Chapter One – Whispers in the Snow
The wind had a voice that night.
It spoke in low sighs through the skeletal trees, in the scrape of ice against bark, in the restless swirl of snow over frozen ground. Elysia Nivis paused on the narrow path, her breath forming ghosts in the air, and listened. Most would dismiss the sound as nothing more than winter’s song. She knew better.
Frostwood had been whispering to her all her life.
She tightened her cloak, though the chill hardly touched her. The cold liked her; it curled around her like a lover, slipping beneath her skin, seeping into her bones. She’d learned long ago not to mention that to the villagers. They already looked at her strangely—too pale, too quiet, too at ease with the cold that bit everyone else raw.
Tonight the forest felt different.
Heavier. Watching.
The moon hung low and full, gilded with frostlight. In its glow, the snow seemed almost alive, tiny crystals spinning in the air as if stirred by an invisible hand. Somewhere beyond the ridge, a wolf’s howl tore through the silence—low, resonant, and close enough to quicken her pulse.
Her father’s warnings echoed in her head: Stay out of the woods after dark. The Frostbane hunt when the moon is full.
She should have turned back.
Instead, Elysia stepped off the path.
The snow accepted her weight without a sound. She moved through the trees as if the forest parted for her, and perhaps it did. The pull in her chest grew stronger—something was calling her deeper, a thread of energy tugging at her ribs. Her fingers tingled, heat blooming in her palms even in the freezing air. She rubbed them together, frowning.
And then she saw it.
A shard of ice, jutting from the ground like a blade, taller than she was and glowing faintly from within. The light inside was soft, shifting, like snow stirred by a hidden current. She reached out—hesitant, yet unable to stop herself.
The instant her fingertips brushed the surface, the world changed.
Light burst outward, blinding and sharp as shattered glass. The ground shuddered under her boots. Cold slammed into her—colder than anything she’d ever known—and with it came a voice, clear and unyielding, inside her skull:
Snowweaver.
The wind roared. Branches bent. Somewhere far away, another voice—deep, male, commanding—growled in answer.
Elysia staggered back, clutching her hand to her chest. Her breath came fast, heart hammering, yet beneath the fear was something else—recognition. The word still rang in her ears, heavy with meaning she didn’t yet understand.
Somewhere in the darkness, the wolf howled again.
This time, it was closer.
