Outside the City of Mani: Elter's rage burned hotter than his wounds, but the cursed luck that had dogged him all day struck again. The goblin vanished into the shadows, leaving him with nothing but the bitter taste of frustration. He scoured the jagged outcropping, eyes scanning the darkness. Each deliberate step showed his growing impatience. The gashes on his back and arms seared with a fire that rivaled his anger, reminders of the brutal stakes. This wasn't just a hunt—it was his reputation, his livelihood, and his one threadbare chance to prove himself worthy of the one person who didn't think him a complete failure. Lose the roads to the goblins, and he'd lose everything.

  The thought plagued him, intensifying his determination.

  The soft clatter of pebbles from his flank drew his attention. A child-sized creature with a greasy metallic luster and patches of ashen fur shifted within the cavities of the rocks.

  “There’s that ‘grizzled scrotum’,” Elter said beneath his breath.

  The goblin spun around, its long ears flattening as eyes like lava widened above spasming, leather-black lips. It hissed through sharp, blood-marred teeth, standing upright on two thin, scale-covered legs. A glint of cunning gleamed in its feral gaze as its obsidian claws sliced the air in a warning arc. Elter pointed toward the goblin’s three companions, who lay face down, bleeding in the dirt near the opening of an abandoned mine. Despite their resistance, they had all fallen within a heartbeat of each other, thanks to his sorcery.

  Elter’s fists tightened as he glared at the remaining rock goblin. As he prepared to strike, the goblin let out a screech and darted into the mine’s maw.

  “A mine shan’t save you,” Elter growled. He tore open his small traveler’s bag and drew out a torch. With deft precision, he struck the flint, and a spark caught. Flames sputtered to life. “But it’ll hide your demise better than nobles disposing of a whore after an orgy,” he muttered.

  Elter pulled at the rough weave of his tunic, grimacing. Tough as old boots, but not much use against goblin claws. Still, the coin from this hunt would buy something with a bit more steel in it. Stepping carefully, he cleared the mine entrance of a few last strands of spider silk—no sense letting the little bastards think they’d retaken their territory just yet.

  Down into the muck he went, boots squelching with every step. The light of his torch flickered, sending fleeting shadows dancing along the walls. Damp earth and something rotten clung to the air, tight enough to choke a man. Sunlight vanished behind him, and his breath started coming heavier. Looks like old Mother Nature had been busy—roots and mud had all but sealed this place up, leaving him cut off from the fresh air above.

  Elter paused, wiping the sweat from his brow. The walls felt like they were closing in, the darkness pressing down harder with every passing moment. Is this goblin luring me someplace I don't want to be? He tightened his grip on the torch, the words of his employer ringing in his ears. "The roads must remain safe. Failure means losing everything. A huntsman who can't keep his territory clear isn't a huntsman at all."

  Standing at the edge of the abyss, Elter's eyes strained against the gloom. Then came a sound, just ahead—liquid disturbance, like something moving through a stagnant pool. There, barely visible in the wavering light, the goblin's scrawny tail slithered into the darkness. The creature let out a high-pitched squeal and scurried away, vanishing into the corridor.

  Elter gritted his teeth. Alright, you little fucker. Let’s see what other nasty surprises you’ve got in store.

  Peril’s icy tongue flicked Elter’s neck as he watched the creature retreat into the blackness. This was not your usual mine. His stomach churned, and the strands of hair on his body stood on end. Malignant cold seeped through the burrow, as though something wicked lurked in the depths. From the murk came a soft moan, and he fought the impulse to withdraw. He furrowed his brow in defiance. Never before had he failed to kill his prey, and today would be no different. A raw, burning determination reignited within him, forcing him to press on. The creeping sense of dread seized him, but he shoved it aside, refusing to entertain it as anything more than paranoia.

  But before he could take another step, the torch’s flaring palpitations unsettled a colony of bats, sending them spiraling from their roost in a storm of wings. They dove from the ceiling as he ducked, shielding his head. He watched their frantic escape, a shiver running through him as he noticed a small splatter of guano on his sleeve.

  “His majesty’s tits,” he cursed.

  Once more, he delved headlong into the depths. The moist soil hardened beneath his feet, fracturing with each footfall. He had trudged for what seemed like an eternity before a dead end finally halted his progress. Holding up his torch, he discovered a boarded-off room with words painted across the barrier: Danger—go no further. The warning barely registered as he began tearing at the fragile old wood, breaking it away from the support beams. The wood cracked, and rusty nails whined, their sounds echoing down the corridor.

