Chapter One:
The Town of Silverpine
The train moved through snow-dusted mountains, its whistle cutting the frozen air. Aria Lorne leaned her forehead against the window, camera resting on her chest. Her own eyes stared back—brown, tired, rimmed with the kind of exhaustion that comes from too many sleepless nights and memories you can't shake, no matter how many photos you take.
She was heading north, to Silverpine—a place people claimed held the longest winter in the world. Locals swore winter itself had a soul here. Aria didn't buy that anymore. Not after Daniel vanished beneath an avalanche last year, taking her sense of hope with him.
When the train finally stopped, a blast of cold hit her. The entire town looked dipped in frost. Snow piled thick on cottage roofs, golden lamplight spilling out and softening all the sharp edges.
Someone called her name.
"Aria?"
She turned and saw Eamon, tall as ever, grinning a little under his ranger's coat. They'd grown up side by side, before life pulled them in different directions.
"You remember this place?" he teased.
"I remember almost breaking my neck sledding off your roof," she shot back with a crooked smile.
He laughed. "You nearly broke my leg, too."
They walked toward the inn while dusk crept in, painting everything blue. The wind whispered through the pines, low and strange. Somewhere out past the ridge, a flute started playing—a tune so full of longing it pinched at Aria's heart.
"What's that?" she asked.
Eamon's face changed. "That's the Winter Song. Don't follow it."
The Flute in the Woods
That night, Aria woke to silence—and then to music. The same flute, soft and haunting, floated through her window. It came from the woods beyond the frozen lake.
She hesitated, then grabbed her coat and camera.
Outside, the snow glowed under the moon. She tracked the sound to the lake, ice-glossed and shining. At its center, a shadow: a man in a silver cloak, standing on the ice, flute to his lips.
Suddenly, the ice cracked.
He plunged through.
Aria didn't think. She just ran. The cold almost knocked the breath out of her, but she reached him—caught his arm, hauled him toward shore. His eyes opened for a second, bright as starlight.
"You shouldn't have followed," he whispered.
"The frost remembers."
Then he went limp.
The Stranger of Frost
The innkeeper practically fainted when Aria and Eamon dragged the man inside. His cloak shimmered, icy-bright, his skin cold but alive.
"Found him in the lake," Aria said.
By morning, he stirred. His eyes found hers—sharp, ancient, unsettlingly beautiful.
"Where am I?" he asked.
"Silverpine," she told him.
He frowned, like he was chasing a memory. "That name… doesn't belong to this time."
Eamon folded his arms. "You've got a funny way of saying thanks."
The man almost smiled. "My name is Kael."
Aria repeated it, quietly. "Kael."
The word itself felt brittle, lovely, like wind against frozen glass.
Chapter 2 loading…