Wrath of the Snow Lord

The evening air was thick with tension as Nicole limped through the darkened streets of Wallux, her body aching with each step. The moon hung high above, casting a cold, silvery glow over the dilapidated town. The scars of her latest encounter were fresh—deep cuts on her arms, bruises marring her skin, and the searing pain of a fractured rib with every breath she took.

She hadn't provoked the mainland guards. She hadn't spoken a word or done anything to attract their attention. Yet, they came for her anyway, like vultures descending on a helpless creature. They'd attacked without mercy, their blows landing hard and fast, overwhelming her with brute strength. Nicole had tried to fight back—she always did—but she was no match for the trained soldiers of the mainland. Her spirit had not broken, but her body was beginning to pay the price for her defiance.