  Elter, you lackwit bastard, he thought. This mine was abandoned for a reason. But the thought of turning back, of going home with nothing to show for his efforts—that stung worse than a hornet's nest. Failure wasn't an option, not now, not when so much was riding on this.

  Gritting his teeth, Elter pushed on through the narrow gap he'd cleared. And that's when he saw it—a subtle movement in the corner of his eye. He whirled, heart pounding, and there it was. The dark presence that had been troubling his steps, just out of sight.

  A woman, if you could call it that. Floating there, a specter with tattered rags for hair and eyes like bottomless pits of anguish. Shackles had left their mark on her, deep gouges in wrists and neck, and a cursed rune glowed on her chest like a malevolent heartbeat. But the worst was the gash in her belly, a weeping wound crawling with maggots and gods knew what else. And below the waist, she simply... faded away, like the lower half of her body had never existed at all.

  “Bless my puckered…” Elter breathed, the words barely audible over the pounding of his own pulse. Whatever this wretch was, it reeked of dark gods. The kind that got good men killed.

  But he couldn't turn back now. Not when he'd come this far. Taking a steadying breath, he held the torch forward and pressed on into the gloom, eyes straining to pierce the shadows ahead.

  “Have you seen my baby? The witches—they took my baby,” she spoke in an eerie, distressed voice.

  Elter’s heart quickened, his body going numb with fear as her unnatural essence rooted him to the spot. He had faced terrors before, but none had suffocated his nerves like this haunting presence.

  The woman glided nearer, her hands clasped over her left chest as if cradling her own heart.

  “They took my baby from me. I know my baby is near, but I cannot...” She paused, then let out a bone-chilling moan that resounded down the mine like a death knell.

  Elter’s throat tightened, his voice unsteady as he forced himself to respond. “I haven’t seen a child or any witches,” he replied cautiously.

  “There are witches!” she screamed.

  The tremor in his limbs was now unstoppable. “I won’t keep you from your search, madam.” Elter said as he backed out of the room, his mind racing. This was not an ordinary spirit—there was something even more diabolical at play. She faded, only to reappear behind him, blocking his exit.

  “And you would leave a grieving mother to search alone? What kind of gentleman are you? You’re not even human with those pointy ears, are you?”

  Elter turned to face her. He took a dozen steps back. “I am a Saggarin Elf.”

  “A “frog fucker” on the plains?” she cackled. “What’s your name, frog fucker?”

  “I am called Elter, Elter from Saggara.” He hesitated, gauging her reaction. “Perhaps if I could look for your child outside the mine, I might—”

  “My baby is here. We must...” She moaned again, a sound that vibrated through the stones. “We must find my baby.” Her eyes flared crimson like flames. “How do I know you are not a witch, seeking to distract me so I cannot find my baby?”

  “I came here to track a goblin, madam, nothing more. I’m a huntsman of the land’s lord.”

  “A fucking lie,” she spat.

  Elter’s mind whirled, desperate for an escape. “No, I would not lie. Permit me to aid you in locating your child. I shall search outside the mine. Allow me this task,” he said.

  “You devious frog fucker. You shall not distract me.” Her eyes fixated on him, burning with intensity. “I’ve killed before those who try to leave without finding my baby.” She raised her transparent arm, pointing to the back of the room. There, half-buried in the slush, lay the goblin he had chased, its lifeless body resting beside a pile of human bones.

  Elter’s thoughts raced, panic and determination clashing within him. His only chance to escape the mine alive lay in the fury that coursed through his veins, a power that had grown fiercer and more controllable with time. Sorcery was his birthright, a virtue few possessed. His ancestors whispered in his blood, urging him to harness the raw, wild force that had become his lifeline.

  With a deep, shuddering breath, he began to summon power from the endless void, every ounce of anger and wrath he had ever felt converging in that moment. The panic threatening to consume him was pushed aside, supplanted by a burning resolve. His senses heightened, and the surrounding darkness dwindled. His wide, maddened eyes reflected the icy blue glow that emanated from his hand, casting a brilliant, eerie light upon the glimmering walls of the mine. The cold crackled with his fury, a distinct force that made the follicles on his arms stand on end.

