Sol couldn’t sleep.

  He had participated in drills, eaten the requisite, pre-battle calorically-dense meal, and even went to bed as soon as night fell. But even so, he couldn't sleep. The first hour, he thought it was prebattle jitters. The type to leave you with an empty void in your chest. Uncommon, but the anxiety of those around must have somehow transferred to him. When the second hour passed, he still held out the faintest bit of hope in his heart. But by the fifth hour, he could only stare up at the roof of his tent. Limbo.

  Sol's thoughts began to wander. The tent did wonders to protect him from the elements. With not one single hole in the fabric, it was impossible for the wind to find it's way in. As a result, his current sleeping conditions rivalled, if not outright surpassed those in the castle.

  Though, that said more of the conditions he was subject to in the castle than it did of the quality of the tent.

  Getting up, he sighed. Left with little other choice, he decided to go for a walk. He put on his furs, before quietly exiting the tent, so as to not wake the others. The camp was dead silent, with only he and the guards stationed around the perimeter still awake. As snow fell for the second night in a row, Sol's heart slowed to a crawl. A calm sort of dread built up within him.

  When morning came, he estimated that the snow would reach up to his knees. And judging by his poor luck, Sol guessed that his regiment would be among those chosen to lead the charge on the rebel's last stronghold. If they were lucky, they'd be assigned a group of earth mages to make the climb up the Frostveil Plateau less strenuous. Or the more likely scenario, they'd be left out to dry. Regardless, Sol predicted he'd be exhausted from wading through the snow before the battle proper.

  Sol grimly smiled. Those above probably didn't even expect them to survive the battle. They were fodder meant to wear down the enemy. Not anything he didn't expect. Sol shook his head, continuing to walk forward. That was a problem for the him of tomorrow.

  He snuck past the guards, building up to a sprint as he entered the forest in the direction of the Plateau. Though, where he currently was resembled a forest as much as a puddle resembled an ocean. Only at the very surface level. Here, if one were to spit out a glob of phlegm, it'd freeze before hitting the ground. There was nothing alive. There once might have been, but now, there was nothing.

  The trees were each over twelve feet in diameter, reaching a hundred feet in the air at the very least. They were a snow white color, with an uncanny resemblance to pillars of ice, the only indicators that they weren't the black marks that covered every square inch of surface area and the bare branches that stuck out near their tops.

  But despite the trees’ height, the plateau still towered over them in the distance. An inescapable presence in the mind, a constant reminder that it existed. Sol ignored it, continuing to stare at the trees. Though long dead and barren, they still stood tall.

  That was another thing about the North.

  The dead never truly died.

  Sol slowed. He felt the snow crunch beneath his feet. In the previous offensive, their company had been tasked with destroying a cave stronghold. The enemy's morale was low. They had suffered dozens of consecutive battles, and they were starved. But they had become desperate while the company grew overconfident.

  An enemy mage, one that the assassins must've missed, in one final act of desperation, cast some spell. A spell that resulted in the very chamber they fought to begin shaking. And for the stones hanging from the roof to fall. Most of the company was crushed, but worst of all, the entrance to the cave had been blocked.

  In that quagmire of despair, the Lord’s army prevailed. They massacred the rest of the rebel army still in the cavern. But even in the aftermath, the Captain grievously injured with one foot in the grave, the stench of blood strong, the cave still did not spit them out.

  Twenty one days, Sol thought. He shivered. It didn't matter whether they were friend or enemy, they all looked the same. Pale skin, dead eyes, forever frozen in time.

  In the South, he remembered once coming across a dead baby goat. Already smelling of rot on the first day, an innocent curiosity bloomed. He made sure to walk the same path the following days, always catching at least one glimpse of it's corpse.

  By the seventh day, it was nothing but bone.

  Not in the North.

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  The dead didn’t rot.

  Sol continued to walk, eventually coming across a clearing. As desolate and covered in snow as the rest of the forest, all that differentiated it was a large rock at the center. And the lieutenant in all white that sat atop it. The hood of his cloak covered his stringy and short, dirty blonde hair, pressing it down. His veil fluttered with the wind, but still, everything below his nose remained obscured. Hearing Sol's footsteps, he turned to face him.

  Sol saluted, attempting to spin a tale in his mind as to why he wasn't in camp, only for the lieutenant to wave his hand. He wiped the snow next to him, motioning Sol to join him. He walked over, doubt in his mind, and sat.

  They continued in silence, until,

  "What's got you up?" the lieutenant asked, "Nerves?"

  "Perhaps," Sol murmured, "Don't know why. Not like anything'd change with my worry. And not like my sleeps been that bad the past few days."

