The night pressed down heavy on the quiet town, and for once, silence wasn't comforting. Sera lay still in her bed, her eyes wide open even though the dream had ended hours ago. The fragments of it clung to her mind, sharper than glass — Solarius's burning gaze, the endless stretch of snow under Glacielle's feet, the clash of wind and earth swirling like a storm around her. It had felt too real. Too raw.
Her breathing slowed, but she still couldn't shake it. Dreams usually faded, dissolving like ink in water the moment she woke. But this one? Every detail seemed etched into her memory — the heat, the frost, the voices calling her name.
She sat up, hugging her knees against her chest.
"Just a dream," she whispered into the dark. Her voice sounded small, fragile, as if the room itself was listening. "Only a dream."
But the snowflake mark on her wrist betrayed her words. It wasn't glowing fiercely — not yet — but it pulsed faintly, like a heartbeat that wasn't her own. She rubbed at it furiously, trying to shake the sensation, but the cold lingering under her skin wouldn't leave.
Outside, the wind stirred. The curtains swayed even though the window was shut.
Sera froze.
The whisper came next. Soft. Like a breath.
Veyrion…
Her heart skipped.
"No," she muttered, pulling the blanket over her head like she was eight years old again. "I'm imagining this. I'm not a child anymore. I don't believe in fairytales."
But she did believe. Or at least, a part of her always had. Her parents' bedtime story — the rulers of Veyrion, the chosen ones — it was carved into her bones, stitched into her soul whether she wanted it or not.
And tonight, something had shifted.
The whisper grew stronger, not loud but steady, curling into her ears like smoke.
Come.
The word made her blood run cold.
She threw the blanket off and stood, her bare feet brushing against the cold tiles. She tiptoed toward the window, her breath fogging the air though the night wasn't supposed to be this cold. Summer should've held heat, yet her room felt like it had been dipped in winter.
The glass was frosted. Actual frost. She touched it, and the chill stung her fingers.
Her mark pulsed again.
She pulled her hand back quickly, but something caught her eye in the corner — not outside, not inside, but right there in her room.
A shimmer.
It was small at first, almost like light refracting off water. A ripple in the air. She blinked, thinking her eyes were playing tricks on her, but the shimmer didn't vanish. Instead, it grew, widening like a curtain being drawn.
Her mouth went dry.
It looked like… a veil.
Thin, translucent, swaying gently as though stirred by an invisible breeze. And behind it — or maybe within it — she saw something impossible. A forest blanketed in snow. Tall trees bending under frost, their branches glistening in silver light.
Her pulse raced.
She stumbled backward, clutching her bedpost for support. "This—this can't—"
But the veil shimmered brighter, responding to her voice.
Chosen… the whisper came again. Louder now. Like dozens of voices layered together, each one echoing against her ribs.
She pressed her hands against her ears. "Stop!"
The room obeyed. Silence fell.
For a heartbeat, only the sound of her breathing remained. She dared to look again. The veil was still there. It hadn't disappeared. If anything, it looked stronger, more alive.
Her chest rose and fell rapidly.
Should she touch it? Step closer?
Her instincts screamed to run, to slam the door and wake her parents — but another part of her, the part that remembered her mother's gentle voice saying stories like to come true in quiet places, held her frozen.
This was one of those quiet places. And something was coming true.
She edged closer, step by step. The shimmer hummed faintly, its light reflecting in her wide eyes. When she raised her wrist, the snowflake mark gleamed, brighter than before. The veil seemed to respond, rippling toward her as if reaching out.
Her hand trembled in the air between them.
One step closer and she would know what waited beyond. One step closer and maybe the dream wouldn't be a dream anymore.
Her throat tightened. "Why me?" she whispered.
No answer came ... only the faint glow of her mark and the veil's restless shimmer.
And then...
A sudden crash echoed outside her window. Something sharp and metallic. She gasped, stumbling backward again. By the time she steadied herself and dared to look, the veil had faded, shrinking into nothingness until the room was ordinary once more.
No frost. No shimmer. No whisper.
Only darkness.
Sera collapsed onto her bed, her chest heaving. She didn't know whether to be relieved or terrified. Maybe it really was just her imagination. Maybe she was losing her mind.
But when she looked down at her wrist, the snowflake mark glowed faintly still — steady, undeniable, and real.
She didn't sleep the rest of that night. Every creak of the house, every brush of wind against her window made her jump. By morning, she had convinced herself of one thing:
The veil had appeared for her.
And next time, she wasn't sure if it would let her walk away.