Snow fell in sheets over the Iron Divide—the monstrous mountain range separating North and South. Where flame ruled the Matriarchy, frost held dominion in the North. Here, winter never slept, and the sky was often cloaked in storm.
Yet on this day, something unnatural stirred in the blizzard.
From the frost-rimed towers of Caelbarrow Fortress, a lone seer shuddered in her trance. Her hands, etched with blue-ice veins, twitched as arcane frost patterns fractured across the obsidian scrying mirror. What she saw was not snow, but fire—corrupted, reborn, and ancient.
"Awaken the Oracles," she gasped.
A steward ran.
Within minutes, the Chamber of Ice-Speakers—a hall carved from glacier and crystal—glowed with urgent sigils. Seven figures robed in grey and crowned with rings of chilled starlight gathered. Their presence froze the air itself, but not even their glacial calm could mask the unease spreading.
