"We're here."
Azmira almost jumped from her seat, immediately looking outside and was shocked by what has welcomed her. She has never left her house before. She was isolated, so to speak. Children of Resha were never allowed to go far from their home. They were trained inside and that's what makes them special—only shown to the world at the right time.
"Lower your hood," Elthwyn reminded her before going out of the carriage.
She followed her sister's order before stepping out as well. Immediately, the cold breeze wafted on her skin, sending a shiver down her spine. The world beyond her home was vast, unfamiliar, and overwhelming.
Novaria—the land of the great North, ruled by the formidable House Kostas—was a realm sculpted by winter itself. Snow blanketed its towering spires, clinging to the dark granite walls and muffling the sounds of the city beneath a crisp, icy silence. The air was sharp with the scent of frost and burning pine, and each breath came out in a swirl of white mist.
Built upon the bones of ancient stone, Novaria was both breathtaking and unyielding. Its streets, paved with obsidian and silver-threaded marble, gleamed beneath the glow of lanterns. Frosted bridges arched over canals frozen solid, where intricate patterns of ice wove across the surface like nature's own artistry.
The people of Novaria moved with quiet efficiency, their cloaks dusted with fresh snow, their boots crunching against the icy ground. There was no place for warmth here, no room for weakness. The Kostas family had forged this city in ice and steel, ruling with an iron hand wrapped in a glove of frost.
At the heart of it all was the house of Kostas. Fortress carved from midnight stone, its walls streaked with veins of silver that pulsed faintly in the dim light. Icicles hung from its battlements like crystalline daggers, and snow swirled endlessly around its towering peaks, as if the very winds bowed to the will of the Kostas.
Azmira pulled her cloak tighter around herself, her eyes darting across the bustling courtyard they had arrived in. People moved with purpose, their expressions unreadable, their gazes sharp. She had never seen so many strangers before.
Elthwyn walked ahead, offering no room for hesitation. "Keep your head down and follow me."
She focused on the rhythmic sound of boots against stone, on the way the wind whispered through the towering walls, and on the strange feeling creeping into her chest—the realization that her life, as she knew it, had just changed forever.
Her sister threaded a path that is narrow and dark. When they got to a room, Azmira finally had a breather, looking at the space and understanding that it would be hers. Her things were already inside—only one bag, but the things inside were what she valued. The room was decent, small but comfortable. The stone walls were cold to the touch, but a modest fireplace flickered in the corner, offering a weak but steady warmth. A simple bed with thick furs was tucked against one side, a wooden desk and chair on the other. The only window was small, framed by frost-laced glass, allowing a sliver of sunlight to spill into the space.
Azmira let out a slow breath, her fingers tracing the worn leather of her satchel. This was to be her home now. It felt strange—unfamiliar yet strangely prepared, as if someone had anticipated her arrival long before she even knew she would be here.
Elthwyn stood in the doorway, watching her with unreadable eyes. "Get some rest. I will call for you, but until that time, you shall not leave this room. Do you understand?"
"Yes, Elthwyn."
Her sister turned, but hesitated on leaving, glancing back at her. "May Mother rest in peace."
"May she rest in peace," she repeated.
Then Elthwyn left.
Azmira sat still, listening to the fading sound of her sister's footsteps beyond the door. The silence that followed felt heavier than the cold air pressing against her skin.
She exhaled slowly, her breath visible in the dim light, then turned her attention back to the room. It was not unwelcoming, but neither did it feel like home. The walls, made of dark stone, seemed to whisper with secrets she could not yet grasp. The single candle on the desk flickered, casting long, wavering shadows across the space.
She set her satchel down on the bed and carefully unfastened the straps. Inside, everything was as she had packed it—her mother's locket, the worn book she read countless times, and other things she finds valuable to her. Her fingers lingered on the locket, tracing its familiar shape.
Azmira clenched her jaw, willing away the ache that settled deep in her chest. Resha had never prepared her for this, for leaving home, for the vastness of the world outside. She had always been told she would leave one day, but not like this.
The wind howled softly outside, rattling the frost-covered window. She pulled the thick furs over her shoulders, curling up on the bed. She had so many questions, but for now, there were no answers. Only the cold, the quiet, and the knowledge that life is no longer the same.
