SKYE'S POV
The middle weeks of summer brought a rich, vibrant life to Nighthaven that the older castle chronicles claimed hadn’t been seen since the founding of the northern passes.
The high alpine meadows, once locked in a perpetual, suffocating freeze, were now alive with a riot of color. Deep purple wild lupine, golden buttercups, and tall stalks of silver-leafed sage blanketed the steep slopes, swaying in the warm, steady breezes that drifted up from the southern lowlands. The air no longer carried the metallic sting of ozone and ice; instead, it was thick with the heavy, sweet fragrance of blooming clover, pine resin, and the rich, damp earth of the lower farm plots.
I sat on the wide stone bench of the southern terrace, a thick leather-bound journal resting open across my knees. M
