My name is Koch. No surname—haven’t taken one yet. That means I’m not married. I’m a soldier of the Sheer Cold Empire, part of the Zero Regiment. A specialist unit. We handle the jobs no one else can. Or wants to.

  I used to be a high elf. At least, that’s what I think. Now, I’m Coldian. Have been for a decade. I started in the XVIII Regiment, but it didn’t take long for them to figure out I wasn’t much for working in a crowd. That’s how I ended up here. The Zero Regiment is for those of us who work best alone or in pairs—spies, assassins, couriers, scouts. We serve the Empire’s hierarchy in whatever capacity they demand, whether that’s delivering a message, standing watch, or eliminating a target. In my years of service, I’ve done all of it.

  And now, apparently, I have to write this. Some kind of travelogue. A record of my life from this moment until… whenever someone decides they’ve read enough.

  The year is 1386 DC. I haven’t been on a mission in seven months. Seven months of waiting. Seven months of nothing. I won’t sit idle any longer. If no one’s going to send me out, I’ll go find the orders myself.

  “You know, sometimes I think you’re the most beautiful person I’ve ever seen. Other times, the ugliest,” said Manach.

  Manach is my partner. Coldian like me, though he used to be high elf. Agile, fast-talking, unstoppable at any game of chance—because he cheats. He’s been my duo since I joined Zero Regiment.

  “Why’s that?” I asked.

  He twirled a dagger between his fingers, smirking. “We Coldians love our armor. Hardly ever take it off. But I don’t think I’ve ever seen you without it, and we’ve been at this together for, what, ten years now?”

  He wasn’t wearing his armor. Most Coldians don’t, unless duty calls. His pale skin was scarred, his lean body built for speed rather than brute strength.

  “There’s not much to see,” I said, voice flat, rasping. “That’s a dull conversation. I’m going to get us a job. Commander Licht might have something. You coming?”

  “Nah. I don’t like Licht. Too disciplined.” Manach flicked his dagger back into its sheath and walked away.

  I nodded and went my own way, toward the Citadel.

  I always found myself admiring it. The seat of power in the Sheer Cold Empire, the great fortress of our god, the Sheer Cold Reaper—Dominatarh. Or Domino, as most called him. Built in just four days, an entire city within a city. Not a place for civilians. A place for rulers, mages, enchanters, warriors, investigators—everyone who mattered.

  But I wasn’t here for them. I was here for Licht. He worked out of the barracks near the Citadel. That was my destination.

  The walk took hours.

  By the time I reached the training grounds, the barracks were alive with the sounds of drills—swords clashing, orders shouted, warriors pushing themselves to their limits. I envied them.

  “Soldier. Come here.”

  The voice was deep, commanding. Impossible to ignore.

  I turned and found myself staring up—far up—at a figure three times my size. General Zaah. The Champion of Sheer Cold. Supreme Commander of the Empire’s armies.

  “Yes, sir,” I said, snapping to attention.

  “At ease,” he rumbled, placing one massive hand on my shoulder. The weight of it was enough to make me feel like he could crush me—helmet and all—with just two fingers.

  “What’s your name?”

  “Koch, sir.”

  Zaah’s grip tightened, just slightly. “Good. I have a job for you.”

  I followed Zaah toward the Citadel, my pace steady, my thoughts measured. I’d only been inside twice before—never past the entrance hall. This time was different. We climbed staircases that spiraled upward, endless. Passed doors, corridors, and chambers filled with things beyond my understanding. Artifacts. Relics. Devices I didn’t have the words to describe. The Citadel wasn’t just a fortress; it was a world unto itself.

  Zaah led me into a meeting chamber just outside the main council room. My pulse quickened. This was where the real power sat. The ones who could shape the world with a word. Even in my wildest imaginings, I wouldn’t stand a chance against them.

  Zaah pointed at a chair. “Sit.”

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  I obeyed without question, lowering myself into the seat. With measured respect, I removed my helmet, setting it down on the polished mahogany table. Expensive. A luxury. My shield and sword followed, placed carefully to my side. Then I waited.

  Zaah dropped a file in front of me and took a seat across the table.

  “So, Koch,” he said, his tone casual, almost bored. “Been on many missions?”

  “I wouldn’t say many, sir. Just enough.” My voice came out low, steady.

  Zaah nodded. “Ever track anyone down?”

  I straightened. “Had a few jobs like that, yes.”

  “Good. Perfect.” Zaah leaned back. “Drink?”

  I blinked. “I’d love a drink, General.”

  Not every day you got to sit and share a drink with the supreme commander of the Sheer Cold armies. He poured a deep amber liquid—dwarven ale, strong stuff. I took a sip, enjoying the warmth that settled in my chest. For a few minutes, the conversation drifted. Small talk. How was the job? Favorite mission? Ever been married?

  Then Zaah’s tone shifted.

  “Koch.” His voice hardened. “Enough chit-chat. You’re with the Zero Regiment, correct? Duo?”

  “Yes.”

  His helmeted gaze locked onto me. “I need you to find a missing Coldian.”

