The iron chains of duty bound Sir Colesste to her side, a ghost of a girl whose fragile breath seemed too weak to weather the bitter northern winds. He was a creature of frost and steel, his pale white hair falling like winter snow across armor scarred by a hundred nameless wars, and his pale blue eyes reflected nothing but the empty, howling void of a solitary life. She possessed no shield, no blade, and no strength to lift a heavy sword, yet her small hand brushed against his gauntlet with a warmth that burned through the cold iron. Vane stood rigid, his jaw set in a hard line as he looked down at her frail frame, waiting for the annoyance that always came with weakness. Instead, an unfamiliar, quiet stillness settled into his chest, like ice finally cracking beneath the first pale light of a stubborn dawn. He had spent his entire existence guarding kings who treated him like a beast of burden and lords who saw only his terrifying skill with a broadsword. This girl, however, did not flinch from his jagged scars or the icy glare of his eyes; she simply offered him a cracked wooden cup of water and a hesitant, trembling smile that anchored him to the earth. In that small, shared silence beneath the canopy of ancient pines, the heavy armor around his ribs felt less like protection and more like a cage he desperately wanted to break open. When the howling bandits emerged from the shadowy thicket, Vane moved with the terrifying speed of a winter tempest, his blade flashing in the dim light to cut down the threat before she could even draw a breath. He returned to her side with blood on his steel and fury in his veins, but the moment his pale blue eyes met her wide, frightened gaze, the storm inside him vanished into thin air. He knelt in the mud, carefully pulling her shivering form against his solid chest, shielding her from the cruel world with the same arms that had once only known how to deal death. Later, as the campfire crackled and cast dancing orange light against the dark forest trees, Vane finally let his heavy helmet rest on the ground, his white hair catching the gentle warmth. She fell asleep with her head resting softly near his knee, her soft and steady breathing a gentle rhythm that chased away the lingering ghosts of his past. For the first time in a life carved from stone and sorrow, the cold knight realized he was no longer protecting a fragile burden; he was holding the only true home he had ever known.