They didn't make it five minutes into post-breakfast peace.
Lindarion had just relocated to the bench closest to the window. Not because he needed a view, but because Ashwing had decided the windowsill was now his personal sunspot, and staring into middle distance felt appropriately brooding for someone with too many affinities and zero privacy.
Ren was making little pyramid stacks out of leftover crusts. Meren had attempted a nap and was failing due to his own dramatic sighing. Ardan stood like a statue carved from disappointment and old injuries.
Lira was sharpening her knife.
Because of course she was.
The door creaked again.
Not an ominous creak.
Raleth entered, once again with the aura of a man who'd been up since dawn arguing with a rooster.
This time, though, he wasn't alone.
Behind him stood a girl. Maybe fifteen. Brown hair pulled into a too-tight braid. Eyes wide like she wasn't sure if this was a rescue or an interrogation.
She held a bundle of parchment against her chest like it might explode if jostled.
Lindarion leaned forward slightly. Not suspicious. Just tired and ready for whatever drama the universe had assigned today.
Raleth didn't bother with greetings. Just nodded at Lira, then turned to Lindarion.
"Sorry to interrupt again, but we need your help."
Meren immediately sat up straighter. "With what?"
"Hopefully not plumbing," Ren muttered. "I draw the line at sewage systems."
Raleth ignored them both.
"The southern pass is closed," he said. "Rockslide two nights ago. No casualties, but a merchant caravan is stuck halfway down. Supplies are blocked. One of their outriders made it through early this morning."
He gestured toward the girl, who stepped forward and very clearly wished she hadn't.
"This is Ila. Her father leads the caravan. She says they've been getting followed."
"Followed?" Ardan asked, already standing a little stiffer.
"Something in the woods," Ila said quickly. "Not bandits. Not beasts. No tracks. Just sounds. Scratches on the wagons. Movement we can't see."
"Great," Meren mumbled. "Ghost wolves. That's what we need."
Ren kicked him under the table. "Shut up. Let her finish."
"We can't move the carts without clearing the rock," Ila continued. "We're running low on food. And we're scared. Something's out there."
Lira looked at Raleth. "And you want us to do what?"
Raleth folded his arms. "Scout the blockage. Make sure nothing worse than cold and bad luck is waiting for them."
Lindarion tilted his head. "Why us?"
"You're armed. Capable. And not currently dying of plague or cow-related injuries."
He said it with the same tone one might use for 'you're already awake and standing near the door.'
Ren nodded. "That's fair. Also, cow injuries are no joke."
Ardan didn't speak. Just gave Lindarion a glance that meant we're doing this, aren't we?
Ashwing sneezed once, delicately, onto the windowsill.
"I suppose," he said slowly, "if I help clear the road, I can at least say I contributed to the economy."
Raleth grunted. "That's one way to put it."
He stepped aside, letting Ila pass him on the way out. She gave a quiet, sincere "thank you" that sounded like it was aimed at everyone and no one in particular.
Lira sheathed her knife.
Ren stood and stretched. "Alright, field trip time."
Meren didn't move. "Can I stay here and be emotionally supportive from afar?"
"I wasn't asking you, Dad."
Lindarion stood last. Not dramatically. Just with the weight of a prince who had accepted, against all odds, that people were going to keep asking for things.
He glanced at Raleth as they passed.
"Is this going to be dangerous?"
"Should I bring the dragon?"
Raleth raised an eyebrow. "Would it listen?"
Ashwing slithered off the sill, padded to Lindarion's side, and sat like a small, smug guardian of chaos.
Lindarion nodded. "Close enough."
They walked out into the frost, boots crunching against morning ice, sun just beginning to lie about warmth.
Lindarion pulled his coat tighter.
One blocked road. One maybe-haunted forest. One dragon with impulse control issues.
It was just another day in the office.
The road south didn't look like a road.
It looked like regret. With pine trees.
Narrow, frost-bitten, and flanked on both sides by snowdrifts just deep enough to lose a Meren in. The wind had stopped bothering to blow dramatically.
It had downgraded to that awful still cold, the kind that clung to your bones like a bad decision.
Lindarion walked anyway.
Ashwing trailed beside him, tail swaying like he was auditioning for the Most Dramatic Creature to Ever Step on Snow. Every few feet, he'd stop to sniff something. Or sneeze. Or just look majestic for no reason.
Ren had her hands shoved in her coat pockets, stomping through the frost like she meant to offend it.
"Why are roads always colder than cliffs?"
Meren, already ten steps behind, answered without breath. "Because cliffs don't hate you personally."
Lira walked at the front. Silent. Focused. Possibly internally judging everyone who'd ever paved a road and called it "maintained."
Ardan followed with that same air of annoyance.
So, it was basically a normal morning.
Ila, the merchant girl, kept glancing back at them like she wasn't entirely convinced they weren't just five well-dressed lunatics with a dragon and too much free time.
Lindarion didn't blame her.
His boots crunched on the path. The snow here hadn't melted even a little. Packed thick over gravel and older dirt. The kind of trail that had once mattered. Before it got buried.
Ashwing leapt onto a fallen log, chirped once, and sneezed again.
"Do you think he's allergic to frost?" Ren asked.
"He breathes fire," Lindarion said.
"Exactly. Nature's irony."
Ashwing jumped off the log and circled his legs again like an affectionate furnace.
They walked for maybe another twenty minutes before Ila stopped suddenly.
"There. That's the edge of it."
The road narrowed even further, then dropped slightly into a bend that looked like it had been punched by a god.
Snow and rock were stacked high across the path, trees splintered like matchsticks.
One wagon sat half-buried in the drift. No signs of people. Just silence and old panic.
Ren squinted. "Well. That's very blocked."
"No one's come to clear it?" Ardan asked.
"We tried," Ila said quietly. "The snow just… kept coming back."
That wasn't how snow worked.
Lindarion narrowed his eyes.
Not cursed. Not obviously. But he didn't trust how still the forest was.
He stepped closer, letting the divine affinity rise just enough to taste the air.
Not divine-sensing. Not scanning.
Just… listening. With his blood.
It was still. Too still.
Ashwing growled quietly beside him.
Meren caught up and promptly sat down on a rock. "Alright. I'm emotionally supporting from here."
"Fantastic," Lindarion muttered.
He crouched beside the snowbank. Touched the surface. It didn't melt under his fingers. Which was normal, sort of. But not when his hand was actively warmed by mana.
Beneath the top layer, the snow was… dry.
And beneath that, stone scorched black.
He blinked. "This wasn't a normal slide."
Lira stepped up behind him. "Show me."
He scraped more away. Just enough to uncover the char line that curved through the ground like something had exploded under it.
Not natural. Not accidental.
"Magic?" Ardan asked.
"Something hot. Maybe old. Maybe not."
Ashwing growled again, lower this time.
Then everything went quiet.
Just the sound of the prince of Eldorath slowly standing, brushing snow off his gloves, and casually saying, "Ila, do you have any enemies?"
She shook her head quickly.
"Family vendettas? Angry spirit curses? Jilted wizards?"
Ren pulled her sword. Not because she saw anything. Just because she felt something.