Snow fell in spiraling sheets, each flake laced with flickers of unnatural magic.
In the far north, beyond the Shardwall Mountains, a tower of blackened glass pierced the sky like a frozen scream. The winds howled with voices not their own. Beneath the tower's spire, the girl with silver eyes stood barefoot in the snow, unbothered.
Her name was Aris. The void sang to her.
Inside the tower, the last shard of the Hollow Crown pulsed. It had survived the war—barely. But Aris had found it. Or perhaps it had found her.
"The Weave is soft here," she whispered to the shard. "We can reshape it."
The shard pulsed in agreement.
She smiled, tracing sigils in the air that crackled with inverse light. "Let's write a new story, shall we?"
---
Meanwhile, far to the south, Aeren woke with a gasp.
The Heart had sent another dream. But this one was different—colder. Sharper. Less vision, more warning.
Elira stirred beside him. "Nightmare?"
"Something worse," he said. "A girl. In the north. She's calling the void by name."
She sat up, brushing frost from his shoulder. "Then it's not over."
He rose, the Heart's light already weaving through his thoughts. "Book two, huh?"
Elira grinned. "Let's make it a duet."