The winter brought snow to the eastern valley.
William stood at the window of his small house, watching the flakes drift down from a gray sky. The fields were buried. The roads were hidden. The village was quiet, bundled against the cold, waiting for spring.
Anna sat by the hearth, her metal hands wrapped around a warm stone. The cracks in her chest had been sealed with iron and will, but the scars remained. She bore them like badges of honor.
"The Shadow is dead," Anna said. "But his legacy lives on."
William turned from the window. "What do you mean?"
"I have been thinking. About the men who followed him. The former Wardens. The displaced nobles. They believed in something. They believed in order. Control. Fear." She looked at her hands. "I was created to be their weapon. But I chos
