With a sudden, crushing intensity, he released the full, suffocating aura of his paragon status. It pressed down upon the council members, forcing them to meet his gaze as he continued, "I have not yet spoken to the Crown Prince of this, and I expect this discussion to remain within these walls. Let these matters be sealed."

He scanned the room, his eyes cold and unwavering. "You all know that the feelings of the Crown Prince are a luxury we cannot afford. Not now. Not when weighed against the magnitude of what we stand to gain."

The council members shifted under the oppressive weight of his presence, exchanging uneasy glances. A junior counselor opened his mouth as if to protest, but the sheer force of Ragnar’s authority stifled the words in his throat.

Ragnar allowed the silence to linger, letting the finality of his decree settle into their bones.

"We are architects of a new era," Ragnar continued, his tone softening only slightly "History won’t remember the comfort of princes, it remembers the strength of kingdoms. If the boy’s heart must be broken to secure the realm’s survival, then let it break. He is but one man. We are the architects of everything that follows."

He signaled to the chamber guards, his gesture dismissive yet final. "The motion is carried. Begin the preparations for the delegation. I want the betrothal contract drafted and ready for my seal by sunrise. And remember, not a whisper of this reaches the Prince’s quarters. If word leaks before I deem the timing appropriate, I will hold every one of you personally accountable for the consequences."

Ragnar turned on his heel, his cloak sweeping across the polished stone of the council chamber floor as he strode away. Following in his wake were the three other paragons, each casting a look of cold, dismissive contempt at the shaken council members before disappearing into the corridors.

Far from the warmth of the capital, the geography shifted into the Icy Expanse, a desolate, frozen landscape that stretched toward the horizon. Here, the sky was a permanent twilight, devoid of any sun. Perpetual blizzards howled through the jagged peaks, and the air was thin enough to freeze the lungs of the unprepared.

Through this frozen land, a frantic rhythm beat can be heard against the silence, the heavy, crunching thud of running footsteps, punctuated by the rhythmic, thunderous boom of distant explosions.

A humanoid figure, lithe and covered in a shimmering suit of scales, tore through the drifts. He moved with a supernatural grace, his entire frame a blurring streak against the white landscape. Every few seconds, he cast a desperate glance over his shoulder, his movements frantic yet calculated. As he pushed forward, the creature snapped his head back, his slitted, reptilian pupils dilating in the low light.

He sensed it before he saw it, the subtle displacement of air above. His instincts flared, and he didn’t slow his stride by a fraction. A projectile whistled through the freezing air, piercing the gloom with a lethal glint.

Crack.

The arrow slammed into the ground exactly where he had been a millisecond before. The impact was deafening, the force of the strike shattering the permafrost and gouging a massive, jagged crater into the earth, sending plumes of snow and ice spiraling into the dark, churning sky.

The scaled figure did not look back again, he knew the hunter was closing the distance.

The volley of projectile continued, relentless and lethal. Each arrow that struck the frozen ground and detonated like a bomb, turning the path behind the creature into a chain of smoking craters.

The scaled figure danced through the chaos, a master of fluid motion. Whenever the pursuit tightened, he shifted his anatomy, his lower half elongating into a serpentine, legless coil that allowed him to whip around obstacles and slide through the jagged drifts with impossible agility. Just as quickly, he would snap back into his bipedal form, his heels carving deep grooves into the ice as he pushed off with enough force to shatter the ground beneath him, surging forward to widen the gap.

But the hunter was not to be outrun.

A chilling darkness blotted out the dim, ethereal sky. High above, a massive silhouette of the moon drifted into view, eclipsing the horizon like a false moon. A figure loomed before moon with a bow of drawn to its limit.

"Persistent bunch," the runner hissed, a low, guttural sound that rattled in his chest. His slitted eyes narrowed as he locked his gaze on the distant horizon.

There they stood, the Frozen Pillars. Ancient, monolithic spires of obsidian ice that pierced the clouds. They were the threshold of the sanctuary, the only place where the laws of this cursed expanse could no longer touch him.

