Word from the front, we've broken through! Our forces have taken the gates of Sophiasburgh!
You serious?!
The Arctic winds slice through New Sophiasburgh's makeshift camp, cutting like rusted blades between its wooden shacks. A skeleton crew huddles around rusty oil drums after unloading supplies, their thick coats pulled tight as they trade eager whispers about the telegrams from the front.
It's true enough. But it's no real advantage.
A driver in a thick scarf suddenly flips back the tarp over the truck cabin and pushes his way in, bringing the biting chill of the frontlines with him.
What did you see out there?
The Corrupted, swarms of them. Heard some soldiers talking while we unloaded. Sophiasburgh's hiding production lines, churning out more of those things. Unless they're destroyed, the front'll be overrun.
That can't be right. I used to run production lines. Where would they get all the resources?
Sophiasburgh was the capital. Their stockpiles were always bigger than anyone's.
And ever since the higher-ups set their sights on conquering the world, those stockpiles only grew.
He has only just spoken when he becomes aware of their collective gaze fixed on him. With a hurried wave of his hands and a sharp shake of his head, his voice grows noticeably strained.
Don't look at me like that! My father captained a transport ship for Sophiasburgh. I only know because I sailed with him a few times.
So you're saying the longer that lines run, the worse the odds get... Is surrender truly not an option for us?
What are you saying?!
I'm asking if there's a way to keep people alive! Weren't we told that surrender would end the war? That everyone would be safe?
Safe? Remember the Union back then? The Frostheart Emperor doesn't want peace; he wants the world. Surrender, and we'll just become soldiers for his war.
He can control the Corrupted! And the Punishing Virus keeps creating abominations. Why aren't we uniting against that instead of fighting each other?!
It's the same with this war. If only there were someone whose call everyone would answer, someone who could rally everyone to help us. Then we wouldn't be sitting here terrified, and our soldiers at the front wouldn't be throwing their lives away!
What are you all talking about?!
A voice, clear and bright, interrupts the low hum of conversation. Evan stands at the edge of the group, his small hands fisted in the hem of his coat. Though the cold has painted his cheeks a raw red, the look in his eyes is pure, unwavering determination.
If we become invaders again, we're no better than before! Do you want to see more Amberias show up?!
Evan... What are you doing out here, boy?
Listening to you all whispering!
Rosetta and the others are fighting right now, and you're here talking about giving up! Do you still not believe in the Forest Guards at all?!
Belief doesn't fill storerooms or bring back the dead! You're a child. You don't understand the cost! We've poured everything into this!
I know we've sent supplies! But if the alliance wins—
Win? And then what? Go back to scraping by?!
The civilian guard's voice rises sharply as his rough hand slams onto a rusty oil drum. A deep, metallic clang reverberates, echoing across the desolate snowfields.
Damn it all... We finally saw Sophiasburgh rebuilt, then the Ascendants wiped New Murmansk off the map in a day! All those supplies that should've been sent here, gone.
Remember those days? Sailing from port to port, begging for scraps, fishing wreckage out of the sea just to survive.
How could I forget? Treated like beggars... In the end, there's nothing out here but snow.
The driver stares out to sea, his gaze growing distant and heavy. He is remembering the countless days and nights spent hauling resources from the deep, the relentless labor that built New Sophiasburgh from the waves.
Win or lose, we burn through everything we've saved. And then what happens to New Sophiasburgh?
Then... we start all over again!
Again? How many times must we start over?!
They built Amberia to conquer the world. They said to defend the Arctic from the Punishing Virus, only to break the place apart. So many lost their homes.
We waited for the Forest Guards to defeat Amberia and end the nightmare... and then the Frostheart Emperor returned. Every time we hope, things get worse.
His gaze fixes on Evan, a chilling weariness frosting his eyes.
...Do you know why we came to build New Sophiasburgh, Evan?
Because...
Evan opens his mouth, then freezes. He feels like he should have an answer, but the words die on his lips. The truth hits him with sudden clarity: he's only here because everyone he knows is here. His only purpose has been to carry bricks and build walls beside them.
Seeing Evan's struggle, the man offers a wry smile. He reaches out and gently brushes the snow from the boy's shoulder.
We came because of the Sophiasburgh that still lives in our hearts, even after everything.
He falls silent, his gaze fixed on the still-open gates of New Sophiasburgh. Through the gap, he looks toward the old Sophiasburgh in the distance, its silhouette long lost in the gray mists of the wasteland.
Evan understands then that they did not build New Sophiasburgh out of a grand vision. This painstaking reconstruction—this devotion to an old style—was never about creating something new.
It was about preserving warmth. It was a way to reach back, to salvage a familiar comfort and hold it close, a small fire against the relentless cold of their present tragedy.
...
Evan's lips part, but no words follow.
The wind drives ice-dust through the air, carrying with it the muffled, relentless rumble of guns. Cold bleeds into them, past collars, past flesh, deep into the marrow.
In its wake, the renewed conflict erases what little warmth remained, leaving only hollow silence.