  The lieutenant stared at Sol, as if he was searching for something. He turned back, straining to reach behind the rock, before emerging with an unopened bottle of wine. Twisting the cork out with his gloved hands, the lieutenant adjusted his veil, momentarily exposing smooth skin. He inhaled, wafting the fumes of the wine, before exhaling, shuddering in pleasure.

  The lieutenant first offered the bottle to Sol, to which he declined. He didn't like the way drink made him unable to think. He liked to believe that his brain was the best part about him. After all, had he relied on his strength the past three years, he'd have already died a hundred times over.

  "I swear," the lieutenant began, after drinking from the bottle, "When this is all over. I'll tour the South. All the way to the edge of the border."

  Sol found the lieutenant's voice to be disquieting. No matter how many times they'd talked, he was always left feeling strange. As if there was something unnatural about the way the lieutenant spoke, Sol just couldn't identify what.

  "For what?" Sol asked, bemused, "The wine?"

  "Partly." His smile reached his eyes. "I do admit. You Southerners know wine. I still remember that glass of Vea. Twenty years aged I think it was. It was ... the first time you lay with another. The first man you watch die. Absolutely unforgettable."

  Both, Sol couldn't relate.

  "But no," the lieutenant spoke again, "I'll enjoy liquor. But I won't appreciate it."

  "Then for what reason would you go so far?"

  "I don't know," he finally admitted. "But It'd do me good I think. A bit of warm air. A moment of calm." He looked at Sol. "You can join me. Tour the country for a plot of land to buy."

  Sol snorted,

  "Of course. If by some miracle of the bitch Goddess we end up surviving, I'll do whatever it is that you ask. Yours to command and do with as you wish." He sneeringly replied.

  The lieutenant fell silent, before,

  “The Goddess forgives,” he pointedly stated.

  Half in confusion and half disbelief, Sol looked at him, silently questioning him on what he meant.

  “Sin is only sin when one commits it out of free will.”

  Met with silence, he continued. “In the Old Codex, the story of the thief clearly states: When met with two roads; to maintain virtue, but die in the process, or sin, and continue to live, the Goddess will not fault you no matter which path you choose. Or in her words, "One cannot judge another for their actions when they are committed in the name of survival." Do not have poison in your heart, for you will be the only one to suffer for it."

  Sol stared at the lieutenant,

  "Fine words." He smiled. "How d'you justify your being a drunk then?

  Pausing mid raise of bottle, he laughed. Not the ugly, loud, inconsiderate to others’ laugh that was common in soldiers, but a beautiful, elegant laugh. Like bells chiming in the wind. The lieutenant only stopped a minute later.

  He lightly wrapped Sol's neck with his free arm, as if placing him in a chokehold. He raised the bottle with his other hand.

  "The Goddess forgives!"

  Sol could only quietly smile in response. As they continued to sit together, they watched the snow gently fall on the the forest. Sol's footprints slowly filled. As if even nature itself wanted to erase any traces of life in the forest, and return it to it's previous dead state.

  Feeling a slight thirst in his throat, Sol reached for the bottle.

  Handing it over, the lieutenant teasingly asked, “I recall someone's words on drinking?”

  Sol drunk the wine. The glass was akin to ice on his finger tips, and the burgundy red liquid had been chilled. He didn't know if that somehow ruined the flavor, but the wine was bizarrely sweet. Undoubtedly alcoholic, though it tasted as if the makers hadn't let it fully ferment. It was halfway between wine and a sweet grape juice. Still, it left a warmth in his belly reminiscent of piping hot plum soup.

  “The Goddess,” Sol spat, wine dribbling down his chin as he passed the bottle back to the lieutenant. "Is a right old hag. Fuck her. Fuck this war. Fuck the Baron. Fuck the Captain. And fuck you." The last part Sol intended to come off jokingly, but he'd spoken more forcefully than he'd intended.

  Even still, the lieutenant must have understood, as he raised the bottle, “I’ll drink to that!” He toasted, those beautiful crystalline eyes curving in gleeful mirth.

  They passed the bottle back and forth, drinking their fill, but even when the wine had dried up, they stayed. Silently, they gazed out at the forest.

  Sol looked up, where hundreds of thousands of stars an infinite distance away blanketed the night sky. The twin moons' were out in full force, their light enveloping the world. And for just a moment, those long dead trees that were more reminiscent of pillars of ice than anything took on the appearance of those green needled trees. And like a child begging their parents to stay up for five more minutes, Sol wished, with all of his heart, that moment would last just the bit longer.

  The lieutenant got up off of the rock and dusted the snow off of his cloak. With glove outstretched to Sol, "Off you go. Growing boys need their sleep." He declared.

  Following him back to the camp, Sol entered his tent. He quickly took off his furs, and within just seconds of pulling the covers over himself, he drifted off to sleep.