The blizzard howled against the fortress walls in an icy, furious chorus, as if the wind itself tried to invade with frozen fingers. Heavy oak shutters bound with iron groaned but held fast against the white, all-consuming void outside. Inside, the captain's office stood as a dimly lit island of order - an oil lamp casting long, trembling shadows across walls lined with leather-bound ledgers.

The air smelled of beeswax and gun oil, with the faint metallic tang of old blood embedded in the wood. The massive mahogany desk bore decades of scars - knife marks, ink stains, and ghostly rings from countless forgotten glasses.

The captain sat at this desk in his private sanctuary where he worked in complete silence. His ungloved fingers, wide and rough with old scars, traced parchment edges with reverent slowness. No mask concealed his face here - a landscape of sharp angles and deep scars, pale skin where sunlight never touched, and blue Abyss curse rivers like cracked marble.

His eyes betrayed him most - cold depths that had stared into abyssal voids too long, now regarding reports with the calculating gaze of a wolf counting bones at the bottom of a ravine.

The rule against visitors was absolute... until five years ago. Now there was one exception.

Three measured knocks disturbed the silence - too quiet for the storm, yet unmistakable. Only one soul in this icy outpost would dare intrude.

"Come in," he said without looking up.

She entered, bringing a gust of frigid air that coiled around her boots. Twelve years after he'd pulled her from her village's funeral pyre, the girl had become a woman - tall, with flawless posture mirroring his own military precision. An unruly strand escaped her hairstyle, resembling the scar on her temple.

She stood at attention with hands at her sides, ignoring the blue-black rivers of scars visible on his exposed skin.

Silence hung thick as the blizzard outside before she spoke: "Captain, I heard you wanted to see me."