The air was heavy with frost, every breath visible as Mirelith moved swiftly through the camp's medical tent. Supplies were running dangerously low, and every wounded soldier she treated was a reminder of their desperate need. The smell of blood and antiseptic clung to her skin, and no matter how quickly she worked, it was never enough. Bandages were scarce, salves nearly gone, and the small stash of herbs she had managed to preserve was dwindling by the hour.

She paused for a moment, brushing a strand of hair from her face as she glanced at the healer working beside her. The older woman, a local from the surrounding area, had proven invaluable in teaching Mirelith about the region's flora. Mirelith turned to her now, her voice low but urgent.

"Is there anywhere nearby where I can find herbs? Something... anything that can help with antiseptic?"

The woman hesitated, her brow furrowing. "There is a plant," she said cautiously. "A small bush with purple flowers. It grows near the river to the north. The flower can be crushed and used to clean wounds." She paused, her voice taking on a warning tone. "But it's barren up there, and the snow makes the terrain dangerous. You'll find no shelter if the weather turns."

Mirelith nodded, determination hardening her features. "I'll be careful. Thank you."

Without another word, she grabbed a small basket, wrapping herself in her thickest cloak. She didn't tell anyone where she was going. She couldn't afford the delay of an argument, nor could she risk someone trying to stop her. The soldiers needed medicine, and she would not sit idly by while they suffered.

The biting cold greeted her as she stepped beyond the camp's boundaries. The snow crunched beneath her boots, and the wind howled through the barren trees. Each step was a battle against the freezing air, but she pressed on, her mind focused on the task ahead. She followed the healer's directions, heading north toward the river.

The journey felt endless, the icy wind slicing through her cloak and stinging her face. Her breath came in ragged puffs as the cold seeped into her bones, but she refused to turn back. Finally, after what felt like hours but was only twenty minutes, she spotted the glint of water through the trees. The river stretched out before her, its surface partially frozen, the edges glistening with ice. And there, nestled near the bank, was the bush she had been searching for. The small purple flowers stood out vividly against the stark white snow.

Relief flooded her as she hurried forward, kneeling beside the bush. Her gloved hands worked quickly, plucking the delicate flowers and placing them carefully into the basket. The cold numbed her fingers, but she didn't stop. She needed as many as she could carry.

The wind shifted suddenly, carrying with it the faint sound of footsteps crunching in the snow. Mirelith froze, her heart pounding in her chest. She glanced around, her eyes scanning the surrounding trees. The barren landscape offered little cover, and the feeling of being watched sent a chill down her spine that had nothing to do with the cold.

She moved cautiously, trying to make herself as small and quiet as possible. But as she stepped back from the bush, clutching her basket, a sharp sound broke through the stillness—the unmistakable twang of a bowstring. An arrow whistled past her head, embedding itself in a tree trunk mere inches away.

She spun around, her breath catching in her throat. A knight, clad in the dark armor of Dunmere, emerged from the shadows, his bow drawn and a cruel sneer curling his lips.

"Well, well," he drawled, his voice dripping with mockery. "What's a lady like you doing all alone out here? Lost your way?"

Panic surged through Mirelith, but she forced herself to remain calm. She tightened her grip on the basket, her mind racing. She needed to get away, but the knight's predatory gaze told her he wouldn't let her go without a fight.

Unbeknownst to her, Caius had been watching from the shadows. He had seen her slip out of the camp and had followed her, his instincts telling him something was amiss. When he saw the knight draw his bow, fury ignited within him. Without hesitation, he stepped forward, his sword gleaming in the pale light as he called out.

"Stand down!" Caius's voice rang out, authoritative and unyielding.

The Dunmere knight turned, surprise flashing across his face before it twisted into a snarl. "Prince Caius," he said mockingly. "Didn't expect to see you here."

Caius didn't waste time with words. He lunged forward, his blade striking with deadly precision. The knight's bow fell to the ground as he barely parried Caius's attack, drawing his own sword in the process. The clash of steel echoed through the trees as the two men fought, their movements quick and brutal.

The Dunmere knight was skilled, his strikes precise and his defenses solid. Caius, however, fought with a fury born of both anger and purpose. His blade moved with deadly efficiency, each swing calculated to disarm or incapacitate. Sparks flew as their swords collided, the sharp sound cutting through the howling wind.

"You're out of your depth, Dunmere scum," Caius growled, pressing the attack. His strikes forced the knight back toward the riverbank, each blow more forceful than the last.