  He focused on the woman, her excited gaze shifting to one of curious intrigue as she sensed the power building within him. Her spectral form shimmered in the eerie glow, her eyes dark and fathomless. Every muscle in his body constricted as he gathered the force, the very space around him seeming to hum with tension.

  With a guttural cry, Elter released a searing wave that tore through the stillness like a lightning strike. The wild beam pierced the ghostly woman’s form. Vaporous waves distorted her as the energy passed through and struck the mine’s ceiling with a deafening explosion. Fragments of rock and dust rained down, the ceiling groaning under the impact.

  As the debris settled, the room filled with a thick, choking smoke. Elter squinted through the haze, searching for any sign of the specter’s form dissipating. Instead, she stood before him, untouched and more furious than before. Her eyes, now blazing with an unholy light, locked onto his.

  Elter's muscles coiled, ready to spring, but the blast of energy he hurled at the translucent woman had about as much effect as pissing in the wind. His chest tightened with a sinking realization—his magic, his one true lifeline, was as useless as a eunuch in a brothel.

  "Devious witchery!" The woman's voice seemed to echo from every corner of the cramped tunnel, laced with a madness that scraped at the edges of Elter's sanity. She drifted closer, features twisted in a mockery of amusement. "Let's see how long I can keep you breathing before your blood freezes."

  Fuck, fuck, fuck. Elter's mind raced, sifting desperately for any way out of this nightmare. But no matter how he turned it over, the cold, hard truth wouldn't budge—he was trapped down here, alone, with a vengeful spirit that cared less for his pathetic magic than a starving dog cares for table scraps.

  The ghostly figure’s approach sent a chill through him, her presence seeming to draw the very air out of the atmosphere, leaving him gasping, his determination teetering on the brink of collapse. Merciful Mirak, how do I flee from this foul bitch?

  A ragged tremor ran through him, despair tightening its grip like a vice. There was nowhere to run, nowhere to hide. Just him, the dying torch, and the thing that had once been human, closing in for the kill.

  In the 10th year of the Great Frost’s Age

  The continent of Islunnia: Kaiya shot across the frozen expanse, her boots crunched through the snow, the frozen ground resisting her every frantic stride. Her breath swirled, merging with the bitter air like a dying spirit. The wind lashed at her exposed skin, its biting touch merciless, yet she barely registered the sting. Her mind narrowed to a single purpose—outrun them, survive. The ceremonial horns still rang in her ears as she fled, her ornate wedding furs snagging on brambles and thorns. She had done the unthinkable—defied the sacred tradition of arranged marriages that had bound her people for generations.

  The Matchmaker, revered as the most powerful figure in their land, would not forgive this betrayal. Behind her, the shouts of the warriors grew louder. Six voices, diluted with outrage. What have I done? The question besieged her mind, but she shoved it away. Not now, ask questions later.

  Kaiya soared over a fallen tree, her senses attuned to every sound, every shift in the air. The warriors were closing in, their footfalls relentless. She needed shelter, a place to regroup and plan her next move. Her thoughts swirled, searching for an escape. There has to be a way.

  As dusk descended, the temperature plunged. The screaming wind whipped up snow, blurring her vision and making her path even more treacherous. Yet, with the blizzard came a small advantage; her tracks would vanish almost as quickly as they formed. She stumbled over hidden obstacles, her limbs stiffened, cold leeching the strength from her muscles.

  The crunch of footsteps split the silence—too close. A soldier, no doubt, slicing through the underbrush like a wolf on the hunt. She stifled a gasp and darted behind a cluster of firs, her breath quickening, sending puffy clouds into the sky. The frenzied snow made a wall of white that could hide her—though not for long.

  The dagger felt insignificant in her hand. A hunter's tool, meant for the quick dispatch of a rabbit or the careful skinning of a deer, not for facing down a man clad in steel. Yet here she was, knowing the fear a hunted animal feels. The shadows were her only allies. Each crunch of boots on the frozen earth was a hammer blow to her heart. Closer. Closer. She drew a ragged breath, tasting the bite of fear.

  He emerged from the snowstorm, a glacial mammoth in form and presence, armor glinting under a thick layer of frost, a sword strapped to his back long enough to cleave her in two. His breath came in plumes, a beast in the cold, and his eyes, like frozen chips of stone, scanned the trees, narrowing as they swept over her.

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  Kaiya held her breath, the world contracting into that single, fragile moment. Please, gods... let him pass. He hadn’t seen her. Yet. But he would.

