Snow fell quietly over the high spire of Frosthaven—the city born of survivors, silence, and second chances.
At its summit stood a narrow tower carved from translucent frostglass. The wind howled softly outside, like distant voices long forgiven.
Inside, Frey and Alvin stood side by side before a blackstone table etched with two crescent moons—one waning, one rising.
They were no longer soldier and fugitive.
Not commander and cursed blood.
Now, they were simply two names written in history that hadn't yet decided how to speak them.
“Ready?" Frey asked.
Alvin nodded. “Always."
The hall was filled with delegates—wolves with dull claws and human soldiers without swords. Children perched in the balconies, their legs swinging. No guards. No thrones.
Just the Covenant of Dual Moons.
Fr