  “Of course, sir.” I hesitated. “How long has he been missing?”

  Zaah exhaled through his nose. “Three months.” He sounded unimpressed. “To be honest, he’s a nobody. A rank-and-file soldier. But the Sheer Cold Code obliges us to find him. Or at least, find out what became of him.”

  My fingers brushed the file on the table. “This is about him?”

  “Yes. Name’s Sioh, I think. I don’t know the details.” Zaah shifted, already half-standing. “You accept?”

  “Yes, sir. Thank you for the opportunity.” I rose, collecting my gear.

  Zaah had already moved toward the door. I could tell he wanted this done and forgotten. Just another task off his list. Maybe he had bigger concerns. I hoped so. I’d been in that room for barely twenty minutes.

  As I walked away, searching for a quiet place to study the file, a thought nagged at me. Something wasn’t right.

  Every Coldian had a rune of telepathic communication, linked to the runic relay at the Citadel. If we left Sheer Cold territory, we were required to check in daily, always at the same hour we departed. Three missed days in a row, and the Code of the Sheer Cold dictated a response.

  That was the law.

  Three days.

  Sioh had been missing for three months.

  Peculiar.

  I found a quiet spot at the edge of the woods, away from passing soldiers, workers, and travelers—a small tree standing alone, its branches skeletal in the cold. Solitude. I sat beneath it, placed my gear beside me, and pulled out the file. Just two papers inside.

  The first page held the subject’s details.

  Sioh Coldnose.

  I grimaced. A Coldian chose their surname upon marriage, a tradition. Coldnose? An unfortunate choice. Sioh had been a soldier in the CLXII Regiment, once human before the transformation. Tall, pale-haired, amber-eyed. Nothing unusual there. Most Coldians had the same spectral look. Married four months ago to a woman named Rechna Coldfeet. Another unfortunate name. That was all—just the barest facts of his existence.

  The second page explained the situation.

  Sioh had been granted leave for a single month to take his wife on a honeymoon. That was four months ago. He had never returned. Never checked in. His last known location: The Silent Sun City.

  That was it.

  I folded the papers, tucking them back into the file. The Silent Sun. A place that had little love for my kind. Not long ago, we had been at war with them. That would make things difficult.

  I needed Manach’s insight. He had a way of picking out details others missed.

  “You know,” came a voice from the bushes, smooth and smug, “if I didn’t know you, I’d think you were avoiding me.”

  Manach.

  “Maybe I am.” I glanced up at him. “I was just thinking about you.”

  He wrinkled his nose. “Ugh. I know I attract people, but I’m more into women, thanks.”

  “That’s not—” I shook my head. “Forget it.”

  He nodded toward the file in my hands. “What’s that?”

  I gave him the short version. The job. The mission. The peculiar gaps in protocol. He listened, took the file, and skimmed it. His eyes lingered on the cover.

  “Three months,” he muttered. “And the file was written by a Frost Mage, not a Coldian. That’s odd. That’s not protocol.”

  “Frost Mage?” My attention sharpened.

  Manach smirked. “And here I thought Koch, master of details, never missed a thing. Look at the cover. The name’s right there—Aurelia.”

  I took the file back, glancing at the name. He was right.

  “Who is Aurelia?” I asked.

  Manach shrugged. “No idea. But the mark here? School of Frostbite. Could be worth asking around.”

  Of course, by ‘asking around,’ he meant me asking around. I could already see it in the way he shifted his weight, itching to be elsewhere.

  “And you?” I asked. “What are you going to do?”

  He smiled, flicking his dagger between his fingers. “I have some… debts that need settling.”

  I knew that tone. Knew better than to ask. Illegal, most likely. Dangerous, definitely. But it wasn’t my business, and I didn’t care.

  “Fine,” I said. “I’m not moving without you. We need a plan. You settle your business, I’ll prep our gear. Meet me tomorrow?”

  Manach just nodded and slipped back into the shadows of the trees. I watched him go, then stood, adjusting my equipment.

  I returned to the barracks. Home, if you could call it that.

  The Zero Regiment’s quarters sat near the Citadel, a towering block of stone and frost. Less a barracks, more a fortress. Every soldier had their own room—small, spartan, just enough space for a bed, a chest, and a nightstand. The successful ones bought their own homes. That was a goal. Something to work toward.

  Manach’s room was near mine. I knew where he kept his key.

  I let myself in. Bare walls. Sparse furniture. But his travel gear was still there, meaning he hadn’t yet packed. I gathered it up and took it back to my own quarters.

  Once everything was prepared, I sat by the window, watching the snow drift past the towers of the Citadel. I had a feeling—one of those gut-turning suspicions that never led to anything good. Something about this job didn’t line up. Three months missing, no official notice, a Frost Mage—not a Coldian—filing the report. And Sioh’s wife? Why hadn’t she posted his disappearance? Why hadn’t the regiment?

  Too many questions. No answers.

  But the job wasn’t to uncover a conspiracy. It was to find Sioh. Maybe I was overthinking it. Maybe this was nothing.

  I exhaled, forced my mind to quiet, and let sleep take me.