The air over the Atlasian tundra was no different from Atlas itself. It was cold and brutal in a manner that didn't nip so much as sink in and stay there. Dawn was just beginning to show and cast a pale light from the horizon over the city's atop the floating island. The frost coated towers caught the sun and glowed like glass.
It would've been beautiful and breathtaking sight to anyone who wasn't in Winter Schnee's current mood.
Her breath misted in the icy air, but she paid it no attention. The cold never bothered her anyway. Not when something hotter was simmering just beneath the surface of her skin.
Rage didn't exactly warm a person, but it sure made the cold feel less relevant.
And at that moment, she had that rage in spades.
Winter strode down the corridor of the Command Center with a purpose. Her boots hit the pristine floors harder than necessary, and her cracked scroll buzzed again in her gloved hand. Another message, undoubtedly from him. The same smug bastard whose voice had slithered into her thoughts hours ago and refused to leave.
"Your brother's safety," he'd said.
No. He'd threatened her. He'd mocked her.
The statement wasn't a plea or even a warning, but a mocking and poisoned hook meant to pull her in. And it worked. Of course, it worked. How could she risk Whitley's safety, no matter how much bile the man's voice stirred in her?
Winter clenched her jaw as the memory replayed in her head. His tone, that smug confidence, the subtle web of control in his words that was woven around her so...so trivially. It was like he already knew she'd have no choice but to listen. It made her skin crawl.
His mere existence made her skin crawl. She gritted her teeth just thinking about it.
Unfortunately, ignoring him any longer wasn't an option, not when Whitley was involved. But relenting and liking this situation were two very different things. And right now, Winter Schnee liked absolutely none of it.
This wasn't the first time that man had dug his claws into her life, but if he thought she'd roll over and take it quietly, he was sorely mistaken.
But first, she needed answers, and there was only one person in Atlas who could provide them. One person she might have thought too highly of.
The Command Center was buzzing with activity, as always. Soldiers and Huntsmen moved with purpose, students darted between training assignments, and yet, the moment Specialist Schnee appeared, the atmosphere shifted. Conversations dropped to murmurs, then silence. Without a word, people cleared a path for her, stepping aside like she was a moving terminator made of ice.
Some managed to salute her as she passed. Most avoided eye contact altogether seemingly finding interest in their scrolls, the ceiling, and even their boots. It wasn't fear exactly, but an instinctual understanding that messing with her was a terrible idea.
"She looked like she was ready to shoot someone," a jittery student whispered later to his team. "No joke, I'd rather wrestle a Deathstalker than cross her in the hall again."
"I'm telling you, that bitch can smell your fear," a corporal muttered to his fellow guard that night.Sadly, he was called a 'pussy' in response.
Winter didn't notice, nor would she have cared. Her focus was locked on the destination ahead. She reached the elevator and stepped inside alone. Her reflection stared back at her from the polished walls, and her grip tightened on the railing, her gloves creaking faintly in protest.
By the time the elevator dinged and the doors slid open, she had forced herself to breathe. She adjusted her jacket, straightened her shoulders, and walked out at the same pace.
The hallway leading to Ironwood's office was quieter, though not entirely still. Winter didn't break stride. Her heels clicked against the tile, each step echoing louder than the last as she approached the imposing double doors.
She paused just long enough to square her shoulders. Raising a gloved hand, she knocked, each rap precise, and perhaps a bit more forceful than needed.
"Enter,"
Winter pushed open the door, stepping into the office with her head held high. If anyone had been watching, they might have thought her calm. Only Winter knew how hard she was clamping down on the fire burning beneath the surface.
The General looked up. His face flashed momentarily with an apologetic look before he schooled his features.
"Specialist Schnee," he said, inclining his head slightly. "I've been expecting you."
True enough, it seemed he had been expecting her to come seeking answers. His desk, usually cluttered with paperwork and files, was conspicuously empty.
The usual organized chaos of documents, scattered notes, and his ever-present scroll was nowhere to be seen. Instead, the surface was pristine.
From the moment he had stepped into his office that morning, it was clear he had been waiting for this encounter. Whether it was patience or resolve keeping him composed, Winter couldn't tell, and she didn't care to.
Winter stepped forward, her hands clasped behind her back, and stopped at attention. "General," she replied with the same formality she always used. Her expression betrayed nothing, but there was no mistaking the anger—and above all, the betrayal—in her eyes.
Ironwood gestured to the chair across from him. "Please, sit."
"I'd prefer to stand," Winter said without hesitation.
Ironwood leaned back in his chair, studying her for a moment. "Suit yourself," he said, his tone even. He folded his hands in front of him and fixed her with a level gaze. "I assume this is about the call."
Winter's jaw tightened ever so slightly. "It is, sir," she confirmed. "I need to know why he has access to my number."
Ironwood's expression didn't change. "It was a calculated decision."
Winter's hands clenched behind her back, but she forced her voice to remain even. "I don't recall being consulted about this decision, sir."
