"Where are we?" I asked, breath hitching as it fogged the air, curling like smoke against the crystalline walls.

  "Well, thanks for noticing, bear-boy. This is my specialized cabin. Made with magic. My magic."

  "An ice structure? In Fresha Kingdom?"

  "Maybe. Come outside."

  I followed her, the door clicking softly shut behind me. The outside—a shell of wood and bark—contrasted harshly with the cabin’s cold, shimmering gut. My muscles still ached from the remnants of her spell. A numbing stiffness, like frost, coiled inside my bones.

  Moonlight spilled across her sky-blue bob, catching in the ridges of her curls. Her eyes—same color, same cut as Arie’s—glimmered like shallow pools over frozen lakes. Porcelain skin reflected the faint lanternlight leaking from the windows.

  She was Arie.

  And yet, she wasn’t.

  The girl I pulled from the Glacia Trench had looked like this. But the way this one moved—grace like coiled wire, sharp and deliberate—belonged to something else. Someone else. This wasn’t the princess I’d saved.

  This was a shadow of her. A warning in the shape of a girl.

  We stood among trees—giants with skeletal limbs clawing at the night sky. The moon, bloated and pale, hovered directly overhead, casting ghostlight through the tangled canopy. Behind me, the cabin waited like a quiet witness.

  "You possess Dreamer’s Magic? But Arie—"

  She cut in. "Doesn’t have access to it."

  "How?" The word escaped too fast, too loud.

  "Why not ask her? Oh—wait." Her smile thinned. "She mustn’t know." A slow blink. Her voice dropped. "You keep asking questions like you were born tonight. Don’t test me, bear-boy."

  Her tone didn’t rise.

  It didn’t have to.

  A different kind of cold settled into my spine—not the frost of the forest, but something older. Deadlier.

  She had absolute power.

  And she knew it.

  But some foolish part of me still lingered—waited—for a flicker of the real Arie. The one who stumbled over her words. The one who stared at fire like it might devour her. The one I wanted to believe still existed.

  Then my ears twitched.

  A distant sound—a howl, sharp and savage—carved through the hush like a blade through silk. My blood turned.

  "Ar—Ellie," I corrected, cautiously. "We’re not at the kingdom yet."

  Something crossed her face. A shadow. Doubt?

  But it was gone before I could name it. Replaced by her signature smirk, all teeth and frost.

  "I’m not dragging a sleeping Polarman through a kingdom. So here we are."

  From the dark, a werewolf broke the line of trees—snarling, a rush of fur and fury. I reached inward, calling my ice—

  Nothing.

  My magic didn’t respond.

  Damn. The Wintermelon had worn off.

  Too long asleep.

  "Stop, werewolf," Ellie commanded.

  She didn’t shout. Didn’t flinch.

  But the words were iron.

  The beast froze mid-air, claws outstretched, snarl caught in its throat. Its sclera were pitch black—definitely a werewolf, not a Wolfman. And its red irises burned into me with a hatred that felt... ancient.

  "You really can do that? Stop anything?" I asked, wary.

  "Of course." Her eyes never left the beast. "Should I try it on you next?"

  She said it like a joke. Sweet. Almost playful.

  But her smile said otherwise.

  And I hated that I flinched.

  She tossed me a cube without looking. “Here’s your fruit. Now freeze him. I’m not wasting more power on this filthy creature.”

  I caught it. The cube pulsed faintly in my palm, like a dying heartbeat.

  “Summon Wintermelon,” I muttered.

  It obeyed. A glowing cantaloupe spun above the cube, light blue aura pulsing to life. I bit into it, frost flooding my limbs, my magic reawakening beneath my skin like a buried current finally breaking loose. The cantaloupe blinked out. I tucked the cube into my pocket.

  “And don’t kill him. Keep the head untouched by ice,” she ordered—colder now, like the threat had seeped into her bones and settled there.

  I nodded—obedient, afraid—and released a pulse of frost. Ice coiled up the werewolf’s limbs like a serpent, stopping beneath his chin. He dropped with a muffled thud the moment Ellie let go. I froze the ground beneath him to cushion the fall. A quiet mercy. Maybe too quiet.

  She was watching. No, testing.

  A slow smile tugged at her lips—not warmth, but approval. “Good job, bear-boy. How long do your ice abilities last?”

  “Ten hours,” I said, voice small.

  “So, a Class 3 fruit master,” she mused, inspecting the creature as though it were an inconvenient artifact. Her tone was curious, but only just. The detachment in her eyes made the cold feel deeper.

  “Lucky for you, I’m in a generous mood,” she went on, gripping the werewolf’s frozen jaw. “So I’ll go easy on you.”

  Then, softly—like poison in a lullaby: “This cursed werewolf is a man by daylight, and a beast once midnight breaks. Same as me. Same as Arie. She’s the princess. I’m the queen.”