She shed no tears for her mother's passing, but that night, everything had felt too heavy that she cried in her sleep, silent tears soaking into the pillow beneath her. They came without warning, without sound—just the weight of grief pressing down on her, wrapping around her like the very cold seeping through the stone walls. She had never been allowed to mourn. There had been no time, no space for sorrow. But here, in the solitude of this unfamiliar room, her heart ached with all that had been left unsaid.
She woke up with her face and pillow wet. Rising immediately, she looked around, disturbed by the fact that she does not know where she was. The remnants of sleep clung to her mind like a lingering fog, making her momentarily disoriented. But as reality settled back in, she realized she was in Novaria, within the walls of House Kostas, far from the home she once knew. How could she have forgotten about that?
She took a deep breath, pressing a hand to her chest as she willed her racing heart to steady. She swung her legs over the bed, feeling the cold stone beneath her feet. The embers in the fireplace had long since dimmed, leaving the air frigid. Shivering, she pulled the thick furs tighter around herself before rising to her feet.
The small room felt even smaller now, suffocating in its unfamiliarity. She sat by the dying embers of the hearth, staring out the frost-laced window. The pale midnight light barely penetrated the thick snowfall outside, casting the world in an eerie darkness. Everything beyond the glass seemed distant, almost unreal.
Then, a sound shattered the stillness.
A sharp, muffled thud echoed from outside her door. Voices—low and urgent. Azmira stiffened, straining to make out the words, but the thick stone walls swallowed most of the conversation. She would not have thought much about it.
But then she heard her name.
"Azmira…"
The voice had been clear—soft, almost pleading.
Azmira's pulse quickened. She turned toward the door, hesitating. It could have been a trick of the wind. A fragment of a dream clinging to her waking mind. And yet, something deep in her gut told her otherwise.
She pressed her ear against the heavy wooden door, straining to hear more. The voices had quieted, reduced to hushed murmurs she couldn't quite decipher. But her name—her name had been spoken.
Her fingers hovered over the latch. Elthwyn had warned her not to leave. The memory of her sister's firm words pressed at the edges of her conscience. But the cold air carried with it an undeniable sense of urgency, a feeling she couldn't shake.
Then—another sound. A sharp intake of breath, a choked grunt. Someone was in pain.
Azmira swallowed hard. If she opened the door, there would be no turning back.
But she had already made her choice.
With a slow, measured breath, she lifted the latch and stepped into the dimly lit hallway. Immediately, she regretted that she went out. Even if she covered herself with a blanket, it was still extremely cold.
"Is anyone there?" she asked, though her voice was measured, careful not to disturb anyone that's not those who had been lingering outside her room.
Silence answered her.
She took a cautious step forward, her breath curling in the frigid air. The voices from before had vanished, swallowed by the thick stone walls. Had she imagined it? Had exhaustion played tricks on her mind?
Then—a whisper. Faint, almost swallowed by the wind.
"…Azmira."
She spun toward the sound, her heart slamming against her ribs. It had come from further down the corridor, where the torches burned lower, their light failing to touch the creeping shadows.
Her fingers tightened around the edges of her blanket. She should turn back. She should listen to Elthwyn.
But instead, she took another step forward.
Slowly, she was getting closer. Her body rigid from the cold, but her determination was not letting it get in the way. She got to a corner and was about to turn when she heard a loud moan, as if the person was in pain, just like what she heard a while ago inside her room. Trying to make out where it came from, the moan heightened.
Squinting, she saw a room with a partially open door, and there she saw a figure—only to have her eyes widened again when she realized the pained groans she had followed were not what she expected to be coming from someone. Hushed whispers and breathy gasps drifted through the air. The rhythm of movement, the rustle of clothes—it was clear what was happening.
Heat rushed to her face, not from the cold but from embarrassment.
She knew she should turn away. Leave. Forget this ever happened. But her body betrayed her, rooted to the spot as curiosity warred with propriety.
The dim torchlight barely reached inside the room, but what she could see—the arch of a back, fingers gripping fabric, the bodies tangled—made her pulse hammer against her throat. Her gaze went up, and she froze even more when eyes were looking back at her—not just any eyes—golden hued ones.
Dragon.