Neris sat frozen, the final syllables of his mother's words lingering in the air like the echo of distant thunder. The snow outside the window swirled with sudden urgency, as though the storm itself had heard the name whispered: the prophecy of Borealis.
"Freyer…" Neris breathed, tasting the word. "The seer… she foresaw this? Before all of it?"
Mowenna's hands tightened around her cup. "Long before your birth, Neris. Before the war, before Azarion ever dreamed of conquest. The seers of Frostmere have always watched the bloodlines, the children blessed by Borealis. And Freyer… she spoke clearly of what your line might bring."
Neris's mind spun. "And what exactly… what did she say?" His voice was tight with disbelief, fear, and something darker: awe.
