SKYE'S POV
The heat of midsummer settled over Nighthaven like a heavy, golden blanket, baking the stone ramparts and turning the high alpine meadows into a sea of brilliant green and wildflower gold. For generations, the stories told in the northern valleys had painted summer as a brief, mocking illusion—a fleeting moment of warmth before the inevitable return of the killing frosts and the dark, biting snows of the long dark. But this year, the warmth felt permanent. It lived in the soil, in the laughter echoing from the newly built stone houses of the lower village, and in the steady, unhurried rhythm of our daily lives.
I stood by the wide arched window of our chambers, letting the afternoon breeze cool my face. My fingers rested lightly against the smooth wood of the window sill, feel