"You weren't," Ironwood said bluntly. "There wasn't time."
The room fell quiet for a moment. Winter let the silence fester for a while as the only way to show her dissatisfaction. She had questions—many—but she knew better than to challenge Ironwood outright.
"With all due respect," she began carefully, "I believe this decision compromises my position."
Ironwood interlaced his fingers and rested them next to his mouth."Your position remains secure. As for the call, you'll have to trust that it was necessary. The Schnee patriarch has assured me that he contacted you because the matter involves your family's safety. And I find myself inclined to believe him."
His words were calm, but Winter could see the subtle tension in his posture, the way he watched her for any sign of reaction. "I believed it best to keep this within trusted hands."
If he wanted a reaction, she'd give him one.
She took a slow breath before speaking, choosing her words carefully. "I never imagined you'd take anything that man says without considering the full picture."
I wasn't aware you were that much of a moron.
Ironwood's gaze never left hers, though a slight tightening at the corners of his mouth suggested that her words had struck a chord. "I don't take things at face value. But upon examination, Jacques has proven himself surprisingly privy to information that was both truthful and vital. I have my reasons for involving the Schnee patriarch, and those reasons are not open for debate at this moment."
Winter's jaw tightened imperceptibly. She had no intention of backing down. "That is surprising. It must have been quite the information to outweigh the worth of the word of the honourable Atlasian General."
Her words made the General wince. While not privy to the details, he was well aware of the animosity that existed between Winter and Jacques. One of the first things Winter had requested upon her enrolment in the Atlasian Armed Forces was that she would not be used as a link of contact between the Army and the SDC much less as a...damn commodity.
She wanted nothing to do with anything that involved the Head of the Schnee House. Ironwood at that time understood her desire and gave her his word that Jacques would never get to her through him.
It seemed that she had overestimated Ironwood, not as a soldier, but as a man.
"You misunderstand me, Specialist," he said, his voice slightly colder now. "This isn't about trust in anyone's word. It's about what I believe is necessary for the greater good of Atlas. And yes, that includes trusting Jacques. At least for now. To prioritize the security of our nation, I would have expected the same of you, soldier."
She said nothing. Not a single word, but her silence spoke more than enough as she held his gaze. It seemed that trust was only a one-way street when it came to the General, she realized bitterly.
"… I understand, General," the eldest Schnee daughter replied. "Permission to leave, sir?"
Ironwood closed his eyes.
"Take the next few days off and rest," the General ordered. "I expect you to be ready to go back on the field by next week."
"Of course, sir." She saluted and left without wasting any time.
He knew that his subordinate's trust in him had diminished, and try as he might, the General could not blame her.
He had used her as a bargaining chip, and he hadn't even had the decency to tell her for what? Yet, as much as it stung, he couldn't deny that it wasn't the wrong decision.
To think that Atlas's systems were so compromised.
Two days had passed since then, and Winter could still feel the bitterness twisting inside her, curling tighter with every thought she tried to push away.
The icy splash of water on her face did little to help. She braced her hands against the sink, letting the droplets slide down her skin, and breathed. The pale bathroom light reflected her silhouette onto the mirror and drew her attention.
His face stared back.
It wasn't the first time Winter had seen her father in her own reflection, but today it felt harder to ignore.
The too-cold blue eyes stared back at her. The sharp angles of her nose and jawline were his, framed by the thick white hair that always seemed to fall just out of place. Even her furrowed brow, which was a rare sign of her slipping control, felt stolen from Jacques Schnee.
Her hands tightened on the porcelain edge of the sink.
Out of all his children, she looked the most like him. It was an undeniable truth, one that had been pointed out to her countless times in passing remarks or side-by-side photos.
She hated it.
But it wasn't just the resemblance that unsettled her. It was the creeping fear that she might not be so different from him in other ways.
Jacques Schnee hadn't always been the man he was now—at least, that was what her mother had claimed during rare moments of candour. He'd been charming once, ambitious but kind, a man who promised the world to his family.
Then power came, and with it, a transformation that seemed inevitable.
The charm soured into manipulation, the ambition twisted into greed, and the kindness dried up entirely, replaced by cruelty and control.
Power corrupted him.
Would it corrupt her too?
Winter's gaze lingered on the mirror. She already bore his face. What if she bore his flaws as well?
She had spent years distancing herself from him, cutting ties, and rejecting everything he represented. But that nagging voice in the back of her mind whispered the questions she didn't want to confront.
What if she changed too? What if becoming the Maiden and wielding that immense power, turned her into something—or someone—she despised?
What if one day, she stopped caring about Whitley? What if she abandoned Weiss, as Jacques had abandoned their mother?
The thought made her stomach churn, a knot of dread tightening until she could no longer look at herself. She turned away abruptly with a heavy heart.
The military was supposed to be her sanctuary, the one place where Jacques couldn't reach her.
Yet here she was, his voice echoing through her mind, his shadow stretching across her life once again.
