The world returned in fragments.
First cold.
Not the familiar chill of her mountain village wrapped under starfrost nights no. This was deeper. Sharper. A cold that didn't just bite the skin but sank into bones like poisoned needles threading through marrow.
Then scent.
Snow, yes, but beneath it was something richer. Incense? Myrrh and frostbloom petals burned low on silver braziers scattered across an enormous hall so large she couldn't see its edges even as her eyes struggled open.
Light came last not firelight or sunlight but moonlight filtering through towering arches made entirely of fused ice blocks carved with runes that pulsed faintly blue as she blinked up at them like stars fallen to earth.
Lira gasped and pain lanced up her side from where metal cuffs bit into both wrists behind her back: smooth bands forged not of iron but something paler like liquid mercury frozen mid-pour and they filled with energy every time she tried to move too fast
She sat upright on what felt like silk woven over marble stone a long bench draped in white furs too soft to be real and spun around wildly despite the restraints…
She wasn't alone.
Guards lined the walls not silent soldiers clad head-to-toe this time but women dressed in layered ice-blue battle gowns with steel-threaded sashes crisscrossing their chests marking high rank among Vardenhold's elite warrior caste known only as "The Frostsworn."Each bore twin daggers hung low across hips each stood still as statues none met her gaze directly.
But one did watch from across the room in shadow near a throne raised three steps upon pure black stone shaped like jagged obsidian shards thrust upward by ancient force.
There he stood again:
Lord Kaelen Varden—the man who took her from home without explanation or mercy, the warlord whose glowing silver eyes had haunted every second since unconsciousness claimed her after that terrifying ride southward atop a beast-shaped storm-wolf no natural creature could have birthed.
And now?
He was simply watching a goblet resting between long fingers gloved in black leather stitched with thread finer than spider silk at his lips nothing more than water (she noted bitterly). Not wine. No feast spread before him either only silence pressed against silence...
Then he spoke with a voice so low it didn't feel heard it was felt, vibrating against ribs:
"You're awake."
No question.
No concern.
Just a statement as if timing mattered less than certainty itself had spoken first word today solely because *she finally breathed right.
"I…" Her voice cracked dry throat catching on fear sharpened by confusion "What is this place?"
His gaze narrowed slightly not unkindly? Impossible! Still he looked almost curious now
"You don't know?" he said slowly "You stand inside Vardenhold Palace the heart of northern power for three hundred years built above veins where magic bleeds upward from worldbone roots"
"And yet," he added coldly "you do not tremble."
"I'm scared," she snapped back fiercely "But fear doesn't make me weak!"
That caught him off guard an actual pause as if someone dared contradict winter itself and survived?
A muscle flickered along his jawline beneath pale skin stretched tight over aristocratic bone structure few men lived past twenty-five years without war carving flaws into such perfection.
"Why am I here?" Lira demanded rising shakily despite bindings "I'm nobody! Just some farm girl who bakes rye bread better than any woman twice my age. I grow turnips most seasons barely feed my family."
"You are Lyssara Valmourn reborn." His voice cut clean through hers like sword cleaving smoke one sentence stopping all motion within room including breaths drawn by nearby Frostsworn women whose gazes twitched subtly toward their lord then instantly away when realization struck what name just left lips never meant utter it again!
Lira froze mid-sentence even pulse seemed suspended
Lyssara Valmourn?
That name belonged only inside forbidden histories whispered during solstice fires when elders thought children slept
The Last heir princess of extinct Fire Kingdom burned alive five centuries ago protecting someone unnamed during Great Fracture War. One tale said flames erupted skyward seven days straight while mountains cracked open weeping magma rivers until snow fell hot red rain turning plains below to glass fields still walked today under veil legends called "Ashen W