The ruined kingdom of a forgotten name lay half-buried beneath snow and ash. Once a proud stronghold of mortals, its towers now stood like hollow bones jutting from the frozen earth. Wind whistled through the broken gates, carrying the faint scent of smoke and blood.
Jasper's boots sank into the powder as he approached the outskirts where Kanza's people had made their new home. The tribe's camp was built among the ruins, their fires glowing like scattered stars against the gray horizon. Smoke rose from the cooking pits, and the sound of chanting echoed faintly from within the tents an old tribal hymn for warding off spirits. It seemed like they had relocated to another ruined kingdom farther out then before.
Slade, Jasper's owl, flew overhead, wings outstretched. It circled once and then perched upon a crumbling archway, waiting.