The knight sneered, his eyes glinting with malice. "You think a prince's title scares me? Titles mean nothing on the battlefield."

He countered with a vicious upward slash, narrowly missing Caius's face. The prince dodged, his movements swift and precise, and retaliated with a quick thrust aimed at the knight's exposed side. The knight twisted away, but not before Caius's blade nicked his armor, drawing a thin line of blood.

Mirelith watched in horror, clutching her basket as the fight raged on. She couldn't stand by and do nothing. Setting the basket down, she grabbed a sturdy branch from the ground, gripping it tightly as she prepared to help. Her heart pounded in her chest, but she refused to let fear paralyze her.

As she approached, the knight caught sight of her out of the corner of his eye. With a vicious shove, he pushed Caius back momentarily and turned his attention to Mirelith. She raised the branch, her grip firm despite her trembling hands, but the knight was faster. He swatted the branch aside with his sword, sending it spinning into the snow. Before she could react, he delivered a brutal shove that sent her sprawling backward.

Mirelith stumbled, her feet slipping on the icy bank. She struggled to regain her balance, but the slick surface betrayed her. With a gasp, she fell into the freezing river, the shock of the icy water stealing the breath from her lungs. The current dragged her under, the weight of her soaked cloak pulling her deeper. She struggled, her limbs heavy and unresponsive as the cold sapped her strength.

Caius saw her fall, his heart lurching in his chest. "Mirelith!" he shouted, fury and fear intertwining. With a final, powerful strike, he disarmed the knight, sending the enemy's sword clattering to the ground. Without hesitation, Caius drove his blade into the knight's chest, the Dunmere soldier's sneer replaced by a look of shock as he crumpled to the ground.

Caius didn't spare the fallen knight another glance. His heart hammered in his chest as he sprinted to the riverbank, the cold wind biting at his face. The sound of the rushing current filled his ears, but his eyes were locked on the water, scanning frantically for any sign of Mirelith. His breath came in ragged gasps, each one forming a misty cloud in the freezing air.

Then he saw it—her cloak, a fleeting shadow against the icy surface. It floated briefly, the dark fabric swirling in the current before it sank below the waterline. "Mirelith!" he shouted, his voice breaking with desperation. Without a second's hesitation, Caius plunged into the river.

The cold was unlike anything he had ever felt. It struck him like a wall of knives, the icy water cutting through his armor and clothing, stealing the breath from his lungs. His body screamed in protest, but he forced himself forward, his arms slicing through the current as he swam deeper. The murky water blurred his vision, but he didn't stop. He couldn't stop.

"Please," he whispered to himself, his teeth chattering even as his lungs burned. "Please, Mirelith, hold on."

Every second felt like an eternity as he dove deeper, the weight of the water pressing against him. His hands searched blindly, his fingers brushing against debris and ice. Then, finally, he felt it—fabric. His fingers closed around the edge of her cloak, and he pulled with all his strength. His heart sank when her limp form came into view, her face pale and lifeless.

"No," Caius breathed, his voice trembling with both exertion and fear. He wrapped an arm around her waist, holding her tightly as he kicked toward the surface. The current fought him every step of the way, but he pushed through it, his determination unyielding.

When they broke the surface, Caius gasped for air, his chest heaving. He held Mirelith's head above water, his eyes darting toward the riverbank. The distance felt impossibly far, but he gritted his teeth and began swimming, every stroke fueled by sheer willpower. The freezing water clawed at him, threatening to drag them both under, but he refused to let go.

By the time he reached the riverbank, his limbs felt like lead, and his breaths came in ragged, uneven gasps. He hauled Mirelith onto the snow-covered ground, his arms trembling with exhaustion. Her body was unnaturally still, her lips tinged blue, and her damp hair clung to her face. The sight of her like this sent a wave of panic crashing over him.

"Mirelith," he murmured, his voice breaking. He leaned over her, his hands trembling as he brushed the wet hair from her face. Her chest didn't rise, and her skin was cold to the touch. Fear gripped him like a vice, but he forced himself to focus. He pressed his ear to her mouth, praying for a breath, a faint sign of life. There was nothing.

"No," he whispered, his voice cracking. "No, no, no. Mirelith, don't do this. Don't leave me." Caius's plea hung in the air as the wind howled around them, the snow falling heavier, as if the world itself mourned. He tightened his trembling hands into fists, his knuckles white as desperation consumed him.

His breath hitched, a single tear sliding down his cheek as he whispered again, "Mirelith, please..."

And then, nothing but silence.