The night draped itself over Yainna like a heavy shroud.The moon hung swollen and bright in the cloudy sky, silver light filtering through shifting veils of mist. Not a whisper of wind stirred the leaves outside, not the faintest trill of a night bird. It was the kind of silence that didn't simply fill the air it pressed down on it, smothering every sound, until even the walls of the castle seemed to listen.
Inside her chamber, Thalia sat cross-legged on her bed, her bare arms folded tightly across her stomach. The sheets were twisted beneath her, as if she'd been fighting with them for hours. Her hair clung to the side of her face, damp with a cold sweat she couldn't explain.
It was happening again.
Her mind wasn't her own.
At first it had been small things moments of forgetfulness, faint echoes of thoughts she swore didn't belong to her. A flicker of shadow where there should have been none. A smell of burning pine that no one else could sense. But tonight it was different. Tonight, the visions came sharper, clearer, with a pull she could not resist.
A sharp exhale left her lips, and she saw it her breath clouding faintly in the air. She frowned and leaned forward. The summer heat of Yainna was relentless; there should not have been a trace of frost in her chamber. Yet when she reached for the window, the glass bit her fingertips with an unnatural chill.
Her pulse quickened. The world around her blurred, the silver glow of the moonlight dissolving into a pale, colorless haze.
The haze thickened, snow swirling in its depths.
When her vision cleared, she was no longer in her chamber.
She stood barefoot in a field of snow that stretched to the horizon, the ground crunching and squealing under her weight. Her toes burned with cold, and the air sliced into her lungs with every breath. She wrapped her arms around herself, shivering violently, her nightgown whipping in a wind that smelled faintly of ash and iron.
Before her rose a fortress.
It was immense, a black castle crouched against the white expanse, its towers jagged like the broken teeth of some vast beast. Its walls were sheer and lightless, except for faint embers of red glowing in windows high above like eyes, unblinking and watchful.
A single raven perched on the tallest spire.
It was motionless at first, its head turned toward her as though it had been waiting. The bird's feathers shimmered with a strange oil-black sheen, swallowing the moonlight instead of reflecting it.
Then, slowly, it tilted its head to the other side, studying her.
"...You," Thalia whispered, her voice trembling. She had seen this raven before. In another vision. Another night. It had flown to her very window, peering in as though delivering a message it never spoke.
Her lips parted to call it by name, though she could not recall ever learning one—
The raven's wings snapped open, stretching impossibly wide, and it let out a single, sharp squawk. The sound echoed across the frozen landscape like a bell tolling over a graveyard.
And then
The snow, the castle, the raven—vanished.
She was back in her chamber, clutching the edge of her bed with white-knuckled fingers. The air was still, but cold clung to her skin.
Her gaze dropped to her feet.
Her breath caught in her throat.
Snow. Real snow. Clinging between her toes, dampening the rug beneath her. She reached down, scooping some into her palm. The ice burned her skin, the crystals glittering faintly in the room light. This was no dream. No imagined vision.
Her heart slammed against her ribs.
"What is this?" she breathed. Her voice was so soft it shouldn't have carried but it did.
The sound bounced back at her, louder, heavier, until it roared inside her skull: What is this? What is this? What is this?
Her hands trembled.
Sorcery. That was the only word her mind could cling to. Ancient, dangerous sorcery.
A deep, resonating boom shattered the silence.
Thalia flinched violently, dropping the snow. She recognized the sound immediately. The alarm horn of Yainna.
Another blast followed, lower, longer its vibration running through the stone floor beneath her feet.
She stumbled to the window, every muscle heavy with the lingering cold. Her hands pressed to the glass, eyes searching the horizon beyond the dark, sloping mountains.
At first, she saw nothing.
Then—
A flicker of light.
Small. Distant. A tiny flame dancing in the night.
She might have dismissed it if it hadn't flickered again. Brighter this time.
Another light appeared beside it. Then another. And another.
In moments, there were dozens no, hundreds of flames, crawling down the mountainside in a slow, steady line.
They weren't stars. They weren't lanterns of traders. These were too deliberate, too unified.
Her breath grew shallow.
A memory rose in her mind, unbidden the black castle, the raven, the cold. And in its wake, a name she had only heard whispered by those who feared to speak it aloud.
Her lips moved before she realized she was speaking:
"It's him…"
The flames multiplied, stretching across the horizon like the glowing edge of some monstrous blade.
Her stomach twisted. She didn't need to see his face to know who led them. She could feel him. The same pull that had dragged her into the snow now tugged at the edges of her mind, each heartbeat heavier than the last.
Virvo.
The Horned Man.
And he was not alone.