Theo dreamed of frost.
It began as a thin lace of ice across the floorboards of his room, creeping toward the bed. In the dream, he rose to his feet, but the air was thick, muffled, as if the world had been padded with snow. The door's burned marks glowed faintly, then dimmed, and dimmed again, until they were nothing but charred scratches.
He felt the hum in the sword before he remembered picking it up.
And then the knocking came.Not from the door.From behind him.
Theo turned, and the wall opposite the bed was gone. In its place: the records room. Shelves towering into shadow, the smell of cedar and iron. And in the far corner, the seam.
It pulsed faintly, the way a vein does under thin skin.
In the dream, Theo stepped toward it, each boot-fall sinking into frost. The hum in the sword grew sharper. The seam widened — not breaking, but stretching, like a slow inhale.
A whisper came from within.Closer, little wolf. You've already crossed the wall. Cross this one, too.
Theo's hand lifted toward the seam.
He woke standing in the records room.
The blue lantern from his quarters sat on the nearest shelf, its flame trembling. His breath was visible. The wards on the door glowed faintly, but not enough to warm the air.
Theo's stomach twisted. He had no memory of walking here. No memory of the guards at his door moving aside. No memory of the corridors between.
The seam pulsed again.
The sword's hum was no longer steady — it was answering something. A deep, slow vibration came from inside the wall, and for a moment Theo could almost feel it in his teeth.
"Not yet," a voice said behind him.
Theo turned to find the Warden in the doorway, his dark coat dusted with frost. His eyes flicked to the seam. "It's waking."
Theo swallowed. "What's behind it?"
The Warden stepped into the room, closing the door behind him. "Not what, Ashvale. Who."
The air thickened. The pulsing grew faster.
"They were here before the keep was stone," the Warden said. "Before this land had a name. The guests you've seen? They are their shadows. The lock holds the body. But the shadow has always been free."
Theo stared at him. "You mean the guest—"
"—is part of what's in there," the Warden finished. "It calls to you because you've touched both pieces. If it gets you to open this seam, the rest of it will be free."
The pulsing stopped. The seam went still.
And then — with a sound like ice cracking on a lake — a thin line split down its center.
From within came breath. Cold enough to sting Theo's face. The sword's hum turned into a sharp, constant note that vibrated through his bones.
A pale hand slipped through the opening.
It wasn't like the guest's hand. This was worse. The fingers were jointed wrong, bending subtly where they shouldn't. The nails were long, glassy, and cracked. Frost bloomed where they touched the stone.
The Warden's axe — a smaller, black-hafted thing — appeared in his hand. "Step back," he said.
But Theo didn't. The hand was still, waiting. And he could hear something now — not in his ears, but in his blood.
You came to me in your sleep, little wolf. You crossed without knowing. Now all you have to do is pull.
The Warden moved between Theo and the seam, pressing his palm against the burned marks carved into the stone. They flared gold. The pale hand recoiled, just an inch.
From beyond the wall came a hiss — not like steam, but like snow sliding down a mountainside.
The seam began to close.
Theo's heart was pounding so hard it hurt. The hum in the sword fought against it, sharp and insistent, as if it didn't want the seam to shut.
The Warden's voice strained. "If you want to live, you'll fight it. Now."
For a moment, Theo didn't know whether he meant fight the thing in the wall… or the pull in the sword.
But then the seam snapped shut, the frost melted from the stone, and the room was silent except for the Warden's breathing.
He turned to Theo. "This isn't going to stop. You've been marked twice now — once by its shadow, once by its body."
Theo gripped the hilt tighter. "Then what happens when it marks me a third time?"
The Warden's gaze was flat. "Then you won't be standing here to ask."