"Halt!" Alex roared, raising his fist.

The column ground to a messy halt. Horses neighed in protest, and soldiers bumped into each other, confusion rippling through the ranks.

Gage Stone, the brash captain of the guard, spurred his horse forward. His face was red from the cold and the wind. "Your Highness, why are we stopping? The storm is getting worse! We need to clear this pass before nightfall!"

Alex ignored him. He turned his sharp gaze on Silas. "You said this pass is prone to rockfalls. How prone?"

Silas glanced at the towering cliffs on either side of them. "Very, Your Highness. The scouts saw fresh scree on the path ahead."

Alex's mind was racing. The voice had said she was going broke. While he didn't grasp the word's full meaning, the tone was a clear signal of cost, of sacrifice. It was a warning. A reluctant, annoyed warning—but a warning nonetheless.

He had to stop the column. But he couldn't tell them the truth. He couldn't say, 'The voice in my head told me to stop.'

He dismounted, his boots crunching on the frozen gravel. He walked over to the cliff face, running his gloved hand over the rock. It was loose. Crumbling.

He gripped a chunk of stone and pulled. It came away in his hand, tumbling to the ground with a dull thud.

"The rock is unstable," Alex announced, turning back to face his men. His voice carried over the wind, leaving no room for argument. "I can feel it. There is a risk of a landslide. We're not moving forward until we know more."

Gage scoffed, waving a hand dismissively. "Your Highness, we've crossed worse terrain than this. A little loose gravel shouldn't—"

"Are you questioning my order, Gage?" Alex's voice dropped to a dangerous whisper. He stepped closer to the captain, his blue eyes locking onto Gage's brown ones. "Do you want to be responsible when the mountain falls on our heads?"

Gage swallowed hard. The look in the prince's eyes was terrifying. It was the look of a man who had already seen the future. "No, Your Highness."

"Then shut up and follow orders," Alex said. He turned to two of his fastest scouts. "You two. Ride ahead. Go five miles into the pass. Check the stability of the cliffs. Report back immediately."

The scouts saluted and spurred their horses, disappearing into the swirling snow.

The men waited. The wind howled. The tension was thick enough to choke on.

Alex stood like a statue, his eyes fixed on the pass. He was gambling everything on a voice that complained about its finances. If the scouts came back and said the path was clear, he would look like a coward. His authority would be shattered.

But if they came back and said the mountain was ready to fall...

Clara watched the little scout icons separate from the main group on her screen. A progress bar popped up.

[Your followers have dispatched scouts to check the road ahead. Warning system active. Estimated time until potential collapse: 2 hours.]

"Two hours?" Clara yawned. "Perfect. Nap time."

She saved the game and closed the laptop. She needed a shower, and she had a book on medieval succession crises that wasn't going to read itself.

She grabbed the book and curled up in her favorite armchair, losing herself in tales of poisoned wine and backstabbing lords. It reminded her of Alex's situation. The exiled prince, betrayed by his family.

She smiled to herself. She was getting way too invested in a video game. But she couldn't help it. There was something about him. He looked so sad, so determined.

When my first paycheck from the gift shop comes in next week, she thought, I'm going to buy him the best armor in the store. He deserves it.

Miles away, in a universe of ice and stone, Alex stood in the freezing wind, waiting for his world to change. He didn't move. He barely breathed.

He was waiting for the truth.

The minutes crawled by like hours. The snow was piling up around the horses' hooves, and the men were shivering violently. Even Silas, who never complained, was starting to look green around the gills.

Gage Stone shifted in his saddle, his teeth chattering. "Your Highness, the scouts have been gone for over an hour. If we don't move soon, we'll freeze to death standing here. Maybe we should—"

Alex shot him a look that could have frozen fire. Gage snapped his mouth shut.

Alex's calm was a facade. Inside, his stomach was churning with acid. What if I'm wrong? What if the voice was just a trick of the wind? What if I'm leading my men to their deaths through my own arrogance?

Then, through the curtain of white, two shapes appeared.

They were riding hard, leaning low over their horses' necks. The scouts.

They didn't slow down as they approached the column. They rode straight up to Alex and practically fell off their horses, tumbling into the snow.

"Your Highness!" one of them gasped, his face white with terror, not just from the cold. "You were right! By the gods, you were right!"

Alex grabbed the man by the shoulders, his fingers digging into the scout's wet cloak. "Speak!"

"We went in about three miles," the scout stammered, his whole body shaking. "We stopped to check an overhang. And then... the whole mountain just... moved. The cliff face collapsed. Not where we were standing—but about half a mile ahead. The entire path is buried under a hundred tons of rock and ice. If we had been on that section when it happened..."

The second scout nodded frantically, tears freezing on his cheeks. "We would have been buried alive, my prince. There's no question."

Silence fell over the column. A heavy, stunned silence.

Alex stood very still, processing the information. The Guardian hadn't stopped the mountain from falling. She had warned him. She had shown him where not to be.

It wasn't absolute protection. It was intelligence. And intelligence, he understood, was sometimes more valuable than any shield.

Then, Gage Stone slid off his horse. He hit his knees in the snow, his head bowed. "Forgive me, Your Highness. I doubted you."

One by one, the other soldiers followed. They dropped to their knees in the snow, their heads bowed to the prince who had saved them from certain death. They weren't just looking at a prince anymore. They were looking at a prophet.

Alex looked down at his kneeling men. His face was a mask of calm authority.

"Get up," he commanded, his voice steady. "The pass is blocked. We go around. Move out."

But as he turned to mount his horse, he slipped his hand into his pocket. His fingers were trembling. Not from the cold, but from the sheer, terrifying weight of the truth.

The Guardian was real. And She had just saved his life—not by magic, but by information. She sees what I cannot see, Alex realized. And she warns me. That is enough.

Later that night, they made camp in a sheltered valley. The men were quiet, reverent. They gave Alex a wide berth, as if he were a live wire.

Alex retreated to his tent, closing the flap tightly behind him. He lit a single candle and sat on his bedroll.

He stared at the canvas ceiling, his heart still racing.

"Thank you," he whispered into the dark. "I heard your warning. I don't know who you are, or what you want from me. But... thank you."

He waited. He strained his ears, hoping to hear that annoyed, beautiful voice again.

Nothing.

He wasn't surprised. Gods didn't answer on command. They weren't pets. They were forces of nature, vast and unknowable.

But one thing was certain. This was a relationship now. A transaction. And Alex intended to find out exactly what the terms were.