When the Snow Breathes Back

The blizzard howled outside the walls of the ANSEP Research Center, snow hammering the windows in rhythmic bursts like some ancient drum counting down to war. Crept Artemisia stepped in, brushing frost from his coat, his expression locked in stone.

He didn't want to be here. He wasn't supposed to be here.

But Shilial had insisted.

> "Atiya and Zelaine are my closest friends. If they're walking toward something that doesn't return light, I need you to bring them back."

Now, he stood in the steel corridors of Sector 3, boots echoing against the floor as he approached the main operations bay.

"Tremeur," Crept said, spotting the man hunched over a console.

Tremeur didn't look up. "You're late."

Crept narrowed his eyes. "Where's Kael?"

"Busy trying to seduce—I mean, train—Cerejeira," Tremeur replied dryly.

Crept blinked. "You let him near her?"

"He's being supervised. Bashanta's on overwatch."

"Bashanta?"

"The sniper with the moral compass."

Crept sighed. "Fine. What about Ellejort?"

Tremeur's fingers tapped rapidly. "Lady Inteja reached out. The Queen of Ellejort agreed to let our team in—but under strict terms. Only one ship. No more than two high-rankers. Dominion or Continental tier max."

"She's limiting our forces?"

"She doesn't want foreign boots disturbing her kingdom," Tremeur shrugged. "But since the matter involves the Box—that thing that sealed He Who Ended Gods—she's... curious."

Crept exhaled, long and tired. "Anything else?"

Tremeur grinned. "You could ask about your cousin. Shilial's doing fine."

"She's doing my paperwork."

"So, she's in hell."

Their terminals pinged. A message from Inteja.

> HINGCHA LAIR DISCOVERED – less than 2.5 km from ANSEP's east grid. Active signs. Priority Alpha.

Crept's jaw tightened. "Get Kael."

---

South Training Annex – Sector 7

Snow lashed the reinforced windows, but inside, the sparring room steamed with sweat and breath.

Kael grinned as Cerejeira charged, her blade thrumming with lightcraft. She was fast—faster than before. Her body lunged forward with all the fury of a comet trying to pierce the storm.

He dodged lazily, like the snow falling outside.

"Faster," he said.

"You're not teaching me anything," she snapped, panting.

"I'm waking up the beast in you."

Their swords clashed—light crackled, illuminating the chamber in brilliant white. Again. Again. Again. The tempo was punishing.

Cerejeira's legs trembled. Her lungs burned. Her vision blurred.

But she didn't stop.

> I have to keep up. I can't be the weakest link again. Not here.

Kael's hair was soaked. He wasn't even using techniques—just brute instinct. Movement. Pressure. Taunts that scraped against her nerves.

He barked a laugh. "You're not bad. You're just too soft. A feather dressed like a blade."

"Then cut me and see how much I bleed," she snarled.

Kael's eyes flicked to the curve of her waist as she pivoted. The line of sweat trailing down her collarbone. The clothes—tight, tactical, efficient.

He looked away. Then looked back. Then swallowed.

Bashanta adjusted his scope from the overhead vent.

> "Kael's a walking HR violation," he muttered. His sniper vision didn't just see heat—it saw intent. And Kael's was flashing red.

Down below, Kael moved too close. His hand drifted, just slightly.

Bashanta's voice came through the speaker: "Touch her, and Lady Inteja's frying pan becomes your next soulmate."

Kael froze. His expression twisted into something between a smirk and surrender. "Noted."

Cerejeira dropped to one knee, gasping. "I'm done."

Kael grinned, offering her a hand. "You're better than yesterday. That's the rule, right?"

"I hate that rule."

"You still follow it."

She took his hand, reluctantly.

Then the call came through.

> "Kael, Crept wants you. We've found a Hingcha lair."

Kael turned to Cerejeira.

"Get up. You're coming."

"No."

"Yes."

"I just fought you for three hours."

"And now you're warmed up."

Bashanta's voice chimed in. "She needs rest. She's redlining."

Kael ignored him. "She'll be fine."

Cerejeira wanted to argue. Her body ached. Her spirit frayed. But her pride stood up first.

She grabbed her gear.

> Because if I fall behind, I'll be left behind.

Kael smirked. "That's the spirit."

And behind them, Bashanta sighed, muttering to himself:

> "Kael without lightning is just a pervert with good reflexes."

---

Crept stopped mid-step, stunned.

Cerejeira — the secretary of Director Cornicius Corell — stood before him, spine straight, lips unbroken, but skin visibly bruised, patches of purple and red blotched across her arms and neck.

She bowed slightly. "It's an honor to finally meet you, Sir Crept."

Crept's eyes narrowed. "Why are you in this state? Isn't this place supposed to be secure?"

But as quickly as the question came, he buried it. At least she trained. That much was clear. And more questions would only prolong the headache.

He nodded stiffly. "Well met."

Before he could say more, a blur of pale silver hair and obnoxious perfume rushed toward him.

"Crept!" Kael shouted, throwing himself into a dramatic embrace. "Oh, stars, I missed you so much! My heart—!"

Crept shoved him away like one would swat a persistent fly.

"Get off. You're crying over nothing, and we both know it," Crept muttered. "And you're going to drag Cerejeira along whether I object or not."

Kael gave a sheepish grin, wiping fake tears. "You know me too well."

Cerejeira, despite herself, blinked. That switch — from puppy-eyed flirt to cold operator — was unsettling.

Tremeur stepped forward, drawing a warping circle beneath them with a flick of his hand.

"Lair's location has been stabilized. Coordinates locked."

Crept turned to the group. "Brace yourselves. If Atiya and Zelaine encountered the Hingcha, this won't be simple reconnaissance."

Kael's demeanor shifted. He straightened. Eyes sharpened. Focused.

Cerejeira caught the change and shivered. So… he can look like that.

Tremeur, watching both of them, felt the ache in his chest tighten. He smiled, just a little. Maybe it wasn't so bad to care after all.

Crept noticed. "What?"

"Nothing," Tremeur said. "Just ready."

The warp activated.

---

The Lair

A moment later, they stood within a yawning cavern.

The air was wrong.

It pulsed.

Light bled from the walls — not from torches, nor stones — but from some unseen, ever-shifting source. Iridescent hues rolled across the floor and ceiling, changing with every blink. Pink bled to green, green to blue, then black — and black was the worst of all, because it felt alive.

The shadows writhed. They stretched when they shouldn't. They moved before anyone did.

The stone was wet. No — not wet. Slick. Alive. The ground felt like muscle wrapped in cooled resin, and it pulsed beneath their boots like a slow, sleeping heartbeat.

Bioluminescent fungi pulsed and twitched on the walls. Some let out faint, gurgling moans — others dripped thick fluid that steamed when it hit the floor. One of them — just one — opened what looked like an eye, stared at them, then closed again as if disinterested.

Cerejeira stepped closer to Kael without realizing it.

Kael didn't smile this time.

Crept whispered, "This… isn't natural. Not even by Hingcha standards."

Then — a voice.

From the heart of the cavern.

Smooth. Commanding. Noble. The kind of voice that didn't speak — it engraved.

Each of them felt it like a line drawn into bone.

Cerejeira's breath hitched. Kael's posture snapped to attention. Even Tremeur straightened like a soldier before a monarch.

Then she stepped forward.

White-haired. Eyes like polished onyx. Cloaked in black and crimson, with armor that shimmered between metal and shadow.

Inteja V Pharsa.

Vice Commander of ANSEP.

Daughter of a ruler long lost to madness.

---