The northern sky darkened long before night fell.
Clouds gathered in towering spirals, gray-blue and heavy, as if the heavens themselves were weighing Veyrith's resolve. The deeper he flew, the harsher the wind became—no longer a cold breeze but a relentless, biting force that clawed at his wings like talons of ice.
Veyrith tucked his wings closer to his body, pushing forward with powerful strokes.
He refused to slow.
Not after seeing Aelinne with his own eyes—even if she had been trapped beneath ice, her voice echoing like a memory. Something about her presence had shaken him, carved itself deep.
She knew about his dream.
His vision.
Prophecy… she'd called it.
The words needled at him like embedded shards.
But answers lay ahead. In the Frosthold.
The Stormwall
The wind suddenly shifted.
A roar—not from any beast, but from nature itself—boomed across the sky as a colossal wall of swirling snow and ice appeared. It stretched across the horizon like a frozen mountain turned inside out. The air vibrated with freezing power.
The Stormwall.
No tale had ever mentioned its true form. Some called it the boundary between seasons. Others claimed it was the breath of a sleeping god.
Veyrith could only stare for a moment, awe anchoring him in place.
Lightning—blue lightning—spun within the storm. Snow spiraled in impossibly tight columns. The whole storm moved, alive, like a colossal serpent made of winter.
"Is this… what stands between me and the Frosthold?"
If so, then crossing it would be no simple flight.
He flew closer.
The temperature plummeted. Snow bit into his scales like a thousand needles. Frost crusted the edges of his wings. His fire-heart blazed hotter instinctively, trying to protect him, but even that heat felt smothered.
The storm pushed him back, the wind catching his wings and forcing them upward.
Veyrith snarled.
"Move," he growled to the storm itself, beating his wings harder.
The storm howled in reply.
Snow thickened, turning the world white. His vision shrank. The cold numbed the joints of his wings. His breath came out in shallow bursts, freezing in the air before dissipating.
Instinct told him to turn back.
But instinct had also told him to ignore the visions—for years—and that had led him nowhere.
So he pressed on.
Deeper.
Deeper into the storm until he could barely see his own chest.
Fire Against Winter
A sudden blast of wind slammed into him from below.
Veyrith was thrown upward, tumbling through the air. He roared, wings flaring, trying to stabilize.
Another blast.
This time from the right.
He crashed into a column of spinning ice shards. The shards scraped his scales, slicing through the softer skin between them. A sharp pain lanced through his shoulder.
Snarling, Veyrith snapped his wings inward—then released a burst of flame.
Not large. Not sweeping.
A controlled flare, aimed downward to propel himself up and out of the spinning trap.
The flame sputtered at first—weak, strangled by the cold.
Then it caught.
With a burst of heat, Veyrith shot upward, narrowly clearing the ice column.
But the Stormwall only grew more violent.
Thunder cracked. Snow roared. If he tried to brute-force through it, he would freeze or be torn apart.
He needed precision.
He needed—
A path.
Veyrith narrowed his eyes, searching through the white maelstrom.
And then he saw it.
A strange break in the storm—a thin, spiraling corridor of clearer air cutting diagonally through the chaos. Snow still swirled around it, but the winds were calmer, almost guided.
Not natural.
A passage created by magic.
Aelinne's magic.
His heart hammered.
He dove toward it.
The Hidden Passage
The moment he entered the corridor, the wind softened. Snow still brushed his wings, but gently—no longer with murderous intent. The passage seemed to curve with him, bending its path as though responding to his presence.
Someone wanted him to pass through.
A thrill pressed up his spine.
Aelinne… are you watching?
The corridor spiraled downward like the path of a falling star. Veyrith followed it, letting the storm fade behind him. Slowly, the blizzard thinned. Snowflakes drifted lazily instead of clawing at him.
And then—
The Stormwall burst open.
Veyrith shot through into clear sky.
He gasped.
The world ahead was silent. Still. A vast tundra stretched to the horizon, unmarred by tracks or civilization. Everything glittered with frostlight.
But far in the distance—rising like a massive blue spire carved from the heart of winter—was a fortress.
Not made of stone.
Not shaped by hand.
