When the scions died, The Light and The Night sought new vessels to stand for Summer and Winter. The stone children were the strongest of the scion's offspring and the seasons cleaved to them, molding and changing them to fit their needs. The featureless stone was given strength through beauty and strength through might. The uniform stone was etched into lithe forms and gnarled aspects. The stone children were reborn through the seasons into the first mortals: the elves and the orcs.

-The Second Verse of Creation

Ten young Winter warriors squeeze through a narrow pass, their commander, a young man by the name of Jordan Mdu Scoiden, leads the way. Little more than a crack in a glacial mound, the ice walls are so cold they sear the flesh. The air is so crisp it can kill. Jordan doesn't notice any of this. His mind is focused on one thing, slaying the rebel yeti chieftain. His adopted father, Lord Scoiden, made him a promise, and the only way to collect is to complete this task set before him.

Spilling out onto a rock ledge, his companions all drop to their hands and knees, gasping for warm air. One orc isn't moving. Jordan crouches beside the boy to check his vitals, but he can see the blue lips and the way the boy's eyes have become glassy.

"He must have died in the pass and we just pushed him through," says the orc who kneels on the other side of the body. Kjord Iceblood, son of Lord Erikson Iceblood.

"He volunteered for this mission," squeaks a thin whip of a girl. Her diminutive size and cute appearance hide a dangerously competent knife fighter by the name of Absinthe.

Jordan has fought alongside them in small skirmishes, but he would never call them friends. They don't fully trust him. They can't. In the eyes of too many, his time in the care of Summer has tainted him, made him a stranger to many of Winter's ways. They see him as an outsider, he sees them as an enemy to a nation that isn't his own.

None of that matters. None of it is as important as making Lord Scoiden keep his promise.

"We can bury him later." Absinthe walks her fingers down the dead boy's chest and snatches the two knives from his belt. "He won't be needing these."

"Jordan," hisses a ratkin named after the Night Thief, Yeshin.

Jordan, Kjord, and Absinthe join Yeshin at the rock's edge. Below, under the rebel flag, sits a large tent surrounded by supply crates and two dozen soldiers. Most are yeti with shaggy white hair and huge hands. The rest are brutish beastmen, feral barbarians from the southern lands of Winter. Their mistreatment led them to the rebel chief's banner, their muscle is the backbone of the rebellion. If not for a logistics mistake, they might have sacked Kronanhold.

"Look." Yeshin points southeast where a distant battle rages. "You wanted to infiltrate the chieftain's camp. That distraction gives us our best chance."

"We're outnumbered," says a tall orc with wide tusks. "I say we wait until they sleep then execute the traitors."

Jordan studies the enemy.

"Perfect. I'll have the others get comfortable."

"No." Jordan says, stopping the orc as he turned to his kinsmen. "If even a fraction of that force comes back to reinforce their chief, we won't stand a chance. We go now."

"Didn't you hear me, human? We're outnumbered—"

"If you're afraid, let your hair grow out and file down your tusks."

The orc takes a step forward and Kjord shoves him back. They both snarl curses in orcish.

"This is Jordan's mission. He asked for volunteers and you answered." Kjord jabs a finger towards Jordan's chest. "He leads, we follow."

"But look at him. What does a Summer Friend know about glory?"

Jordan stands, eyes locked on the orc. The others step back to give them space, except for Absinthe who vibrates with anticipation. The orc sticks out his chin, displaying his tusks to remind everyone his status among the group. Biggest orc with the biggest tusks. Unless he was unable to hold a sword, he would naturally be leader. Jordan draws his sword in a swift fluid motion that makes the others gasp and forces the big orc step back. He points downward towards the chieftain's tent.

"Glory is down there. Enough glory for all of us," he turns and points his blade at the dead boy, "enough glory to send him to The Unbroken Circle as a hero."

Kjord begins to tap his foot and the other orcs join him. Absinthe claps and Yeshin taps the stone with the butt of a dagger.

"You've followed me this far. Follow me to glory."

The orc's eyes light up and, finally, even he taps his foot. Jordan may not have grown up learning Winter's way, but he did sit beside The Queen of Summer while she learned statecraft from some of the best advisors Summer has to offer.

A serpentkin girl slithers over the rock edge and flicks out her tongue until she scents Jordan. Eyes covered by a tortoise shell mask, she sways to his side blindly. Running her hands along his shoulder and face, she leans down to whisper in his ear. The others watch intently, eager to hear her report and drawn by the constant sway of her mesmerizing curves. She'd come with the greater warband as a slave dancer, but in Winter anyone who answers the call can become a soldier.

"Sire, I've found a way down that will bring us to the back of the chieftain's tent." Her voice is deep and her accent thick. Yeshin and Jordan are the only ones who try to understand her, the orcs don't even bother.

"How many guards?" Jordan asks in serpent tongue, drawing a surprised look from her. He isn't fluent, but he hopes his vocabulary is enough to put her at ease.