  And he did.

  His gaze locked onto her, his lips curling into a snarl. "There you are." Before she could flee, he lunged, iron grip closing around her arm with bone-crushing force. “You think you can run forever?”

  Panic surged through her, tightening her chest. Kaiya twisted violently, desperation fueling her movements, but his hold only clamped tighter, dragging her toward him as if she weighed nothing. This is it. The dagger slipped in her grasp, her hands shaking with fear. She slashed wildly, the blade glancing off his gauntlet, leaving nothing more than a shallow cut. He barely flinched.

  “Enough of that,” he growled, and with a savage jerk, slammed her back against a tree. Snow landed on her face as the collision tore through her coat and pushed the breath out of her lungs.

  Don’t give up! Her thoughts tumbled, frantic, the icy air stinging her lungs as she struggled in his iron grip. She thought back to the moves her mother taught her—the ancestor’s combat dance. Her mind raced, trying to recall every step, every shift of balance, as if it could save her now.

  She let her legs go limp, pretending to surrender. The fight drained from her body as her arms sagged, her breaths shallow and desperate. The soldier grunted, his grip loosening just slightly—just enough.

  Kaiya twisted, ducking low, attempting to slip free, but her movement came too early, her panic too eager. The soldier anticipated it. His free hand shot out, catching her by the throat. His fingers closed around her neck like a vice, and with a growl, he slammed her back into the tree, bark biting into her skin as snow fell around them.

  She gasped, pain flaring down her spine, his hand crushing her airway. She clawed at his arm, her vision swimming. Frosted abyss—this can't be happening.

  “You’re not slipping away that easily,” he snarled, leaning in, his breath hot against her face despite the freezing air. “You’re coming back. Even if I have to break your bones to carry you.”

  The dagger was still in her hand, useless against his brute strength. Desperation hewed at her insides as his grip tightened, squeezing the life out of her.

  He’s too big. Too fast.

  Her mother’s voice replayed in her mind. Stay calm, find the opening. But where was the opening? His body was too close, too strong, pinning her in place. Her limbs were losing their strength.

  Then she saw it.

  An unexpected glint—serrated ice hung from the tree, just above his head. The branches were slumped down with snow, brittle from the freeze. One good strike might bring it down.

  Kaiya's eyes grew strained. She could not breathe; there was no room for uncertainty. She gripped the dagger in both hands, raising it high, and slammed it into the tree above her head. The blade struck deep, a crack splitting through the brittle wood. The weight of the ice shifted, just enough to dislodge a chunk from the branch.

  It fell.

  The solid mass of ice smashed into the back of the soldier’s head with a sickening crunch. His eyes stretched wide in shock, his grip loosening as he staggered, dazed by the blow. For an instant, his balance wavered.

  Kaiya gasped for breath, her throat burning as air flooded back into her lungs. She seized the chance, slipping from his grasp as he stumbled forward.

  But it wasn’t over yet.

  The soldier roared, his body lurching as he reached for her again. His boot caught on an exposed root, hidden beneath the snow, sending him crashing down. He flailed, trying to catch himself, but the icy ground betrayed him. His skull struck the frozen earth with a thunderous crack.

  The world briefly stilled.

  A gust howled through the trees, and Kaiya stood over his motionless body, chest heaving, every muscle trembling. Not dead—no, she didn’t have the strength for that. But he wouldn’t be getting up anytime soon. Goddess Nimue, let him stay down.

  Her breath came in ragged gasps, each one colder than the last, as though the storm itself was trying to claw her back.

  Then she heard it—a low rumble, faint at first, but growing louder. The wind carried with it the sound of heavy footfalls. More soldiers. Her stomach turned to ice. She had only delayed the inevitable.

  Kaiya turned, squinting through the blizzard. There she spotted it—a cave, a dark mouth gaping through the white fury. Shelter. A chance. Thank you my goddess!

  She didn’t look back at the fallen soldier. She couldn’t afford to. Her legs were weak, trembling beneath her, but she forced them to move, stumbling through the snow. The dagger shook in her hand, her knuckles white with strain as she gripped it, her only defense.

  I’ll never go back. The thought surged through her, as sharp as a blade. Not to him. Not to Torvik. I swear it.