A frozen palace, towering and jagged, its walls formed from layers of ice thicker than any mountain cliff. Frostlight pulsed gently across its surface, veins of magic glowing like rivers of frozen fire.
The Frosthold.
Veyrith's breath hitched.
It was real.
After all those nights, all those dreams—
It was real.
He beat his wings once, twice, then glided toward it.
But as he approached, the temperature fell again—colder than any he had felt so far. Each breath felt like inhaling shards of ice. Frost crept along his horns.
He slowed, landing on the crunching snow several hundred meters from the fortress.
His claws sunk into deep drifts.
The silence here was absolute. Even the wind refused to stir.
A shiver ran through him.
Something ancient lived here.
Something powerful.
He lifted his head warily as he approached the Frosthold's outer barrier—a shimmering curtain of blue frostlight that surrounded the palace like a dome.
As he stepped closer—
A sound cracked across the tundra.
A single note, sharp and distant.
A chime.
Veyrith froze.
The frostlight curtain rippled like disturbed water.
Then—
FWOOM—
A blast of icy magic shot toward him.
Veyrith leapt back just in time, the beam slamming into the snow where he'd stood. Ice exploded outward in a wave that froze the ground solid.
A voice echoed across the tundra.
This one was not gentle.
It was cold.
A warning.
"Do not approach the Frosthold, fire-born."
Veyrith's heart lurched.
This was not Aelinne's voice.
He scanned the air.
At first, he saw nothing. Then the frostlight rippled again, and a figure emerged from the barrier like a ghost sliding through walls.
A woman.
Tall, armored in ice-forged plates that shimmered like frozen diamonds. Her hair was white as winter's heart, braided with threads of frost. Her eyes glowed with pale blue power.
She held a spear carved from solid ice.
And she looked ready to skewer him.
Veyrith spread his wings instinctively. "I'm not here to fight."
Her expression didn't change.
"You trespass on sacred frost. You bring fire where no flame is permitted."
"I'm searching for Aelinne," Veyrith said, lowering his head cautiously. "She called me."
The warrior's gaze sharpened.
"Aelinne calls no one."
"She called me."
"I do not believe you," she said flatly.
Veyrith's patience thinned. "Look at me. Do you think I came all this way for fun? A fire dragon crossing the Stormwall? I nearly froze my wings off!"
The woman did not move.
But her eyes flicked—ever so slightly—toward the sky behind him.
As if checking for something.
"What are you looking for?" he growled.
"A trap. A second fire-wing. An ambush." Her tone remained icy. "Your kind has tried to breach our lands before."
Veyrith stiffened.
"I came alone."
Her grip on the spear tightened. Frost crackled along its length.
She was preparing another attack.
Veyrith braced himself.
But before either could strike—
A new voice drifted across the tundra.
Soft.
Gentle.
Hauntingly familiar.
"Enough, Serah."
The frost-armored woman—Serah—immediately knelt, lowering her spear.
Veyrith turned slowly.
A figure walked out of the frostlight barrier.
A woman with hair of shimmering silver-blue, floating gently around her as though underwater. Her skin was pale like carved ice. Snowflakes drifted from her fingertips with every step.
Her eyes—deep, crystalline blue—locked onto his.
Aelinne.
Not as a reflection.
Not a flicker beneath ice.
But real.
Standing before him.
Veyrith's breath caught in his throat.
"Aelinne…" he whispered.
Her expression softened, though sadness shadowed her gaze.
"You came farther than I expected," she said quietly. "And far sooner."
Veyrith stepped toward her.
"I came because you called me."
She nodded once.
"I did."
Serah rose behind her, expression troubled. "Lady Aelinne, this creature—"
"—is here by my invitation," Aelinne said firmly.
Serah fell silent.
Aelinne turned back to Veyrith.
"Welcome to the Frosthold, fire-born."
The frostlight barrier dissolved for a moment, creating a narrow passage.
Aelinne gestured.
"Come. There is much you must see… and far less time than we hoped."
A chill—not from cold—ran through Veyrith's spine.
He stepped forward, entering the Frosthold.
Behind him, the barrier sealed again with a resonant chime.
As the frozen gates opened, Veyrith realized one truth:
Whatever waited within these walls would change the fate of more than just him.
It would change the fate of the world.