Threads of the North

Several days passed since the battle at the ramparts, and the fortress quickly found its rhythm again. For Akari and Noel, it was enough time to slip into the beginnings of a new life, though every day reminded them that this was not a place of safety - it was a place of survival.

Noel rose early each morning, summoned not to drills or sparring, but to ledgers, scrolls, and supply rosters. The administration wing smelled faintly of ink, wax, and damp leather. Here, a quill could matter more than a sword. Every column he filled measured lives: food, coal, arrows, stone. If a number was wrong, someone might starve or freeze.

Akari thought it suited him, in a way. His neat handwriting and steady patience made him invaluable, and soon the scribes leaned on him as if he’d always been there. But, as the workers droned about the North's history, stability was currently an illusion. The fortress had no lord anymore. A year ago, in the battle that had claimed Seren’s predecessor, the old guard was broken. In its place rose a council of heirs, captains, and officers who were each pulling in a different direction. Noel and Akari saw it clearly: beyond the monsters, politics threatened to break the walls from within.

At first, Noel's co-workers were amazed by Akari. Now, with daily deadlines looming everyday, they just treated her like air half the time. The small flame spent her mornings at his side, perched in her lantern or flickering across his desk. Though she couldn’t yet read the fortress’s script, numbers were universal.

“Seven hundred and forty-three plus one hundred and eighty-six,” Noel muttered one evening, quill hovering.

“...Nine hundred and twenty-nine!” Akari answered without pause, her flame pulsing with pride.

He glanced up, half-amused. “You’re quicker than the scribes.”

“Told you,” she teased. “Math doesn’t change between worlds.”

It became a quiet routine. Noel would rattle off sums, and Akari confirmed or corrected. In return, he carried her lantern carefully, keeping it by his desk or bed. Once used to light the path in a storm, it had become her home. Inside, she could dim and rest, safe from the draft. For her, it was proof she belonged somewhere for now.

One matter that lingered in her mind was the first day of Noel's work. The current head of the department asked Noel if he had committed any fraud. The exile shook his head while placing a gentle hand on his eyepatch. Akari was piecing things together, but she didn't know enough about this world to truly understand the culture and traditions beyond the north.

...

The fortress itself was alive with traditions. Soldiers braided colored cloth into belts and weapons, each hue dedicated to a god. Noel explained that in the North, braids carried prayers, beliefs, and wishes. “Other regions use colors too,” he told her, “but differently. In the West, they carry charms. In the East, they paint a small mark on their bodies. Here, braids are part of who we are.”

Akari listened, fascinated. Later, she noticed small metal plaques above every doorway, polished despite the weather. “What’s that?” she asked.

“Enessari’s mark,” Noel said softly. “The goddess of water and home. No one in this world would live in a house without it.”

Even in a land of snow and death, the people carved out rituals to make life whole. Akari realized these traditions were more than a habit. They were threads binding everyone together, reminders that life could still be meaningful despite the cold.

...

Meals were simple - bread, salted meat, barley stews - but they carried their own rhythm. Before eating, people bowed their heads or whispered thanks: to Nashael for nature's bounty. The prayers were brief, but reverent.

For Akari, meals became a secret joy. One night, when Noel held his bread too close to her flame, it blackened slightly. To her shock, she felt flavor bloom across her fire: salty, warm, alive. “I - I tasted that!” she gasped.

Noel blinked, then laughed. “Really?”

From then on, he made a game of it, charring bits of food before eating. Dried meats, vegetables, even nutcakes from the kitchens - each gave her a fleeting taste. She teased him for spoiling her, but secretly she loved it. It was something she hadn’t realized she’d missed until now.

She sometimes found herself comparing this world to Earth. The tastes, the sounds of laughter, the rough songs sung in the dining hall. Those moments reminded her of people singing Happy Birthday, eating lunch with her friends, and learning how to cook with her mother. It struck her more and more as the days ticked by: she was no longer human, no longer part of that life she once had. It frightened her, but it also made her cling tighter to these small joys.

...

From the ramparts, Akari saw other fortresses far in the distance - dark silhouettes on the endless white, their beacons like stars. Together they formed a chain, holding back the corruption that spread when winter had refused to end five years ago.

Beyond the walls, corrupted spirits prowled - once radiant beings, now twisted by Thaurach’s grief. They attacked in small waves, but were relentless and hollow. Humanity endured here only because the fortresses stood.

Every evening, the watchmen lit signal fires along the ramparts, and Akari felt a pang of awe. Each flame was both a warning and a promise: that someone else was still alive out there, still fighting.

...

One evening, as Noel worked quietly, a knock came. Seren stepped inside, Barkley at his side. The wolf’s claws tapped against the stone floor, eyes glinting in the lamplight.

“Noel,” Seren said, voice brisk. “The council has summoned you. They wish to speak of your status, your future - and your heritage to the North.”

Akari’s flame wavered. Heritage. The word hung like a shadow.

Noel’s jaw tightened, but he said nothing. Seren studied him, then added, “Do not fear it. What you claim, or do not claim, will be yours to decide.”

He left with Barkley, the door closing behind him.

Noel sat heavily, staring at the lantern. Akari dimmed, curling close inside it. They had only just begun to settle, to find their place here. Now the fortress itself would decide what Noel was to them - and what she was, by extension.

Akari whispered softly from her lantern. “This world doesn’t give us room to hide, does it?”

Noel closed his eyes, exhaling slowly. “Not anywhere.”