The northern mines lay beyond a chain of blackened hills where even the wind seemed to have forgotten warmth. By the time Lara, Marcus, and Karina reached the outskirts, snow had begun to fall—a silent, suffocating curtain that dulled the world into shades of grey.

The settlement that served the mines was no more than a collection of broken huts and watchtowers. Smoke rose from a few chimneys, but it carried no scent of food—only coal and despair. Men in rags stumbled through the narrow streets, faces hollow, eyes glazed. The mark of the slave mine was unmistakable.

Lara dismounted, her boots sinking into the half-frozen mud. The air stung her lungs as she looked around. “No soldiers,” she murmured. “Strange.”

Marcus scanned the ridges. “They don’t need many. The mines kill quicker than any sword.”

Karina stayed close, her hood drawn. Even she, hardened by the streets, looked pale. “This place…” she whispered. “It feels like the world ends here.”

Lara didn’t answer. She walked forward, passing a man who stared without seeing. His skin was grey from dust and hunger. He muttered something under his breath—a prayer, perhaps—but the words were too broken to understand.

" We will be leaving our most of stuff including our horses, here in one of the lodgings... It will be dangerous to move in group." Lara announced, before they could enter the main territories.

After settling down most of their stuff, they reached the gate, where a guard sat half-asleep beside a brazier. His armor was rusted, his breath thick with cheap liquor. When Lara approached, he straightened sluggishly.

“Visitors aren’t allowed,” he slurred.

Lara pulled back her hood, revealing the faint gleam of the imperial crest sewn into her cloak. The man’s eyes widened, and sobriety returned in an instant. Marcus gazed at her every action... confused and shocked.

“Y-your Grace—my apologies. I wasn’t told—”

“I’m not here to be announced,” she cut in. “You’ll take me to the overseer. Now.”

He hesitated only a heartbeat before bowing and leading them through the gate.

The mines themselves were a labyrinth of tunnels carved into the mountain’s belly. The deeper they went, the colder it grew, the air thick with dust and the smell of sweat and stone. Torches flickered along the walls, casting sickly light over rows of chained men. The sound of picks striking rock echoed endlessly, like the heartbeat of some dying beast.

The overseer waited in a small chamber near the main shaft. A stout man with a polished ring on his finger and fear in his eyes. He bowed deeply when Lara entered.

“Your Grace, an honor. Had I known the palace was sending someone—”

“You weren’t meant to know,” Lara replied. “I’m here for inspection. And for records. I want every name of those sent here from Aizdihar within the past decade.”

He froze. “That will take time—”

“Then start now.”

Her tone left no room for argument. The overseer swallowed hard, nodding before scurrying to a desk cluttered with ledgers. He opened one, then another, flipping through pages with trembling fingers. The silence stretched, broken only by the sound of distant mining.

Finally, he stopped. “Here,” he said, pointing. “Count Bartholin Amin of Aizdihar. Arrived six years ago. Assigned to shaft twelve.”

Lara’s throat tightened. “And?”

The man hesitated. “There’s… no departure record. But his line ends here.” He tapped the page again. “That means he didn’t survive the season.”

Karina closed her eyes, a faint sound escaping her lips—half sigh, half sob.

Lara’s expression didn’t change. She simply turned another page. “And what of Baron Nagir?”

The overseer stiffened. “The Baron? He funds this site. Sends shipments of supplies from the south. Why—”

Lara cut him off. “Where does he live? I am in his territories and yet, he dares not greet me!”

He stiffened..."Baron was posted to another territoy.."

"Speak."

“In the western province. Near the river estate. He visits every few months to… check on his investments.”

Her fingers brushed the edge of the ledger, smudging the ink. The world had narrowed to a single thought—a single name.

Baron Nagir.

The man who bought Nina.

They left the mines in silence. The snow had thickened, blurring the horizon. 

"Marcus!

go to the Twelth, Find Count Amin even if dead! Bring me his body! Marcus! Handle things here as i would. Burn down everything, free up people! make this your territory and when this area becomes suitable, come... come to the castle to visit us... I and nina will await you." Lara was finally erupting. Marcus nodded and bowed as he left under cover.
"Karina... You are to safely go back and wait for me in my palace."

Lara mounted her horse without a word. Marcus climbed onto his beside her, while Karina stood still, staring back toward the black mouth of the mountain.

“Is that what waits for all of us?” she whispered.

Lara turned slightly. “Not if we burn it down first.”

Her words were calm, but beneath them lay something dangerous—a promise made not to fate, but to herself.

As they rode south again, the storm gathered behind them. The wind howled through the hills, scattering ash and snow alike. The empire slept, unaware that one woman’s fire was already spreading.

For the first time since leaving the palace, Lara smiled—not from joy, but from clarity.

The path ahead was set.

And the man called Baron Nagir would soon learn what it meant to awaken a curse.