  The name Torvik was a scar that never fully healed, a tender spot that ached with every memory, every thought, every whispered word. The man she had been promised to, the man who had marked her future with violence. She could still see his sneering face, feel his hands like iron shackles, his breath hot with threats.

  This kind of violence—this was why she had run. This is why I fly.

  Her vision swam, exhaustion clawing at her body with every step, but her mind held firm. I’ll die before I go back to him. She imagined Torvik’s hands closing around her throat, pictured the smirk on his face when he dragged her back to the cage she’d barely escaped. I’ll die before I let him touch me again.

  Despite the harsh and merciless wind, she managed to push through it. The monster won’t have me. Not now. Not ever.

  The cave loomed closer, and with one final burst of strength, Kaiya threw herself inside, the darkness swallowing her whole. She collapsed to her knees, breathless, body aching, but alive. The storm howled outside, and somewhere in the distance, the soldiers’ shouts echoed faintly.

  Inside the cave, the scant warmth did little to chase away the chill. Debris littered the back wall—twigs, brittle leaves, and strands of dead vines woven into forgotten patterns by time. The space was cramped, barely enough for two to huddle together, the stone walls pressing in like the jaws of some indifferent beast. The biting wind, dulled but persistent, seeped through unseen fissures, carrying with it a ghostly wail. Kaiya collapsed onto the frozen ground, her chest heaving, each breath a desperate rasp. Tremors wracked her frame, exhaustion threatening to drag her under. The ice in her veins mirrored the frost that rimed the air. She was here, but safety still felt like a distant dream. She hadn’t escaped yet.

  Outside, the soldiers stirred. The sound of muffled voices, the clang of metal as they roused the fallen one, his groans of pain echoing through the night. They were searching for her. Hunting her. The clatter of boots crunching through snow—too close, far too close. The strength of the storm couldn’t mask them.

  She crawled deeper into the cave, her back pressed against the stone wall. Too loud. Her breathing too loud. Her heart too loud. If they found her, she wouldn’t stand a chance. She had no fight left. Nothing.

  Over the entrance to the cave, the snow had accumulated deeply. Perhaps it would be sufficient. She might not be discovered here. Perhaps they wouldn't drag her back.

  Her fingers brushed the flint tucked away in her cloak. Start a fire? Her thoughts twisted, frantic. No, too dangerous. Too exposed. They’d see the smoke. They’d see the light. They’d come. But without warmth, she’d freeze. Already, her fingers were numb, her lips cracked and dry, her body shivering uncontrollably. But if she tried... they'd find her.

  Outside, the search went on. The sound of their voices drifted closer, louder. One called out, his voice rough, frustrated. “She has to be here somewhere! Find her!”

  They were coming.

  Her breath hitched in her throat. Stay still. Stay quiet. She hugged her knees to her chest, curled herself as small as she could, like an animal burrowing for warmth, for safety. The cave was dark, but not dark enough. Her pulse thrummed in her ears, louder than the wind. Louder than the soldiers. They could hear it. They have to.

  Another voice. “No tracks past this point. She’s gone.” But the boots crunched closer, still searching, still coming.

  Time stretched, an eternity frozen in the dark. She couldn’t move. She couldn’t breathe. She couldn’t think beyond the pounding terror in her chest. Not like this. Not here. Not back to him.

  Then, finally, the voices began to fade. The footsteps grew distant, muffled by the snowstorm. Gone. They had given up. After a while, a long, slow while, silence fell.

  Her muscles unclenched. A cold ache settled in her bones, deeper than the cold in the air. Alive. But barely. She let out a shuddering breath, her body still trembling, teeth chattering uncontrollably. But the cold. The cold would finish what they had failed to do.

  Her hand reached for the flint again. Now’s the time. Now she could risk it.

  The wood she carried was damp, barely usable, the kindling scarce and weak. Her fingers were clumsy, stiff from the cold. She struck the flint once. Twice. A third time. Nothing. Her fingers slipped.

  Again.

  The spark sputtered and died before it had a chance to catch. Again. Nothing. Her body was shaking too hard.

  Focus. You have to. Focus.

  She tried again, but her hands wouldn’t cooperate, wouldn’t obey her, trembling as they were. The flint slipped from her grasp, falling into the snow beneath her.

  Damn it!

  She fumbled for it, the fear settling deeper now. The fear of what would happen if she failed again. If the fire didn’t start. If she couldn’t keep warm. She struck the flint, once more, harder this time. The spark leapt, flickered, and vanished.

