The snow had finally stopped.

For the first time in months, the world was quiet. The wind no longer screamed through the camps; the tents no longer shuddered from its fury. The Northern sky stretched open like a wound slowly healing, and beneath it, soldiers began to move again—limping, exhausted, but alive.

Noah sat in his quarters, the single lamp flickering weakly beside a pile of sealed reports. His hand hovered over a letter that bore no seal of any kingdom—only the faint trace of a crimson ribbon knotted around pale parchment.

He knew the handwriting before he opened it.

"Noah."

His name, written in a hand that trembled slightly, as if the writer had hesitated before finishing the first stroke.

He unfolded it carefully, the edges stained faintly with blood and snow.

---

Noah,

I don't know if this letter will ever reach you. The lines between us keep growing—wars, storms, the silence of those who won't speak your name anymore. But I still write, because it's the only way I can still believe you're alive.

You've changed, haven't you? Maybe the North has turned you into someone the old you wouldn't recognize. I know you've lost more than you've said. I know you're afraid to look back, because the reflection might not be the person you were meant to become.

But you're still you, Noah. The same man who once refused to abandon anyone, even when the world demanded it.

I know you can't trust easily now. And you shouldn't. But if you're reading this, I need you to meet me. I can explain everything—about you, about the world that keeps repeating itself. I've found something… and I think you deserve to know what it is.

There's a place. The western inlet by the sea, where the ice breaks into blue water this time of year.I'll be waiting.

Please, don't let the war swallow you before we talk.

- Maya.

---

Noah sat in silence long after finishing the letter.

His gloved hands pressed against the parchment, as if afraid that letting go would make the words vanish. The ink was smeared slightly—she had written it in haste, probably while on the move.

He stared at her name again. Maya.

There were a thousand reasons to believe it was a trap. The timing, the tone, even the mention of the world's "truth." Yet the warmth in the handwriting—the curl of the letters, the hesitation before his name—felt real.

She knew him too well to fake that.

He leaned back in his chair, exhaling a long, uneven breath.

"Maya… what did you find?"

His voice was hoarse, as if it hadn't been used in days.

Chrome Hearts' spies had intercepted letters before, but this one had bypassed all channels. It came sealed inside a crate of medical supplies from the western camp. A coincidence? Or a choice?

Either way, his chest ached.

He needed answers.

***

By dawn, the camp was alive again. The thick frost that had sealed the machinery for months was finally breaking, hissing as the first rays of sunlight cut through the haze. Engineers shouted across the docks; the sound of engines rumbled like a long-forgotten heartbeat returning to life.

Noah stood at the edge of the airfield, his cane planted in the snow. His long coat billowed faintly in the breeze, his silver insignia glinting beneath the sun's return.

The officers gathered before him, their faces worn but eager—hope was a fragile thing, but after the Third Winter, even a glimpse of blue sky felt divine.

"The storm's gone," Noah began, his tone calm but commanding.

A murmur spread through the crowd.

"Our scouts confirm the Central fleets have begun reinforcing their eastern front. They expect us to march through the borderlands as before." He paused, his gaze sweeping over the maps spread across the steel table beside him.

"That's exactly why we won't."

The officers straightened.

"We'll move by sea," Noah continued. "From the Northern coast into the Central waters. The ice has broken enough for passage, and they won't expect a full strike from the ocean. We'll take the route west of the ridge and regroup at the inlet."

Arden frowned slightly. "That's a long detour, sir. We'll be exposed during the descent—"

"—and invisible from the land," Noah interjected. "Their aerial patrols can't scan the sea in this weather. It's a risk, but the only one worth taking."

He turned, the faintest trace of a smile ghosting his lips. "Besides, we've been frozen long enough. Let them believe the North still sleeps under snow."

A few of the younger officers exchanged grins. For the first time in months, there was energy in their eyes.

As the meeting dissolved into orders and preparations, Noah's attention drifted toward the distant coastline.

The faint blue shimmer beyond the horizon reminded him of the letter.

---

Hours later, the snowfields trembled under the roar of engines.

The first airships began to rise from their docks—massive blimps bearing the crest of the Northern Alliance. Their brass hulls reflected the morning light as they ascended through trails of mist and smoke. Each one carried troops, supplies, and the last hopes of a frozen nation.

Below, the sea routes opened. Steamships and iron vessels creaked as their chains lifted, breaking free from the frost that had locked them for months. The waves were dark but alive, shimmering faintly under the early sunlight.

Noah watched it all from the command bridge of the lead airship. The wind brushed against his hair as he leaned on his cane, his coat fluttering behind him.

The Third Winter was finally over.

The horizon stretched wide before him—blue and endless.

Behind him, the frozen land lay silent and pale, its suffering buried under snow. Ahead, the sea glittered like a promise.

He could see the reflection of airships gliding above, their shadows skimming the ocean waves, accompanied by fleets of warships below.

White birds soared alongside them, wings catching the sunlight as if guiding their path.

It was beautiful.

For the first time in a long while, Noah let himself breathe fully.

As the armada moved toward the open sea, the sunlight broke through the clouds completely.

The snowfields below shimmered in farewell, fading into rolling waves that sparkled beneath the morning glow.

The cries of gulls echoed high above as the airships ascended, their metallic forms glinting against the heavens.

Blue water stretched endlessly, meeting the golden horizon where sky and sea embraced.

And amidst it all Noah stood at the prow, his eyes fixed ahead.

The snow behind him was gone.

The sea ahead glittered like a mirror reflecting a world still worth saving.