She had joined Atlas's armed forces to escape him, to forge her own path. But even here, he had managed to find her.
And the worst part? He hadn't even needed to try.
Winter's hand hovered over her wardrobe for a moment before she made her choice. She bypassed the pristine military uniforms hanging in the front. Their stark blue and white fabric was a symbol of her role in Atlas.
Instead, she reached for something tucked toward the back.
Blue pants, tailored but casual. A white shirt with a modest cut layered under a shorter blue jacket. The ensemble was practical and stripped of rank or insignia. For her shoes, she chose a simple pair of white open-toed heels—functional yet far removed from the rigid boots of her uniform.
Today, the thought of declaring her allegiance to the Atlasian military made her uncomfortable.
She strapped her rapier to her side with practiced efficiency. When she glanced at the mirror one last time, she felt a faint, fleeting sense of relief.
There was no Schnee crest on her clothing. At the very least he would not get the satisfaction of seeing her bear his colors.
Winter left her apartment, and she made her way toward the academy's gates. There was an ache in her chest, one that had grown more painful over the past few days.
But she carried it without faltering.
She always had.
Outside the academy gates, Winter found a row of taxis and quickly got into one. She gave the driver her destination: Schnee Manor. If traffic stayed light, she'd be there in twenty minutes, enough time to think.
Her gaze drifted to the passing city, but her thoughts were elsewhere. Jacques Schnee had influence, that was no secret. But what unsettled her was how he'd used it to dig up information so valuable it had even shaken the General. Information so secretive that it had been worth using just to speak with her.
And then there was his threat. He'd used Whitley as leverage, his own son. Why?
The answer whispered in the back of her mind.
Because I can.
Because I own you.
Her grip tightened on her rapier. No matter how far she went, Jacques always found a way to pull her back.
Not this time.
As the taxi turned toward the familiar gates of the Schnee estate, Winter straightened.
Whatever the bastard had planned, she would face him head-on. Let him try his games; she wasn't the same girl who'd left home.
She took a single step closer when the gates began to open with a the mechanical hum cutting through the muted sound of falling snow.
He's waiting for me. The thought came unbidden. Sure enough, there he stood, about ten or so meters beyond the gates.
Jacques Schnee stood as polished as ever, his white suit pristine and paired with a black, fur-lined overcoat that seemed more for display than warmth. Every inch of his appearance screamed the wealth and control he so proudly wielded.
He might as well had a sign that proclaimed. 'Gaze at my superiority and kneel.'
As vain as ever.
He met her eyes, his hideous mustache curling upward in its trademark style, framing the mocking smile that made her blood boil. He wasn't even trying to hide his amusement, the bastard.
Servants stood at attention beside him, their faces frozen in the same empty expressions they had learned to perfect under his control. Even Klein, who was usually so jovial and animated, masked his usual warmth with the same cold neutrality.
Still, Winter couldn't shake the feeling that she saw a flicker of something, perhaps guilt, or maybe just discomfort in his eyes.
Panic surged through Winter's chest. Where is Whitley? She searched the area frantically, but he was nowhere in sight.
Her boots scraped against the frost as she moved forward, her thoughts consumed by one thing—If he's laid a finger on Whitley…
But then, as she drew closer, a wave of dread gripped her.
Her hand went instinctively to the hilt of her rapier. The Schnee glyphs flickered at the edges of her fingers, her body responding before her mind could catch up. Her instincts screamed at her to stop, to retreat.
Grimm? The thought crossed her mind, but the wrongness in the air felt…different.
Then it clicked.
It wasn't the estate, the servants, or anything around her.
It was him.
Her father's Aura.
Winter's breath hitched. All these years living with Jacques under the same roof, and she had never once seen him use his Aura. He never spoke of it. She had simply assumed he never bothered training it.
But now, that assumption felt foolish.
Jacques Schnee didn't need Aura to command authority—his influence was more than enough.
Yet, the oppressive, suffocating presence surrounding him was unmistakable. This wasn't a normal Aura.
It was erratic. Volatile! It didn't cling to his body the way Aura usually did. It reached out, twisted, and moved, extending far beyond him.
She saw a flicker of it near the servants and noticed how they stiffened even if they couldn't see it, or even register it. The feeling was revolting, a disturbance that made her skin crawl.
The intensity of it… it was absurd. Fria's powers were the only thing she'd ever felt close to this...rot.
But even that was different. This was something far darker and far more twisted.
Jacques's Aura was drenched in malice, sadness, anger and many more emotions that raw and unrefined. None of them were good.
It wasn't Magic. Winter knew the difference. She had felt Fria's Maiden powers before, and they were nothing like this.
No, this was something else entirely.
This was the aura of a man who could only be described as the Devil.
He looked at her with the same fake smile that never reached his eyes, and spoke with a voice laced with deception.
"It's been some time, my little breeze."
There was one word Winter could use to describe his Aura.
Cursed.