  Nothing.

  Her breaths were ragged gasps now. Panic rose in her throat, choking her. She hit the flint again, desperate now, slamming it with trembling hands, her heart pounding louder than the storm. Nothing. Nothing. Nothing!k

  The night deepened. The wind howled louder. The air grew colder, biting, burning. Her body trembled violently now, every muscle spasming, unable to stop the shaking. She wouldn’t survive this. She couldn’t. Not without the fire.

  Her limbs felt heavy, numb. The cold seeped into her bones, wrapping itself around her heart, dragging her down, deeper into the frozen dark. She gathered the meager debris—loose leaves and dried vegetation blown into the cave—and wrapped it around her shivering frame.

  She couldn’t think of anything else now. Nothing but the cold, the fire that wouldn’t come, the heat slipping away from her with each passing breath. Sleep pulled at her, seductive, insistent. No. She shook her head, teeth chattering, her body curling tighter, as if that would somehow keep her alive.

  She was afraid to close her eyes. Afraid of what the cold would do if she did. Afraid that she wouldn’t wake again.

  She couldn’t sleep. She had to stay awake. Stay awake. Stay alive.

  But it was so hard. So hard to fight the pull of it. The heaviness. The numbness spreading, spreading like the cold.

  Kaiya huddled at the back of the cave, pressed against the frozen stone, every muscle clenched tight. Her body shaking, shivering, spasming uncontrollably, as the night pressed in, darker and colder, freezing her from the inside out.

  The storm raged outside, and inside, she waited. She knew she would not survive the night. It would be peaceful. A gentle drift into a slumber from which she’d never awaken.

  The light of dawn broke through the cave’s entrance with a stinging light. Kaiya shivered, her body friable from the long, frozen night. She had survived. Not dead? Why? How? Somehow I lived. No soldiers. No chains. Not yet. But the fear remained, lodged deep inside her, like an arrow that hadn’t been removed.

  She forced herself up, though her legs were numb. Her entire body shook as she moved toward the mouth of the cave. Everything outside was sharp—the sun, the chill, the quiet. Perhaps the quiet was deceptive. The soldiers could, and likely would, come back.

  As she gazed off into the distance, her thoughts returned to the decisions that had led her here. Mere hours ago, they’d lifted the Ancestral Chalice to her lips. Sacred. Inevitable. And now, those same people hunted her, her kin transformed into wolves. Her pulse quickened as the reality of her decision led her down a path from which there was no return. I loved them, I honored their customs. But I won’t be broken for the sake of their tradition. She’d refuse to be bent into the shape of a dutiful wife, molded by a society that didn’t care who she was—only what she was meant to be.

  They’d called her a traitor before she’d even fled. The council’s edict came down swift and brutal, like a thunderstrike. Her family had begged for mercy, but the Elders were unforgiving. Return her to face judgment. Weave her punishment into the Great Tapestry, where it will stay for all time. She could almost feel the heat of their words, cremating her beneath their inevitability.

  Torvik’s name shook her more than the morning’s ice. His hand on her throat, his grip on other, more sensitive parts of her body. How could they expect her to endure his kind of violence? Her fingers curled into a fist. This is what I refused to accept.

  The thought had plagued her all night, gnawing at her like the cold: Was it worth it? Could I have stayed? Could I have endured it, sacrificed everything for them? No. She knew the answer too well. The Matchmaker had hated her from the beginning, arranging that cruel marriage like a final punishment. You won’t break me. A pox upon your shaky hands.

  The forest stretched out ahead of her, wide and empty. Behind her, everything she knew—her people, her family, the traditions she had been raised with. But ahead… ahead was freedom. She’d carve it out of whatever land she found herself in. The south, the heat, the foreign lands—it didn’t matter. Whatever lay ahead couldn’t be worse than what she’d left behind.

  Her steps felt heavier than the snow beneath them. But she pushed forward, one foot sinking deep, then the other. Every step was a betrayal, every step a rejection of everything she’d been taught. But it was a step toward survival. Toward freedom.

  I will survive, she told herself. I’ll make my way south. Her nails dug into her palms. I’ll thrive, and I’ll find a way to live, far from the life they’d arranged for me. She couldn’t go back. She wouldn’t.

  With a deep breath, she turned from the cave and the frozen world she had known. The south called her forward. Dangerous, but hers to claim.