Agaranthus

The sun rose weakly over the snowy landscape as the survivors of the King's army prepared to leave the temple behind. The burial of their fallen comrade had been a somber affair, and though they carried his memory with them, the weight of survival pressed them forward. The path to La Porta, the Western Empire's southernmost outpost, was not far by horse, but for a wounded group traveling on foot, it would take another day.

The King led the way, the baby cradled in his arms, wrapped tightly in a spare cloak. The child's warmth was a stark contrast to the icy air biting at his face. Behind him, the General walked silently, his sword sheathed, his left arm a phantom of what it once was. The medic and the King's guard followed closely, their breath visible in the cold as they pushed through the thick snow.

The Journey

The trail wound through a dense forest, the trees heavy with frost. Every step felt like a battle, the deep snow clinging to their legs and sapping their energy. The King's guard, a towering man with strength unmatched, offered to carry the medic's supplies to ease her burden. She nodded gratefully, her gloved hands trembling from the cold.

"Boss," the General called softly to the King as they paused to rest near a frozen stream. "We're making progress, but we'll need to find shelter before nightfall. This cold will kill us before the enemy does."

The King nodded, glancing at the baby in his arms. The child was quiet, his small chest rising and falling steadily. The sight brought an odd sense of peace to the King, though the General's words lingered in his mind.

---

As they resumed their march, the medic stumbled, her knees giving way. The King's guard caught her before she fell completely, steadying her.

"I'm fine," she said quickly, though her pale face betrayed her words.

"You need to rest," the King said firmly, stopping the group.

"We all do," the General added, scanning the forest for any sign of a suitable place to stop. His sharp eyes caught movement in the distance. At first, he thought it was a trick of the light, but the faint outline of a wolf appeared through the trees, followed by two more.

"Boss," the General muttered, drawing his sword with his remaining hand.

The King turned to see the wolves, their gaunt frames betraying their hunger. The animals hesitated, sensing the strength of the group but also their vulnerability.

"Stay close," the King ordered, handing the baby to the medic. He unsheathed his sword, its blade gleaming faintly in the weak sunlight.

The wolves circled cautiously, testing the group's resolve. The General stepped forward, his single hand gripping his weapon tightly.

"Let's not waste time," he growled.

The standoff was tense but brief. A swing of the General's blade and the King's authoritative stance were enough to send the wolves retreating into the shadows. As they disappeared, the group let out a collective breath.

---

A Night Under the Stars

By nightfall, they found a sheltered spot beneath a rocky overhang. The General built a small fire, its warmth barely enough to keep the chill at bay. The medic tended to the group's wounds, her hands steady despite her exhaustion.

As they rested, the King stared into the flames, his mind replaying the nightmare of the battle they had lost. His soldiers' faces haunted him, their cries echoing in his ears. The weight of his failure felt unbearable.

"Boss," the General said quietly, sitting beside him. "You're doing what you can. That's all anyone can ask."

The King didn't reply, his gaze fixed on the baby now sleeping peacefully in the medic's lap.

"What do you see in him?" the General asked after a pause.

"I don't know," the King admitted. "But I feel it. He's more than he seems. He might be our only hope."