A small, forgotten inn stood at the edge of an obscure trading kingdom, far from the Solace Kingdom.
Smoke drifted lazily from its chimney, carrying the scent of cheap stew and sour ale, while the common room below hummed with the quiet chatter of merchants and mercenaries.
Upstairs, in the cheapest corner room smelling of damp wood and old tallow, a woman sat alone at a battered wooden table, a half-empty cup of watered wine untouched before her.
She was striking in the way a winter storm is striking.
Her long white hair flowed like fresh snow down to her lower back, and her golden eyes, ringed by twin circles of abyssal black, seemed to drink in the light. To anyone passing by, she appeared no older than twenty-five, yet the truth of her age was written in centuries.
