On the day when imperial forces crushed the capital, Princess Selena of Altia Kingdom faced an inevitable choice amid despair. Her father fell pierced by arrows on the throne, her siblings scattered in flight. With her mother's ring in hand, she abandoned the castle.
On the road, when a swarm of monsters attacked, a single man appeared. Dressed in ash-grey cloth with an old scar across his face, the taciturn mercenary's name was Galen. Without hesitation, he cut through the beasts. Selena hired
The Princess's Sword - Night at the Pass, Ash's Confession
Dawn light was painting the rocky surface white when Serena opened her eyes.
The weight of Galen's shoulder still seemed to linger. Last night, in the shadow of the rocks, that hand placed on her shoulder—not words, not the name of an emotion, just the weight that had been there—had sunk somewhere even in her sleep.
(It wasn't a dream.)
Serena gently closed her left hand. The sensation of the ring returned to her. The silver band had absorbed her body heat somewhere along the way and was no longer cold.
Mira was already awake. She sat at the edge of the rock, confirming the outside. Her chestnut-colored braids had come loose and fallen to her shoulders, but her jade-green eyes remained composed. The exhaustion from days of captivity still lingered in the movement of her legs, but this girl's gaze alone remained clear—Serena confirmed this anew.
Galen stood near the entrance of the rocks, looking outside. His grayish dark brown short hair caught the morning light and shifted slightly in color. The sword scar on his left cheek was clearly visible in the slanting light. His silver gaze did not move.
"We can go," Galen Lyzen said.
It was a short statement. Not a confirmation or a question, but a report of the situation.
Serena stood up. Her legs felt slightly heavy. She understood that the exhaustion from last night's escape and journey had accumulated in her lower body. Moving her body without showing it—she had already grown accustomed to doing this.
"Then, let us proceed," Serena Altis said.
The three left the rocky shelter.
The Volg Mountain Range—a mountain mass spanning the northern continent from east to west, with its highest peak, Mount Graos, reaching an altitude of 3,400 meters—had a coldness distinct from the plains. The air was thin, and with each step, her lungs moved slightly more than necessary. Patches of snow accumulated in the shade, and when stepped on, they squeaked beneath her boots.
Galen went ahead, reading the depth of the snow and the terrain. The sound of his footsteps, confirming the direction of the ridge, the arrangement of rocks, and the firmness of the snow, advanced at regular intervals. Serena followed his footprints, and Mira followed behind her.
As she walked, Serena mentally calculated the deployment speed of the Imperial Northern Conquest Army—the main force of the Empire that had occupied Altia, numbering approximately thirty thousand soldiers. With the rendezvous point now seized, the route to contact remaining forces had been cut off. However, from the Empire's perspective, the fact that the princess had been allowed to escape was an oversight the Northern Conquest Army Command could not overlook. Reorganizing the pursuit unit would take time—but that time was not infinite.
(Can we cross the pass by today?)
As altitude increased, the snow deepened. Sections where it reached below the knee began to appear, requiring extra effort to lift her feet. Serena tried to keep her footsteps even. She did not want her lag to be noticed. As a strategist, she could make judgments, but physical limitations alone could not be concealed. She knew this better than anyone.
Galen stopped. He did not have a map. He simply looked at the shape of the ridge ahead and changed his angle to the left. Following the eastern ridge line, he chose a band where the snow was shallower. The distance would increase, but the exhaustion would decrease.
Serena understood the meaning of that choice. She realized it was a judgment made to match her pace. But Galen did not turn around. He did not confirm anything. He simply changed direction and began walking. Consideration that was not called consideration—this man's way of relating was always that form.
Mira breathed faintly from behind. Yet she made no sound.
──
When the sun began to set, the three found a hollow in a rock shelf.
On the west side of the pass road, a large rock jutted out, creating a natural overhang. The depth was about two meters, the width enough for three people to stand side by side. Wind did not hit directly from the front, and it was difficult to see from outside. Galen confirmed the interior and entered silently.
The preparation for night camp followed a set procedure. Galen searched for dry branches for the fire, Mira took preserved food from the baggage, and Serena confirmed the surrounding terrain. The three moved without exchanging words, and a small fire was lit in the hollow of the rock shelf.
It was a fire that produced little smoke. Avoiding damp branches, only well-dried thin branches were selected and arranged. If smoke rose, it would be visible from far away—Galen had calculated even that.
Mira stood up.
"I will take the first watch," Mira Falen said.
Her jade-green eyes turned toward Serena. Despite her exhaustion, those eyes held the composure of one performing a duty. As she had been Serena's lady's maid for three years—in this escape as well, Mira had accepted being at Serena's side as her work.
Serena opened her mouth slightly, then stopped. The words "Do not overexert yourself" did not come out. She had learned in these past few days that there was no need to say such things to Mira.
"I am counting on you," Serena Altis said.
Mira went out beyond the rock shelter. Her chestnut-colored braids disappeared into the darkness.
Only Serena and Galen remained, separated by the fire.
This was the first time such a moment had been created throughout this escape. Always moving, always sleeping, always being pursued—a "motionless, inactive time" had never been born among these three. The existence of Mira as a buffer was no longer there.