"Two. Distracted, playing dice. They didn't see me."

"Good." He starts to turn away then pauses. "You haven't told us your name, soldier?"

"Thuy."

"Thuy, show Yeshin the way down. He'll take care of the guards."

Yeshin rises, sheaths his katana, and places a hand on the hilt of his wakizashi.

"Yes, sire."

The rat and serpent slither away, while Kjord and the orcs wait in anticipation. Absinthe sits at the edge of the rocks watching the activity of the camp.

"What did the belly dancer say," asks the big brutish orc, to the chuckles of his kin.

"She volunteered, just like the rest of us," Kjord reminds them. "She's a warrior now." He taps his foot for emphasis.

The orcs sober up. Among all the peoples of Winter, it is they that best embody its spirit.

"Apologies. What did she say?"

"She's found us a way down. I've sent Yeshin to silence the sentries."

The orcs chuckle again. Among Jordan's team, Yeshin is considered the best swordsman. The guards don't stand a chance.

"We will divvy up the spoils evenly, after the task is done. The chieftain is mine." Jordan meets the eye of each of the young warriors, searching for any dissent. "If we die today, we die as warriors and will be returned as warriors. A circle. Unbroken."

"A circle. Unbroken." they all intone.

Chance brought a scouting party back to the rebel chief's camp just as his would-be assassins flooded into the rear of his tent. Jordan and Kjord led the breakout as the warriors were surrounded on all sides, but there was no escape.

They fight, three to one. The beastmen prefer to use their teeth and claws, but the yetis like oversized hammers that fit perfectly in their oversized hands. Ironically, the large heads of their weapons make it hard for the yetis to press inward without hitting one another. It balances the odds.

Jordan rolls beneath a herculean hammer swing and comes up beside his attacker with a gutting slash. He throws his knife at a loping beastman then stabs another between the ribs. A glancing hammer blow knocks him to the floor, setting his ears ringing. Disoriented, it is Kjord's shield that saves his life. Together they cut down two more yeti fighters and make their way to Absinthe.

The ferocious papillon unfurls her belt which proves to be a thick segmented worm and throws it into the face of a charging beastman. He screams as green excretions melt his fur and armor like acid. With a gleeful cackle, she jumps onto the back of a yeti and stabs him with a seemingly endless supply of knives. Kjord blocks an attack on the flat of his shield and Jordan rushes into the opening to pierce their attackers heart.

"Down!" Yeshin shouts, barely heard over the sounds of fighting.

Jordan grabs his two companions and drops to the floor. For a moment, the world becomes a monochrome motif of blacks and grays. When it passes, the beastmen surrounding Yeshin and Thuy are all stone statues, killed by her unfiltered gaze.

"By The Unbroken Circle," Kjord whispers as a beastman lurches towards them, an arm turned to stone all the way up to his shoulder. The orc surges to his feet and meets the threat with his ax.

"Wow. Now she's a party in and out of the bedchamber," Absinthe giggles.

As Jordan engages yet another yeti, she scoops up her worm and rewraps it around her waist. The trio fight to Yeshin and Thuy, who have used their petrified opponents as a makeshift battlement. The rest of their companions join them, at least those who can still move. From ten they are seven.

The rebels press in, though their numbers have been reduced to a third. Towering over them is their chieftain, ten feet of shaggy white fur and a necklace studded with the skulls of the three predecessors he'd cut down to gain his rank. He pounds his chest like an ape and roars.

"Come, assassins. Bring me your heads, I'll send them back to your masters in a sack."

Jordan bears his teeth. "I'm coming home," he whispers.

Lord Scoiden had promised to send him back to The Summer Palace if he quelled the yeti rebellion for him. Unable to go a few hours without thinking about Shakia, Jordan jumped at the opportunity. He would kill the yeti chief or die trying.

Jordan focuses on his breathing and as his mind settles he notices that Yeshin is doing the same. His form is different, but the ratkin is also a blade artist. Their eyes meet in recognition.

"Clear a path," Jordan order's with cold detachment.

"You heard him, let's go!" Kjord bellows.

The remaining orcs follow him into the enemy line. Absinthe skitters behind them, a sunken-eyed cadaverous imitation of herself. More bug than woman, she is a terrifying sight. Not to be outdone, the yeti chief and his bodyguards charge straight for Jordan.

"Pinion!"

A bolt of blade art shoots off of Yeshin's sword like an arrow, punching a hole in the throat of one bodyguard. The other hesitates and Thuy wraps around him with her python-like lower half. She takes him to the ground even as he pummels her with fists the size of shovelheads. There is no one between Jordan and the chieftain, and the chief is the only thing between Jordan and the woman whom he madly loves.

The chieftain raises a club nearly as big as Jordan. "They send boys to do the work of men!"

Jordan jumps, pulling with him the aggression and kinetic energy around him, then slashes upwards at the giant yeti's face.

"Rolling Water!"

