Deep within Cold Moon Hall, pale blue ice flames flickered like breathing.
Titus sat curled in the silver-inlaid bone chair, as still as a boulder buried in snow.
His heavy frost-wolf cloak draped down below the steps, and he cradled a jug of snow wine.
A warrior hurried through the snow and dropped to one knee. Cold sweat still clung to his brow, but his voice cut through the ice like a blade. "The Shattered Axe Tribe... hung our envoy's head on their northern wall."
He paused, a trace of fear in his eyes. "They smeared the Red Rock Tribe's blood mark on the skull, too... Word is, both tribes agreed to it."
A tongue of blue flame suddenly leaped from the brazier, spiraling upward as though trembling with rage.
Titus remained silent for a moment. As if he had heard nothing, his fingertips slowly stroked the jug of snow wine in his arms.
Firelight traced his features, cold and sharp as carved stone.
"...What did they say?"
The warrior lowered his head and forced the words out. "They called you... a traitorous son who slaughtered his own clan, a petty thief who seized power amid the chaos. They said that even if you usurped the Frostmane Tribe's seat, you had no right to command the Eight Banners."
The assembled generals stared in shock.
But Titus gave no answer for a long while, then slowly exhaled a cloud of white mist.
He rose slowly, set down the jug, and walked to the Frost Oath Stele.
It was the sacred oath stele left behind by the Ancient Cold Moon Clan, its weathered inscriptions long eroded by wind and snow.
His gaze quietly passed over the carvings that had once stood for honor and fidelity. He took hold of his sword's hilt