They left the Sanctuary before sunrise.
Snow greeted them at the northern pass, thick and unrelenting. The sky was heavy with storm clouds, and the air tasted like steel and ancient magic.
Theron grumbled beneath his breath, tugging his cloak tighter. "I was made for heat, not for freezing my arse off."
"You volunteered," Kaelen reminded flatly, hood drawn low.
Aelira said nothing. Her eyes remained locked on the horizon — where mountains rose like the teeth of sleeping giants. She could feel it now: a tug in her blood, like frost threading through her veins.
He was close.
They traveled for days.
The nights were colder than death. But the crescent stone at Aelira's throat never stopped glowing. It pulsed stronger with every step north — until finally, they crested the ridge above a half-buried fortress of black stone and glacial towers.
"The Icebound Citadel," Kaelen murmured.
Theron stared down at the ruins. "I thought it was a myth."
"It was," Kaelen said. "Until she dreamed it."
They made camp beneath a frozen arch. As the wind howled through broken spires, Aelira felt something watching them — not with eyes, but with memory.
She lit a small flame with her hand, and it shimmered blue in the cold.
"Something's wrong," she whispered.
Kaelen nodded. "This place is warded. But the magic is old. It was meant to keep things in, not out."
That night, Aelira dreamt again.
But this time… she didn't see the past.
She entered it.
She stood in a throne room made of ice, beneath a sky that pulsed with northern lights. A man stood before her — tall, broad-shouldered, silver hair wind-tousled and eyes like starlit frost.
He wore chains on his wrists, magic woven into their links.
He looked at her like a ghost.
"You found me," he whispered.
"Who are you?" Aelira asked.
"You knew me as Riven," he said. "Frostborne. Prince of the Eternal Winter."
"You're one of my bonded."
His smile was sad. "I was. Until the Queen shattered the pact. She feared what we could be, together."
Aelira reached for him, but her hand passed through.
"She sealed me in sleep," he said. "You must come below the throne. Break the spell. Free me — before the ice claims what remains."
She woke gasping, the air around her chilled with power.
Kaelen and Theron were already up. Something had stirred the air — and the Citadel groaned.
They moved at dawn.
Inside the fortress, cold pressed against their skin like knives. Stained-glass windows shimmered with frost. Statues of ancient kings loomed overhead. And beneath the grand throne at the center, they found a stairwell of ice descending into dark.
They followed it.
At the bottom, a chamber waited — silent, sealed by a door of shimmering crystal. On it, carved in runes only Aelira could read, were the words:
He who remembers the snow shall awaken the flame.
She placed her hand on the door.
Power surged through her like lightning.
And the door opened.
Inside, in a coffin of ice, Riven lay still — as beautiful and terrible as he had been in her vision. Chains wrapped around his arms and chest, glowing with spell-wards. His lips were pale blue. His chest did not rise.
Kaelen cursed under his breath. "This isn't sleep. This is near death."
Theron stepped forward. "Then she'll have to call him back."
Aelira knelt beside him, hand trembling as she touched the ice.
"Riven," she whispered, voice cracking. "Come back. Come home."
For a heartbeat, nothing happened.
Then—light flared.
The crescent stone burned hot. The air shimmered. The chains hissed and cracked as frost turned to mist. Riven's chest rose — once. Twice.
And then he opened his eyes.
Silver. Bright. And full of a pain she could barely understand.
His voice was hoarse.
"Aelira?"
She smiled through tears.
"I told you I'd find you."