The flame flickered slightly. Shadows danced on the rock wall. The night of the Volg Mountain Range was low, and cold air flowed in around the edges of the rocks. Wind howled in the distance. That was all.
Silence continued.
Galen was looking at the fire. His silver gaze followed the flickering of the flames. What he was thinking could not be read from his expression. It was clear that he held something inside, but what it was could never be seen—that was the kind of man he was.
Serena was also looking at the fire.
It was Galen who spoke first.
"I was in a unit called the Gray Wolves," Galen Lyzen said.
His voice was low. Without emotional fluctuation. A tone that simply conveyed facts.
Serena did not move. She waited for him to continue.
"A mercenary unit that operated between the southern border of Altia and the Eldern Marquessate—a group that did not belong to any nation, but took on requests for border security and suppression of conflicts in border regions. Three years ago—on the night when the Eldern Marquess's private soldiers and an opposing faction clashed in the southern border region of Altia. The location of our camp was sold through a secret agreement. When the ambush came from the east, there was a friendly unit on the west side. We were caught in a pincer attack," Galen Lyzen said.
The flame flickered once, larger than before.
"The one who sold us out was some nobleman's son. Whether for money or position, I still do not know. The unit was annihilated. Only I survived—or rather, I failed to die," Galen Lyzen said.
Galen's gaze did not move from the flame. But something had solidified in the depths of his eyes watching the fire. Unprocessed anger and loss seeped out in the intervals between his words and breaths.
"The scar on my left cheek," Galen Lyzen said.
There was a brief pause.
"That night, as I was fleeing, one of my comrades pointed a sword at me. Whether it meant I should not survive, or something else—I could not ask, because he died immediately," Galen Lyzen said.
With that, Galen closed his mouth. He did not add unnecessary words. He did not name his emotions. He simply arranged the facts, in minimal words.
Serena did not return a question.
She knew what she saw in the depths of Galen's eyes—or rather, not knew so much as recognized it. She carried the same color within herself. The attachment to what was lost and the will to move forward nonetheless existed in the same place without contradiction. Since the night the royal capital Eldenshia fell, Serena had continued to seal away that color. She had kept moving without speaking of it or acknowledging it.
The same weight was in Galen's silence.
That discovery moved Serena's lips.
"About this ring," Serena Altis said.
Serena raised her left hand. The silver band on her ring finger caught the light of the flame and glowed dully.
"The attendants called it a symbol proving the legitimacy of the Altian royal house. It has been passed down through successive queens, and is used as proof when envoys to allied nations carry it, or in the ceremony of royal succession—or so I was taught. But to be precise—I do not fully understand it myself," Serena Altis said.
The flame crackled softly.
"My mother, on her deathbed, pressed it into my hand. The night word arrived that the Empire had begun its advance on Eldenshia, my mother had long been ill and could not even stand. Yet she grasped my hand with both of hers and placed this ring on my ring finger. She said, 'Go where this ring guides you.' With only those words, she passed away. What key it was for, what it would guide me to—my mother did not tell me," Serena Altis said.
She gazed at the ring. Over these past few days, she had gripped this ring in countless moments. Hidden it in her mouth, warmed it in her palm, clung to it desperately through the iron bars of a carriage. Yet still, the meaning of this band remained unknown.
"The question of what I should do as a princess, and the question of how to receive my mother's words—they have remained side by side in the same place. Without finding an answer, I have come this far," Serena Altis said.
Galen did not return a question.
He looked at Serena's ring, then at Serena's face—that movement of his gaze was clearly the act of looking at a person, not an object.
Serena turned her eyes back to the fire.
At that moment, she realized something.
She had not received Galen's confession as "information." She had not processed it in the form of a guard learning the past of her client. The annihilation of the Gray Wolves, the betrayal through secret agreement, the scar on his left cheek carved by a comrade's blade—she had received them not as a strategist, but as the fact that they were "memories of pain."
(Since when?)
Serena confirmed her inner self, gathering the ring into her palm and gripping it tightly. She had received them as the memory of a person carrying the same weight as herself, not as the past of her contractual partner—she did not verbalize that shift in perception. She felt that putting it into words would change its form.
The ring was warm in her palm.
The silence between them had a density different from the quietness created by aligned interests. Neither named what it was. The words to name it did not yet exist for either of them.
The flame flickered. The shadow on the rock wall moved.
──
Deep in the night, Mira returned.
Her footsteps were different from usual. Fast, yet cautious. Her jade-green eyes were directed at the two the moment she entered the rock shelter.
"I was watching the direction to the north," Mira Falen said.
Her voice was low, composed. It had taken on Mira's way of speaking in urgent situations.
"Beyond the ridge line, I can see lights. They are arranged in a regular pattern—I believe they are bonfires," Mira Falen said.
Serena stood up. Galen moved at the same time.
The three went outside the rock shelter. Wind flowed across the night pass road. Stars were out. And—
Beyond the ridge line, to the north, lights were arrayed.
A line of bonfires arranged at equal intervals spread horizontally, blocking the pass road.
An Imperial military outpost—the Empire had established a base at the final pass road leading to the Lavaria border.
Serena counted the lights. From the spacing of the bonfires,
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