The air outside the hall was colder than before — the kind of cold that seemed to hum through the bones.
Snow drifted lightly from a sky still empty of stars, the moon a pale ghost behind clouds.
For a long while, none of them spoke. The weight of the hall — the stares, the questions, the quiet fear — still clung to their skin.
Azel was the first to break the silence.
"You should rest up tonight," he said, his breath misting in the air. "We'll speak to the elders again tomorrow… properly this time."
Kairis folded her arms, half-watchful, half-guarded. "And if they decide they don't want us here?"
Azel's eyes flicked toward her, unreadable. "Then they'll have to change their minds."
He turned toward the dim rows of huts below. "There's a house set for you. Use it."
Kael nodded once and moved ahead, silent as always. Kairis followed, glancing back only once toward Azel — and then to Lyra, whose eyes lingered on the horizon.
The snow whispered beneath their boots. The wind carried no sound but their breathing.
---
The house was small, built of stone and timber darkened by age. A single fire burned in the corner, soft and low, its light washing the walls in gold.
Kairis fell asleep first, her sword within reach, exhaustion winning easily. Kael leaned against the wall, quiet and unmoving, eyes half-closed but awake.
Lyra lay near the window, watching the firelight flicker across the frost on the glass.
Her thoughts would not still.
Azel's words turned over and over in her mind — Your bond… your contract… they only answered to your name.
She closed her eyes. And for a heartbeat, the world slipped away.
The scent of ash. A hall of light. Voices — not human, but vast — whispering her name.
A figure of ice standing before her, its voice like a storm breaking across water.
"Will you bear us?" it had asked.
And she had said—
Lyra's eyes flew open. The fire had burned low. Her breath trembled in the cold air.
The memory was gone — only the echo remained.
Outside, the wind rose again, carrying snow against the walls like a whisper of something ancient trying to be remembered.
She turned on her side, staring into the dying flame until sleep finally took her.
The morning came gray and silent.
No sunlight — only a dim, colorless glow seeping through the frost-coated window. The air hung heavy with cold, the kind that made breath visible and movement slow.
Lyra stirred first. The fire had gone out during the night, and thin ribbons of smoke curled from the ashes. She sat up quietly, drawing her cloak tighter as her eyes adjusted to the pale light.
Kairis was already awake, sitting near the door, blade across her lap as always. Kael leaned against the far wall, arms folded, his eyes half open but sharp.
A soft knock broke the silence.
When Kairis opened the door, a small boy stood there — no older than ten, bundled in a wool cloak far too big for him. His cheeks were flushed from the cold, and in his hands he carried a wooden tray with steaming bowls.
He smiled, gap-toothed and shy.
"Ahjussi Azel said to bring this," he said, setting the tray down carefully. "And… he said to tell you to come to the hall after eating."
Kairis blinked at him, a little thrown. "Ahjussi?" she repeated under her breath.
Kael smirked faintly. "Seems your friend's popular with the children."
Lyra crouched beside the boy, her tone gentle. "Thank you. Tell Azel we'll be there soon."
The boy grinned and nodded, his eyes bright. "Okay! Don't be late — the elders don't like waiting."
And with that, he ran off into the snow, his small footprints vanishing quickly behind him.
They ate in near silence. The stew was warm, simple — roots, herbs, and a thin slice of meat — but after weeks of cold rations, it felt almost like luxury.
Kairis finished first, wiping her mouth with her glove. "So. Elders. Think they'll be any kinder in daylight?"
Kael shrugged. "Doubt it."
Lyra didn't answer. Her thoughts lingered on the memory that had flickered through her dreams — voices like thunder and a promise she couldn't remember making.
When she finally spoke, her voice was quiet. "Let's not keep them waiting."
---
The hall was brighter in the morning but no less heavy. Firelight shimmered off the carved beams, and the faint hum of murmured prayers filled the corners of the room.
Three elders sat where they had last night — the same faces, the same watchful eyes. But this time, the crowd behind them was larger. Villagers filled the benches, curiosity and unease threading through the air.
Azel stood near the hearth, arms crossed. He met their eyes briefly, giving a single nod before stepping aside.
The eldest woman was the first to speak, her tone cool but not unkind. "You slept under our roofs, strangers. That makes you part of this valley for now. But Azel tells us things that stir old wounds — and older fears."
The gray-haired man beside her leaned forward. "If what he says is true, then the seals stir once more… and the Deities whisper through the veil." His eyes settled on Lyra, sharp and searching. "Do you hear them still?"
Lyra met his gaze steadily, though her heart pounded in her chest. "Not… clearly," she admitted. "Only fragments. Echoes. But I know they're not gone."
A murmur swept through the hall. Some of awe. Some of dread.
The youngest of the three elders spoke next — her voice trembled slightly. "If the seals break, the world will change again. We have barely rebuilt from the last war. Why come here? Why now?"
Lyra hesitated — but Azel spoke before she could.
"Because the frost stirs beneath the mountain," he said. "I've felt it. If it breaks without her, without the bond that held it… it won't just unseal. It will devour everything."
The room fell silent. Even the fire seemed to dim.
Lyra looked toward Azel — then at the elders. "If that's true," she said quietly, "then I'll go. To the mountain. To the first seal. Whether I remember or not, that bond is mine to bear."
Kairis's head snapped toward her. "Lyra—"
But Lyra didn't look away. Her voice was steady. "I'll see it myself."
The eldest woman studied her for a long moment before finally nodding. "Then so be it. If the frost stirs, let the fire answer."
Her words echoed like a quiet verdict, and the hall slowly exhaled.
Azel stepped closer, his expression unreadable. "Then we leave at midday."
The words seemed to still the murmurs that had begun to rise. Lyra met his gaze — steady, determined.
Kairis exhaled sharply, shaking her head. "You don't waste time, do you?"
"We can't afford to," Azel replied. "If the frost's stirring, every hour matters."
The eldest woman gave a slow nod. "Then may the path favor you, travelers. Whatever lies ahead — face it as those who still remember the fire."
Her words hung heavy in the air.
Lyra bowed her head in quiet respect. "We will."