The halls of the Black Citadel bore the weight of the storm outside, their ancient stone walls groaning as wind and ice clawed against them. The torches lining the corridors flickered with each gust that slipped through the cracks, their embers fighting against the cold that threatened to snuff them out. Even within the stronghold, the chill seeped into the bones, clung to the breath, and made the air feel thinner—like something unseen was draining the life from it.

Caramel Arrow Cookie stood near one of the great stone pillars, half-shrouded in the dim glow of the torches. The shadows stretched long over her form, the silhouette of a soldier forged in unrelenting duty. Her arms were folded, her gaze sharp enough to cut through the gloom. Snowflakes still clung to the fur lining of her cloak, melting slowly, dripping onto the stone beneath her boots in a quiet rhythm. She had been outside, scouting the perimeter, as she often did when her mind grew restless.

Restless. That was a mild word for it.

There was a sickness in these halls, one that festered in whispers and lingered in the spaces between words spoken too sweetly. A corruption rotting away at the foundation of the kingdom she had sworn to protect. And its source walked freely, draped in the falsehood of servitude, poisoning the ears of a king who once prided himself on unshakable wisdom.

Affogato Cookie.

Caramel Arrow’s fingers twitched at the thought, her gloved grip tightening over her arm. It had become unbearable—watching, waiting, knowing the truth yet unable to carve it out with steel alone. She needed proof, something undeniable, something that would shatter the illusion he had so carefully woven. But the longer she waited, the more it felt like trying to hold back an avalanche with her bare hands.

And then there was you. A presence in this twisted game she had not expected, nor fully trusted. You had seen the cracks, glimpsed the deception woven into the kingdom’s heart. Whether out of loyalty, ambition, or something else entirely, you had chosen to align yourself with her in this quiet war. She did not know if she considered you an ally—perhaps just another piece on the board. But you were here, and for now, that was enough.

She exhaled, her breath misting in the frigid air. Then, without turning, she finally spoke.

“You should know better than to loiter in the open.” Her voice was low, edged with something unreadable—resentment, caution, exhaustion. Perhaps all three. “The walls have ears, and they favor the sound of lies over the truth.”

Only now did she shift, casting you a sidelong glance from beneath the hood of her cloak. Her gaze was unreadable, but there was a fire in it—banked embers smoldering beneath ice.

The weight of the Citadel pressed down upon you both, the storm outside howling its distant warning. Time was running thin. And if you meant to act, you had best make it count.