The wind keened across the northern flats like a blade drawn across glass.
Daya pulled her cloak tighter, but the cold still bit through the seams. Each breath left a silver plume that instantly froze along the fur trim of her hood.
Prince Vanda strode ahead without a shiver. The faint shimmer of dragon-fire under his skin kept him warm; she could almost see it when the moonlight struck his cheekbones, a quiet glow beneath bronze-gold skin. He didn't speak, but the long sweep of his black cloak and the sure rhythm of his boots filled the silence with authority.
They had ridden for hours before the ground shifted from crusted snow to blue-white ice. Their horses snorted and stamped, uneasy.
"From here we walk," Vanda said, voice low but carrying. "The trail grows treacherous."
Daya nodded and slid from her saddle, knees protesting the cold. "How far to the glacier?"
"Half a league. Maybe less if the wind stays kind." He caught her glance and, for the briefest instant, his expression softened. "Stay close to me. The ice likes to swallow the unwary."
They moved in single file, boots crunching on a frozen skin that sometimes creaked ominously. Stars spilled across the black sky like scattered diamonds. Somewhere beneath the frozen plain, the ancient relic pulsed—a rumor until now, but Vanda's senses told him something powerful slept here.
A sudden tremor rippled through the ground. Daya gasped and grabbed his arm.
He steadied her with a warm hand on her wrist. "Easy. The glacier is alive. It shifts."
Her heart hammered under his touch. "Alive?"
"Everything here remembers," he said. "Even ice has a memory."
They continued, the tremor fading to a faint vibration in their bones. At the horizon, a jagged crown of crystal rose from the snow—tall spires that caught the starlight and scattered it into ghostly rainbows.
"The Frozen Citadel," Vanda murmured. "What remains of the first dragons' stronghold."
Daya's eyes widened. "It's…beautiful."
"And dangerous," he added, scanning the ridges. "Legends say the Citadel guards a Heartstone—an echo of the First Flame. If someone awakened it…"
He left the rest unsaid. She felt the weight of the silence, heavy as the ice beneath them.
A sudden gust whipped her hood back, exposing her hair. Vanda stepped closer, shielding her with his body until the wind passed. His heat seeped through layers of wool, startling and strangely comforting.
"Thank you," she said, voice barely a whisper.
His eyes met hers—molten gold in the moonlight. "You should not have come," he said softly, almost to himself.
"But you would still be alone," she replied before she could think. "And someone has to make sure you don't set the world on fire."
A flicker of amusement curved his mouth. "You think you could stop me?"
"I'd certainly try."
Something unspoken passed between them—warmth in the killing cold—before he turned away, breaking the spell.
They reached the first of the crystal towers. Up close, the spires hummed with a low resonance that vibrated through their bones. Tiny fissures glowed faintly green, like veins of trapped lightning.
Daya touched a crack with her gloved fingers. A shiver shot through her, not of cold but of recognition, as if the ice itself whispered her name.
Vanda caught her hand and pulled it back sharply. "Do not touch it. The Heartstone senses life. It will draw on your warmth."
"I…heard something," she said, shaken. "Like a voice calling."
His eyes narrowed. "The relic calls to those with spirit. That makes it more dangerous."
They pressed deeper between the spires. The ground sloped downward into a wide basin where an immense disk of translucent ice lay like a mirror to the stars. At its center a single shard of emerald light pulsed, slow and steady, as if it were a heartbeat.
"The Heartstone," Vanda breathed.
The pulse quickened, as though aware of their arrival. A faint green mist coiled upward, tasting the air.
Daya felt it reach toward her, brushing her thoughts like cold silk. Welcome…
She staggered. "It knows me."
Vanda stepped in front of her, wings flickering faintly beneath his cloak. "Stay behind me."
Before he could move closer, the ground shuddered again—stronger this time. Cracks zigzagged across the ice. From the mist, dark shapes rose: creatures of half-formed ice and shadow, eyes glowing with the same eerie green.
"Guardians," Vanda growled, summoning a curl of fire into his palm. The light painted his face in fierce bronze. "Stay back, Daya. If they reach you—"
"I won't run," she said, surprising even herself.
His glance was brief but filled with something deeper than command—an unspoken trust.
Then he unfurled his hidden wings, black and iridescent, and the basin erupted in fire and light.