The Frostkin Citadel stood like a memory carved into ice—a palace grown from the bones of storms and sorrow, rising from the very heart of the Yrgal Wastes. No fires burned here. No warmth welcomed the living. This place was not made to comfort. It was built to endure. And now, Selena walked willingly into its heart.
The sky above her was the color of bruised pearl, darkening at the edges like a closing wound. Frost glittered on her lashes. Snow did not fall from the clouds—it drifted upward, as though time moved differently here. The wind sang low songs that remembered blood and betrayal.
Selena's cloak clung to her shoulders, heavy with enchanted fur and frostwoven thread, but it did little to block the chill that seeped beneath her skin. Still, she moved without hesitation, each step echoing through the icy expanse of the citadel's hollow entranceway.
