The Dominion tent flickered in torchlight, casting long shadows across the maps of mountains and frozen rivers. Outside, the wind screamed over the charred plains of Draemyr, carrying a bitter chill that could have warned the unprepared, but inside, there was only strategy. Only Seliora.
She traced a finger along the northern expanse, where jagged glaciers pierced the sky like frozen teeth. The land was impossible — cliffs that rose higher than towers, valleys that fell into endless darkness, glaciers that moved like living beasts, and rivers that froze midstream.
The wind roared across the northern mountains, carrying flakes sharp enough to cut flesh, weaving through jagged peaks like a living thing. The Frostbound Kingdom of Kaerdrith hung precariously among cliffs that seemed to pierce the sky, a fortress carved by frost and time. Seliora's gaze swept across the horizon from the warmth of the Dominion's temporary camp, far enough to avoid the first gusts, yet close enough to see the raw majesty of the kingdom.
She did not shiver. She never did. The cold was a weakness for mortals; for her, it was merely a backdrop to the inevitable. She traced the frozen rivers that curled like silver serpents through the valleys, the glaciers that moved with terrifying slowness yet unstoppable force, and the forests of black pine that bowed under layers of snow. Every tree, every rock, every cliff was a silent sentinel — proud, unyielding, like the people within.
"Kaerdrith," Seliora said, her voice calm yet sharp as the edge of a blade. "The Frostbound Kingdom. Its people survive only because they have no choice. Its soldiers fight only because they cannot die to the cold. Outsiders enter their lands, and most do not live to see the wind's whisper. Their arrogance makes them vulnerable, and their pride… will be their undoing."
"The king of Kaerdrith," Seliora said softly, her voice carrying across the tent to the generals and mages, "believes that his land makes him untouchable. That the mountains guard him as fiercely as his soldiers. That the cold is a weapon no outsider can wield. He is wrong."
A general shifted uneasily. "Their mages can summon storms that strip flesh from bone. Even our strongest soldiers would fall in hours."
Seliora's gaze cut through him, unblinking. "Storms? Frost? They are obstacles only to the weak. We do not march for strength alone. Kaerdrith will fall because they have never known how fragile survival can be when the mind bends before the true predator."
Her fingers drummed lightly on the map, tapping the high peaks where ice had frozen the sun itself. "The king of Kaerdrith believes in his bloodline. He believes in the unyielding nature of his ancestors. He believes he cannot be touched. That belief will be his ruin."
A murmur ran through the gathered commanders. They had seen Seliora orchestrate victories over armies, cities, and kings. They had seen her manipulate illusions and minds alike. But the Frostbound Kingdom was different. Unyielding. Untouchable. Yet Seliora's calm was absolute.
"The armies will march," she continued, her eyes narrowing, "but the battle will not be won by men, nor by siege engines. The king will meet his end because only one can pass where no others may tread. One who carries the blood that bends even the coldest walls of Kaerdrith. One who obeys without question. One who is… the weapon."
At the edge of the tent, shadows stirred. The Hollow Dagger emerged, as always. Masked, silent, black as the void between stars. Even the generals' whispers died in her presence. She was not a soldier. She was not a strategist. She was the impossibility given form.
Outside, Dominion soldiers moved quietly, adjusting formations, checking their weapons, eyes half-shielded against the blinding snow. The mages whispered incantations, their staffs glowing faintly, creating illusions of broken walls and crumbling gates. The illusion was perfect — the false promise of vulnerability. Kaerdrith would respond, confident in their defenses, not knowing the trap was already set.
Seliora's voice softened, but her words dripped like mercury. "You will pass through storms that would tear men apart. You will walk where frost bites deeper than blades, where ice waits to entomb even the proudest king. You will enter his halls, untouched, unseen. And you will remind him what it means to be mortal."
Outside, the snowstorm began to gather. Ice raked across the northern peaks, the winds screaming as if the mountains themselves protested the coming intruder. Yet the Hollow Dagger did not move. She did not flinch. She was silence incarnate.
Seliora leaned back, satisfied with the stillness of her order. "Kaerdrith believes it is eternal," she said. "Its glaciers have never melted, its walls have never been breached, its king has never knelt. And yet…" Her smile was sharp, cruel. "…yet it will kneel before what it cannot fight. It will kneel before the cold precision of one who obeys without thought, who kills without hesitation, who is not even… human."
She tapped the map where the capital rested on a high cliff, surrounded by a natural ring of ice and stone. "See this? This is the heart of Kaerdrith. A hanging island in the storm, beautiful and untouched by the outside world. And yet, it will be conquered without breaking a single wall, without spilling a single drop of Dominion blood outside of what is necessary. All of it, by the Scarlet Bind, and by one blade."
A murmur ran through the generals, but Seliora silenced it with a glare. "Do not speak of morality. This is war as it must be. This is conquest as it will be remembered. The Frostbound Kingdom will fall, and not by siege, not by armies, not by fire or frost—but by obedience. By blood. By the will of the Crown's Hollow Dagger."
The map glimmered under the torchlight, mountains etched in ink, rivers frozen into silver veins. Seliora's finger rested on the capital again. "This is the king's pride. The entire kingdom survives only because he believes he is untouchable. That belief dies first. Then, the rest follows."
