Not that, thankfully. It's personal training... I'd like your help with it."
"Oh? Motivation strikes the unmotivated. Wonders never cease."
Hey, don't paint me as some slacker. Sure, my drive's been lacking, but calling it out stings.
Time for bold-faced lies and deflection, Duchess.
"Yeah, something like that."
"If so, I'll gladly assist. Any special trigger?"
"Actually, I had a small epiphany during yesterday's practical eval."
"...Epiphany? You don't mean—?"
I nodded sheepishly under her gaze.
"That sort of thing."
"Hard to believe. Even I haven't dared touch Sword Master territory yet..."
Words aside, she was probably on the cusp. Her sword aura's maturity outshone mine by miles. Mine was just a lucky glimpse—survival instinct fusing with a fleeting insight amid life-or-death peril.
"Pure luck. Can't call it anything else."
"If 'luck' lets you peek at mastery, we'd all be masters. Congrats anyway, Aren."
"Thanks."
Most would envy or glare at a peer surging ahead. But Silvena clapped with genuine admiration. Ducal poise, I guess.
"If you've truly reached mastery, you won't need my advice."
"Nah, this is where it gets real."
"Real?"
"Yeah. What I saw with my eyes and felt with my hands yesterday... it's slipping away like a daydream."
That blurry, greenish glow at my blade's tip—not vivid, but shimmering. The sword felt weightless, my mind light as clouds. Now it was all a vanished dream; I ached to seize it again.
I fidgeted with my empty sword hand. Silvena, watching intently, spoke.
"I see. So one taste of enlightenment has you more lost than before."
"Yeah. No clue why. Maybe just crisis-driven instinct."
"Instinct or not, it's power from within you. You may not have crossed into mastery yet, but your potential is undeniable."
"You think?"
I hadn't sought comfort, but her certainty eased the knot in my chest.
"I get what you need. I'll help as best I can—though if it'll even matter..."
"Really? You're the best, Silvena. Starting to feel like a burden."
I'm not that thick-skinned. Realizing I'd been mooching off her lately, I grinned awkwardly. She mirrored with a faint smile.
"Not at all. It's not just helping you—I'm hoping to gain something too."
"Me help you?"
What could I offer her? I tilted my head.
"Yes. Actually, my mother once..."
"Once?"
Classic cliffhanger—prime rage bait. She trailed off, eyes wide, then cleared her throat lightly.
"...Never mind. Too soon to tell you."
"Too soon means you'll tell me someday, right? I can't stand this suspense."
"Perhaps when the time comes."
"I'll hold you to it—no backing out later."
I remember trivial stuff like this forever. Might even jot it in my notebook for later grilling.
My resolute stare—no escape—drew a smile instead.
"You'll wait? Promise?"
"I hate liars, you know."
"Why lie about this? I'll wait. Even to the grave."
"Then swear it."
"Swear?"
Shouldn't I be extracting promises here? Roles reversed much?
"Sure, why not."
"Heh, good."
She insisted, so we pinky-swore like kids. That smile might've been her brightest yet.
"Thanks for putting up with me till break, Silvena."
Less than a week left, but whatever. She'd stay for "research," but most kids head home. Intense duo sessions should yield results.
Or so I thought.
"...Hm? Till break? What do you mean?"
"You go home for break, right?"
"I thought you meant my break time—and agreed."
".........Pardon?"
Wait. She's skipping home... to train just me all break? Grateful, yeah, but... why go that far?