He didn’t slow. If anything, he pushed harder, his muscles burning as he accelerated toward the gate of the pillars.

The archer’s release was quick. The arrow arrived with the suddenness of a lightning strike, appearing mere inches above the runner. For a heartbeat, the scaled figure seemed confident, his reaction swift but then, the projectile shattered into a fractal bloom, splitting and multiplying until the sky was choked with hundreds of whistling, obsidian shafts, all locking onto his position.

Caught in the trap of the archer’s art, he threw his hand upward, his clawed fingers raking the air like it tore through a veil. His solid form vanished, replaced in a heartbeat by a shimmering, crystalline barrier, cascading wall of reflective surfaces that mirrored the icy expanse

As the swarm of arrows descended, the mirror-surface rippled. In perfect synchronization, hundreds of replicas, arrows of pure kinetic force erupted from the glass, screaming outward to meet the incoming volley. The air ignited in a blinding display of clashing energy, turning the sky above the frozen land into a fireworks display of concussive force.

While the explosions masked his exit, the true runner vaulted from the base of the mirror-veil, his body low and desperate, sprinting in the opposite direction toward the sanctuary of the Pillars.

He had calculated for the archer. He had accounted for the sky. He had not, however, calculated for the red blur.

The world seemed to slow. Before the runner could gain momentum, a streak of crimson fire tore through the blizzard. A figure encased in the color of spilled blood materialized directly in his path. The movement was so fluid, so impossibly fast, that the runner’s brain didn’t register the threat until it was too late.

A sensation of the cold unmistakable kiss of steel flowed across his throat. The sword glowing with a red hue, had already swung. As the runner’s momentum carried him forward, the blade finished its arc.

The scaled figure’s head tumbled into the snow, the momentum of his sprint ending in a sudden, sickening collapse as his headless body skidded across the ice.

The headless corpse, upon hitting the snow, didn’t bleed. Instead, it dissolved into a thousand shards of translucent glass that clattered against the permafrost, spinning into glittering dust under the harsh wind.

The figure in red stood frozen, his sword still held mid-swing, the momentum of his strike wasted on a mere illusion. He let out a sharp, audible smack of his lips, the sound of grating annoyance that was heard even with the windy gale. He tilted his head, his eyes tracking a flicker of motion far in the distance. The real runner, now a dark speck, was putting serious distance between them.

Beside him, the archer dropped from the sky. The "moon" that had hovered above him vanished like the illusion it was. He landed with a heavy, crunching impact, immediately leveling his bow at the figure in red. His eyes narrowed behind his visor, cold and predatory.

"The hell was that?" the archer hissed, the tremor of fury in his voice making the very air vibrate. "You almost stole my kill, you crimson idiot. That was my mark."

Leiko glanced disdainfully at the arrow pointed at him, then leaned in, using the razor-sharp arrowhead to scratch idly at the base of his horns. "And so what if I did? It is only right, as I am stronger, ain’t that right, Magnus?" He smirked, his eyes glinting with a challenge.

Magnus stared at the arrogant prince standing before him. Despite the brutal, biting chill of the Icy Expanse, Leiko remained unfazed, wearing nothing but a fur-trimmed cloak over a bare chest. His sword rested casually across his shoulder, his expression was one of effortless, infuriating superiority.

Leiko studied Magnus in return, his gaze sweeping over the other prince’s appearance with mocking interest. Magnus, with his long, flowing pale hair that spilled across his back against his heavy, layered furs, looked almost fragile compared to him. To Leiko, Magnus’s thick protective clothing was a pathetic admission of weakness, a clear sign that he was terrified of the cold that Leiko seemed to thrive in.

Magnus’s jaw tightened. He pulled the arrow back, his knuckles white against the bowstring. He looked as if he might let the projectile fly, but then his eyes dropped to the spot where Leiko had been scratching his horns. A look of visceral disgust crossed his face.