Outside the tent, the Dominion soldiers whispered amongst themselves. Some doubted the impossibility. Some simply trembled at the thought. But all would march. All would follow. For the Hollow Dagger would move unseen, unstoppable, unerring.
The Hollow Dagger remained in shadow, as always. Masked, silent, black as the void beyond the mountains. She did not move, did not breathe, did not flinch. Only her presence suggested the impossible: a blade that could walk through ice and storm without falter, a weapon unbound by the laws of mortality.
Seliora leaned forward, her eyes hard. "Tomorrow, you enter Kaerdrith. You pass through ice and storm as if it does not exist. You will be beside the king, unseen, untouched. And when the order comes…" Her fingers drummed once, sharp as a knife. "…you will end him. His throat will be the first to fall. Only then will the kingdom bow."
Time stretched in the tent, the wind outside screaming like a warning, but the Hollow Dagger did not stir. Her mask reflected the torchlight, but her thoughts were void. Until the slightest moment, when Seliora's gaze met hers. A flicker, almost imperceptible. Her hand twitched. A memory perhaps. A shadow of grief. And then it passed.
Seliora spoke again, voice softer, almost indulgent. "Do not falter. Do not hesitate. There is no need for doubt. There is only duty. Kaerdrith cannot be saved. The king cannot survive. And you… are the instrument of inevitability."
The generals stepped back. The soldiers, the mages, the strategists — all bent before the vision of command Seliora projected. Even Veythar, though silent, gave a subtle nod.
Outside, the winds grew sharper, snowflakes cutting like knives. The mountains of Kaerdrith loomed in the distance, jagged peaks veiled in storm. A kingdom that had never surrendered, never bent, never known fear. Tomorrow, it would kneel.
And the Hollow Dagger stood beside the map, beside the queen, beside the orders, unmoving. Silent. Waiting. A weapon born of obedience, yet carrying the echo of something she could not name. Something unspoken. Something that would outlast even the blood she was about to spill.
Seliora leaned back, satisfied. "Rest, all of you. Tomorrow, Kaerdrith learns that survival without obedience is meaningless. And when the Hollow Dagger strikes…" Her smile was sharp, cruel, and final. "…all will remember what it means to fall before inevitability."
The tent fell into silence. Outside, the frost howled, indifferent to the schemes of mortals. The Dominion soldiers would sleep tonight. The generals would strategize. But only one moved in shadow and silence, carrying the weight of conquest on a single edge, waiting for the dawn that would shatter a kingdom.
The first glimmer of dawn broke across the horizon, reflecting off the ice like molten silver. The Dominion soldiers stirred, readying their march. Caravans of supplies moved through the snow, sleds drawn by sturdy beasts, their breath misting in the frozen air. The deceptive mages began their work, spreading the Scarlet Bind — the blood parasite that would bend the kingdom's soldiers without breaking walls, without spilling unnecessary blood.
Seliora observed, her expression cold, her mind a labyrinth of strategy. "Kaerdrith believes in the survival of the fittest," she whispered. "But fittest does not mean strongest. It means obedient. And the Hollow Dagger…" Her lips curved slightly. "…is absolute obedience."
She stood, gathering her cloak. The tent felt warmer than the mountains outside, yet colder than the hearts of her enemies. Her eyes flicked to the Hollow Dagger. "Remember. You will pass where no others may. You will wait. You will strike. You will leave nothing but inevitability in your wake."
And with that, the march began. Dominion soldiers advanced through the frozen plains, moving as one organism, disciplined, silent, efficient. Mages cast illusions of fractured walls and burning outposts, drawing the attention of Kaerdrith's scouts. The Scarlet Bind spread silently among the encircled regions, the subtle curse working its magic, bending the defenses without a war cry, without a siege.
High above, on the cliffs overlooking the frozen capital, the Hollow Dagger disappeared into the storm. Her black cloak merged with shadows, her footsteps soundless against the ice. The mountains howled, the wind shrieked, and the world seemed to hold its breath. She passed barriers that no ordinary human could cross, walls that bent to her bloodline, frozen defenses that could not see the weapon moving among them.
In the Dominion tent, Seliora watched from a map table, eyes unblinking. Her hand rested on the edge, fingers tight. "Do not falter," she whispered to the shadow at the edge of perception. "Do not hesitate. Kaerdrith cannot be saved. The king cannot survive. And you… are the instrument of inevitability."
The storm howled. The Hanging Citadel rose above the clouds, untouched, untouchable, and yet… trembling before what it could not see, could not anticipate.
And somewhere, beyond the reach of mortal eyes, the Hollow Dagger paused on the edge of the king's hall. Chains of ice and magic writhed around the entrances, but her presence rendered them meaningless. She was the absolute shadow. The inevitable strike. The silence that would bend the proudest king to the floor before the first word of surrender was uttered.
Seliora's whisper followed her through the storm: "When the time comes… end him."
The mountains answered only with wind. The snow fell like silver knives. The Frostbound Kingdom had never faced such inevitability.
And in the shadow of the citadel, the Hollow Dagger waited.