The forest lay frozen, a cathedral of skeletal trees dusted in silver frost. Their branches arched high above, black veins against a pale, starless sky. Wind whispered through them, carrying voices that did not belong to the living—echoes of laughter, laments, and something like a dirge.
Two figures walked the narrow path beneath, boots crunching in rhythm with the hush of snow. They did not speak at first. Their silence was a pact against the cold, against the phantoms that drifted like mist across their shoulders. Yet, silence weighed heavy, and the forest demanded sound.
"Do you hear them?" one asked at last, his voice low, rough, as though afraid the trees themselves might answer.
The taller of the two, cloaked in shadow-colored wool, glanced sideways. His eyes gleamed faintly violet where the moonlight broke through branches.
"I hear them," Aiden said. "The dead don't rest in these woods. They sing."
Beside him, Lyon tightened his scarf, breath ghosting in the frozen air. He was younger by a year, though the perpetual storm in his eyes made him seem older—eyes of grey that flickered like clouds before thunder. He carried a staff bound with iron rings, each one chiming dully as he walked.
"They're not singing," Lyon muttered. "They're warning us."
Aiden's mouth curved into something between a smile and a sneer. "Warnings don't stop the chosen, do they?"
The path wound on, weaving between crooked roots and the hollow shells of stone ruins. Forgotten walls rose from the snow, swallowed by moss and time, their carvings eroded into scars. Every step forward was a trespass into history.
Lyon slowed, his boots crunching softer. He placed a hand against a wall, tracing the faint etching of runes with gloved fingers.
"Someone built this place," he said. "Someone lived here, bled here… and died here. Do you ever wonder if we're walking toward their fate?"
Aiden stopped. The forest exhaled, long and mournful. He turned fully to Lyon, the edge of his cloak catching the snow.
"Fate doesn't frighten me." His voice was quiet, but steady as steel. "Only failure does."
Lyon's storm-grey gaze narrowed. "And if they're the same thing?"
The silence between them stretched, heavy as a storm about to break. Then Aiden's lips curved again, but this time, the smile was softer, almost weary.
"Then we'll fail together."
The wind shifted. The whispers swelled into something almost like a chorus, threads of voices rising above the creak of frozen trees. Aiden's hand brushed the air, summoning a faint ripple of darkness—shadows bending to his will, curling like smoke around his fingers. Lyon's staff crackled faintly, a spark of stormlight humming in its iron rings.
Two magics, bound by oath and necessity, lit the frozen path.
Together, they walked on.
Through the frost and ancient trees.
Past ghosts upon the breeze.
Through forgotten halls of stone.
They walked the path alone.
But song followed every mile.
A flame to warm, a tale to smile.
The chosen walked where none dared stay.
And their footsteps paved the way.
________