The blood hadn’t even dried yet as Kaelen stood at the ruined Glacer Gate, hands braced against the weathered stone, golden eyes fixed on the snow-covered plains beyond. The battlefield hadn't been cleared. The gnolls were dead. The caravan had been saved—barely.

But the problem wasn’t over. Just a caravan screaming toward the gate, chased by gnolls that should have been caught well before they reached the city. And now? Nothing. No response. No action. No one moving except the same few who always did.

His grip tightened against the cold stone. Teeth clenched. Jaw set.

"They had one job." His voice was low, furious, more of a growl than words.

The Frostwardens were supposed to guard these lands, keep the wilds contained, ensure this never happened. But here he was, pulling people out of burning wreckage, burying bodies, and watching survivors shake with fear because the wardens weren’t there when they needed to be.

He let out a slow, measured exhale and turned away. Fine. If they weren’t going to do anything about this, he would.

Kaelen strode toward the nearest general store, already running through the preparations in his mind. Rations, weapons, warmer gear. The gnolls weren’t just scouting. They were testing the city’s defenses. And next time, they wouldn’t just be chasing a caravan—they’d be coming for the gate. "I’ll find them."

His boots hit the stone hard as he moved. "And I’ll make damn sure they don’t come back."