Blade art rushes towards the chieftain's face and he ducks. The line of energy slices deeply into the yeti's wrist, and suddenly his huge club is too heavy. As his hand flops, the weapon strikes the chief a staggering blow and before he can recover Jordan brings him death. Kjord lends him his ax and Jordan claims the rebel leader's head. His volunteers cheer. Glory is theirs.

When Lord Scoiden's troops move into the area, those rebels who have not fled into the countryside at the news of their leader's death surrender. The Winter Lord is praised for his genius in sending in an advanced force behind enemy lines to deal with the rebels. Jordan's name is not mentioned among the rank and file soldiers, but the commanders take note of him and his volunteers. Lord Scoiden takes over the chieftain's tent, but the volunteers are given first pick of the yeti loot as is Winter custom. Jordan takes nothing. Once the others leave, he approaches his adopted father.

Lord Scoiden is an old man with angular Winter features and eyes that are cruel more often than kind. Handsome and scheming, he is a man known for keeping his word once it was given. His armor, worked to appear like a collection of startled faces, is an heirloom of the Scoiden family and will one day pass to Jordan.

"I've done what you've asked, sire." He raises the severed head of the rebel chief.

"Yes, The King will be very pleased. I suspect he'll bequeath these lands to us as a gift."

Jordan says nothing.

"But you don't care about such things... you only wish to return to the Summer Palace."

"Yes, sire. It has been two years."

"I've reached out to The Queen's advisors, but it seems like the current civil unrest has made them wary of opening their capital to outsiders."

"I'm no outsider," Jordan snaps, then quickly gets himself under control. "I apologize, sire."

Lord Scoiden sighs.

"I know you've spent a lot of time at The Summer Palace, but you must remember there are some on both sides who believe that was a bad idea. They don't like how... close you are to The Queen. They think the two of you should be allowed to grow apart and make acquaintances better suited to–"

"You gave me your word."

Scoiden surges to his feet and the faces of his armor seem to glare accusingly.

"Don't ever question my word, boy!" His words stab like ice sickles.

"I... I–"

"No. Understand me. I am a Lord of Winter, no one but my peers may question me. Death comes swiftly to anyone else who would dare. Especially in front of others..." The old man sits, his face looking older than before. "I am trying to tell you, that forces work against your reunion. I am doing my best and will make good on my promise to you, but don't you dare challenge me. Not yet."

Before Jordan can apologize, Lord Scoiden's generals arrive with servants bearing drink and refreshments from the rebel's stores. The older men arrange themselves on either side of Jordan, laughing and congratulating one another as if he is not there. Lord Scoiden clears his throat and they all fall silent.

"Raise your glasses, for today I knight my son, Jordan Scoiden of Mdu." He draws his sword and jabs the point lightly against Jordan's chest. "Before you all, he is now Sir Jordan, Knight of Winter."

The generals cheer anew, but Jordan barely hears them.

The camp revels into the night, drinking and eating to reduce what will be taken back to Castle Scoiden. Jordan sits on the rock ledge above it all, staring off to the south. He can feel Shakia, her warmth calling to him.

"There you are," Absinthe says, as she comes around a stand of rocks. "We were looking for you."

She hands him a heavy wineskin.

"Drink up, Sir Jordan. This is your first of many victories."

He sips the wine. It is strong and flavorful.

"You call that a drink?" She snatches the skin and takes a long swig. "That's how you do it!" She shoves the skin back into his hands and waits patiently.

Shaking his head, he takes a real drink. His chest burns as it goes down. She claps excitedly and takes another drink. The two sit like this for a while, draining half of the wineskin between them.

"Killing makes my antennae twitch," she smirks as Jordan glances at her forehead and the distinct lack of antennae, "Do you want to help me take the edge off?"

She doesn't wait for an answer before she starts unfastening the leather straps of her armor.

"No..."

She pouts, a killer with rosy cheeks and winsome features.

"Why not? Wait, I saw the way you looked at Thuy... you want me to go find her for you? We can share her."

"It's not that."

"Don't tell me the rumors are true and you have a lover back there in Summer." When he doesn't say anything, she sobs in mock defeat. "You can pretend I'm her," she says, rubbing his thigh.

"No means no."

Her eyes widen and only then does he realize he's crushing her hand in his own.

"Sorry." he releases her.

"It's fine. Do you want to make it up to me?"

"Go away, Absinthe."

"I want someone who's shed blood with me," she whines. "And Yeshin's married."

"Why don't you find Kjord? You probably won't even need to get him drunk."

She stares at him for a long moment then jumps up. Loosening her armor, she perks up her small bosom.

"How do I look?"

"Beautiful. Bedabble."

Her cheek grow even redder. "Stop before I change my mind and have my way with you." She leans down and kisses his nose. "Good luck with your lover, Sir Jordan. If it doesn't work out, I'm sure Thuy will have you."

Absinthe leaves him to his thoughts and his mind drifts towards a castle of marble and gold.