Watching Aella finish her turn with Arad and Mira starting, Isdis's mind started to relax. The colder her flesh got, the slower metabolism moved, and the faster her soul sank into the cold embrace of her own blood.
She had wanted to stay awake, but she couldn't keep her eyes open. Her soul was resting on the edge of a border, the border between those who rule and those who are ruled. Upon falling asleep, she saw a dream, a horrifying nightmare, spelling the struggles of the progenitor of her bloodline.
Black hair, bright ruby eyes, and hands so cold they felt like they belonged to a corpse. The famished, abandoned kid huddled alone in the frozen street, buried by the merciless snow. Many have died, yet he lives.
It had been snowing non-stop for as long as he was alive, and the people of the small town were already suffering. The crops died, the beggars froze to death, and all trade routes had been blocked by the snowstorm, turning the people's lives into hell.
