The royal archives never truly slept.
Even in the quiet hours before dawn, when the palace above still slumbered, the corridors beneath the western wing remained alive. The air moved with the faint rustle of aged paper settling, the soft creak of wooden shelves, the whisper of dust shifting in the lantern light.
Master Aldric moved through the stacks like a ghost visiting his own grave.
The archives were his domain. Three centuries of memory, compressed into parchment and leather and ink—wars, treaties, census lists, letters from nobles who had crumbled to bones long ago. It was Aldric's duty to remember them all.
Usually that duty brought comfort.
Today, it did not.
Ash Hollow.
The name had followed him since yesterday. A settlement so small it barely earned a line in the kingdom's ledgers, yet it had been spoken repeatedly in the palace since the arena match.
The girl from Ash Hollow. The one who had frozen the sand.
Aldric had not witnessed the event himself. At his age, the roar of the crowd held little appeal. But the arena master's report had crossed his desk, and the description had been… unusual. Precise. Troubled.
He reached a narrow shelf near the back of the chamber, where the air smelled older—of cold stone and forgotten things. Records from the northern territories. Frontier settlements. Border disputes.
His lantern illuminated the spines of thin ledgers until his fingers stopped.
A small bundle of scrolls sat tucked between two larger volumes, bound with faded cord. The label was modest, almost hidden.
Northern Incidents — Year 317.
Eighteen years ago.
The number pressed against his chest like a weight.
Aldric carried the bundle to a reading table and sat slowly, the chair groaning beneath him. He untied the cord.
The first documents were ordinary. Magistrate reports about trade shortages. A dispute between farmers over grazing land. Nothing unusual.
The third made him pause.
Reports have reached this office of unusual activity near the Frostlands border. Settlers claim to have seen lights above the hills during the night, accompanied by sudden drops in temperature.
Aldric leaned closer. Drops in temperature. In the height of summer.
His eyes moved to the bottom of the page. Scouts dispatched to investigate.
The next document was written in a rougher hand—a scout's field report.
Fourth day. Found signs of a traveler moving through the hills. Tracks indicate a single individual. Smaller stride length. Possibly female.
Aldric adjusted his spectacles.
Fifth day. Encountered subject at distance. Dark hair. Cloaked. When approached, subject fled. Ground where subject had stood was covered in frost.
Frost.
The word sat heavily on the page.
He turned to the next report. The writing grew more hurried.
Sixth day. Trail leads toward settlement called Ash Hollow. Locals claim ignorance. I do not believe them.
Seventh day. Frost patterns observed again near ridge line north of settlement. Temperature dropped significantly for several minutes.
Aldric sat back.
Frost in summer. Near Ash Hollow.
Coincidences existed. Frontier reports were often exaggerated. And yet—
He reached for the final document.
---
This one was sealed with faded royal wax. Confidential.
The seal had already been broken. Long ago.
Aldric unfolded the parchment.
Pursuit of the northern subject concluded near the hills surrounding the settlement of Ash Hollow. Subject resisted capture and was terminated after brief engagement.
Search of the surrounding area revealed evidence of a recent campsite.
Signs indicate another individual may have been present prior to the encounter.
Despite extended search efforts, no additional persons were located.
Case closed.
Aldric read the report twice. Then a third time.
Another individual.
The words were vague. Deliberately vague.
He turned the page over. In the bottom margin, two words had been written in darker ink. An addition. A note.
Presumed.
Questionable.
Aldric stared at the handwriting. It was unmistakable—the sharp, precise stroke of someone who had once reviewed confidential records. Someone with the authority to question official conclusions. Someone who still held that authority.
He slowly rolled the parchment closed.
The archives suddenly felt colder.
Ash Hollow. Frost in summer. An unknown second presence. And now—a girl from that same settlement who could freeze the arena floor.
Aldric rubbed his temples.
"Coincidences," he murmured.
But the word crumbled in the silence.
---
Above the archives, the palace stirred awake. Servants moved through corridors with trays and linen. Guards rotated at the gates.
In an upper gallery overlooking the courtyard, Prince Lucien leaned against the stone railing. He watched the morning bustle with mild boredom—until he noticed the old historian emerging from the western wing.
Master Aldric rarely left the archives this early. Today, he moved like a man carrying a weight Lucien could not see.
Curious.
Lucien watched him disappear around a corner. Then his gaze drifted toward the distant training yard.
The arena champion would be summoned to court soon. He had seen what she could do—ice where there should have been sand.
Perhaps the old historian had noticed the same thing.
Lucien smiled faintly. If the girl from Ash Hollow carried a secret…
The palace was about to become far more interesting.
---
Deep below, the scroll titled Northern Incidents — Year 317 lay open on Aldric's desk. The lantern flickered beside it, casting restless shadows.
And the words in the margin seemed darker than before.
Presumed. Questionable.
Eighteen years ago, something had happened near Ash Hollow. Something the official record had buried.
Now, for the first time in nearly two decades, the past was beginning to stir.