"Not every voice that calls your name is meant to be followed."
Snow began to fall as they left the ruins behind. Each flake glimmered faintly in the pale morning light, drifting down onto the scorched stones of the citadel as though trying to erase the memory of its sorrow. The wind that swept across the plains was sharp and cold, carrying with it the distant cry of something wild.
Kael shivered and pulled his cloak tighter. "I swear the weather turns colder every time you decide to be heroic."
Lior gave him a faint smile. "You could always stay behind."
"Alone? In a land full of curses and ghosts? No thank you."
The two walked in silence for a while. The landscape stretched endlessly before them, white and gray, a world where even the sun seemed reluctant to shine.
Lior glanced toward the horizon. "The north lies ahead. Elder Thane once said the winds there carry voices. He warned me to listen, but never answer."
Kael looked uneasy. "That sounds like something I would absolutely ignore if I did not know you."
Lior chuckled softly. "Then stay close to me, and perhaps you will survive your curiosity."
They pressed on until the ground beneath them began to rise into a series of frozen ridges. The snow deepened, muffling their steps, and strange shapes appeared in the mist—stone spires twisted like the fingers of giants reaching toward the sky.
By midday, they found a small cave carved into the side of a hill. Kael immediately dropped his pack with a groan. "Shelter. Finally. If I see another mile of white, I will scream."
Lior smiled faintly. "You said that in the desert too."
"Because it was brown instead of white. Variety is overrated," Kael muttered, already setting up a small fire.
As the flames flickered to life, the warmth filled the narrow cave, casting shadows on the walls. Lior sat near the entrance, gazing out at the swirling snow. The wind howled faintly, rising and falling in strange patterns that almost resembled words.
Kael noticed his expression. "You hear it, do you not?"
"Yes," Lior said softly. "They are speaking."
"Who?"
"The ones bound to the north. The wind carries their memories."
Kael frowned. "And you understand them?"
"Not yet."
That night, sleep came uneasily. The fire burned low, and the air grew colder. Lior drifted in and out of dreams filled with voices calling his name.
He stood in an endless field of ice. Figures moved beneath the frozen surface, their hands pressed against the glassy layer as if begging to be freed. Their eyes glowed faint blue, and their mouths formed words he could not hear.
Then one voice rose above the rest. It was soft, gentle, and familiar. "Lior."
He turned. A woman stood upon the ice, her hair white as snow, her eyes like shards of crystal. She smiled faintly. "Do you remember me?"
Lior took a hesitant step forward. "Who are you?"
"I was your mother," she said. "Before you were reborn."
The world seemed to tilt. He wanted to deny it, to call it a dream, but her voice carried warmth he had not felt since his old life.
She reached out a hand. "The north calls you for a reason. The truth you seek lies buried beneath the frost."
Lior hesitated. "Why show yourself now?"
"Because the storm awakens. And so does he."
Before he could ask who she meant, the ice cracked beneath his feet. The woman's image shattered into shards of light, and he fell into darkness.
He woke with a gasp. Kael stirred beside the dying fire, half awake. "Bad dream?"
"Something like that," Lior murmured.
The wind outside howled louder now, almost angry. He stepped out of the cave, snow swirling around him. In the distance, he saw faint lights moving across the plain—blue, flickering like lanterns carried by unseen hands.
Kael joined him, squinting. "Please tell me those are just spirits taking a stroll."
"They are not spirits," Lior said. "They are guides."
Kael blinked. "Guides to what?"
"The heart of the storm."
Before Kael could protest, Lior began walking toward the lights. The wind grew harsher with every step, whispering words that tugged at the edge of understanding. Kael followed reluctantly, muttering prayers to gods he did not believe in.
The lights led them to a frozen lake, vast and still. The surface reflected the moon like a mirror, yet beneath it shadows moved slowly, almost alive. At the center of the lake stood a tall figure cloaked in white fur, holding a staff tipped with ice.
Lior stopped a few paces away. "Who are you?"
The figure's voice echoed through the wind. "A watcher of the north. You carry a flame that should not exist in this land."
Lior frowned. "You mean the sword?"
"No," said the watcher. "I speak of your soul."
Kael whispered, "That sounds worse than a cursed sword."
The watcher raised the staff, and the ice beneath Lior's feet cracked slightly. "You bring balance and destruction in equal measure. The north remembers both."
Lior's hand moved to his blade. "Then tell me what you want."
"To see if the flame can survive the cold."
The wind roared suddenly, and the ground trembled. The ice shattered beneath them, plunging both men into the freezing water.
Lior gasped as the cold bit into him like knives. He tried to swim, but the current pulled him downward. He saw shapes moving beneath him, the same ghostly faces from his dream. They reached out, whispering his name.
Then he saw her again, his mother, glowing faintly in the darkness. "Remember," she said. "The crown is not a burden. It is a promise."
Her voice faded, and Lior's hand brushed something solid beneath the water. A circular seal carved into the lakebed, pulsing with faint red light.
He reached for it, and the world exploded in white.
When he opened his eyes, he was lying on the snow beside Kael, the watcher gone, the lake frozen solid once more. The sword at his side glowed faintly, as though awakening to something deeper.
Kael groaned beside him. "I am beginning to hate our adventures."
Lior sat up, his breath visible in the cold air. "We are getting closer. I can feel it."
Kael frowned. "Closer to what?"
"The truth," Lior said quietly. "And the one who wants to stop us."
He looked out across the frozen plains, where the wind whispered his name again. This time not as a warning, but as a challenge.