  No. The thought clawed up from my gut. Not a queen. A witch wearing royalty like stolen silk.

  “Unfreeze him, bear-boy,” she said, not even looking at me.

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  No questions. I obeyed. The ice hissed as it melted, retreating too fast.

  The werewolf lunged.

  But she was faster. Inhumanly so.

  She moved like she already knew the attack, each motion sharpened to perfection. The faint glint of a blue crystal pulsed at her boots—Ice Foot. A movement enhancer we’d only ever trained with deep in Donshell’s cave.

  It confirmed what I feared.

  She had Arie’s memories.

  But Arie didn’t have hers.

  “Catch me if you can, werewolf,” she called out, voice light, taunting.

  The beast roared and charged again—missed. She twisted around him like wind curling through a broken window, and punished his mistake. Ice splintered from the ground, skewering his side. He howled, collapsing.

  “I hate your kind,” she whispered. “Especially Wolfmen. They all deserve to suffer.” Her voice cracked—but not from weakness. From rage.

  Grief, razored.

  And then—ice spires.

  They erupted from the frozen earth, jagged and final. One split through the werewolf’s chest with a sickening crunch. Blood spilled across the frost, bright and sudden, until even that turned to ice.

  Ellie laughed.

  Not sweetly. Not even cruelly.

  Just... hollow.

  “Turns out Chillberry’s not so boring after all,” she murmured, brushing snow from her shoulder. “But my magic’s still better.”

  She crouched low, tilting her head like a curious child studying a dying bird. “Speak, filthy werewolf. Where is Felipe?”

  “I—I don’t know,” he croaked, voice broken.

  And just like that, she had given him the ability to speak.

  She hummed, unimpressed. “Of course you don’t. Just a stray. Bitten. Clueless and useless.”

  Then came the scream.

  Short. Piercing. Cut off by the final spike that tore through him like a blade through parchment. His eyes froze wide, white.

  Dead.

  Ellie yawned. Not dramatically. Just... tired. Like murder was exhausting.

  “I feel sleepy,” she muttered. “You clean up the mess. I’ll see you again next midnight.”

  “Wait—”

  “Don’t make me repeat myself,” she said, and her voice hit like shattering glass.

  She turned and vanished into the cabin.

  And I stood there.

  Alone in the cold.

  Shaken. Silent.

  Full of questions no frost could smother.

  ***

  Arie’s POV

  I woke to the hush of cold walls and a ceiling carved from pale frost. The bed beneath me cradled my weight like it knew me—like it had been waiting. The air smelled faintly of ice and ash. Home. Almost.

  But I couldn’t remember how I got here.

  My limbs ached as if they’d carried me across kingdoms, though I remembered only darkness, then sleep. A peaceful kind of sleep. The kind that feels borrowed.

  I pushed the heavy blanket aside and rose slowly, feet brushing against the chilled stone. The curtains yielded to my hand with a sigh. Outside, trees towered under a silver-blue sky, their branches slick with morning dew that shimmered like secrets.

  Fresha. It had to be. We made it. Didn’t we?

  I stepped out into a corridor of ice, walls reflecting my lavender tunic in fractured panes. Every step echoed like a question. I didn’t think—I just moved, drawn forward by something warmer than the chill around me.

  There he was. Skymint.

  Seated near a bonfire just beyond the threshold, its smoke curling upward like ghostly script. He looked up the instant I stepped outside. His eyes widened. A flicker of something unreadable passed over his face—surprise, maybe. Or something quieter.

  Maybe it was my tangled hair. Or maybe the absence of my icy blue cloak.

  “Good morning, Skymint,” I said, voice gentler than I intended as I lowered myself onto the opposite bench.

  He took a second too long to reply. “Good morning... Arie.” The hesitation sat heavy in the space between my name and his voice.

  Without a word, he handed me an ice-etched plate—strips of meat skewered on wooden sticks. I accepted it carefully, placing it beside me.

  “Sorry, there’s no sauce,” he muttered, rubbing the back of his neck.

  “It’s fine,” I said. “What is it?”

  “Venison. Deer barbecue,” he replied flatly. “Are you okay with eating deer?”

  I blinked. “My brother’s favorite,” I murmured. The memory warmed my throat. I took a bite. Smoky, tender. A taste of something gone.

  He watched me as I chewed, gaze steady—not like he was admiring me, but studying. Like he was waiting for me to become someone else.

  “Skymint.” His head snapped toward me. “Did you carry me here?”

  “I did,” he said, quietly. “You were asleep. So I carried you.”

  A silence passed between us.

  “Thank you,” I said. “That must’ve been exhausting.” Another bite. “And that cabin—it felt... familiar. Almost like it belonged to me.”

  “That? Just an abandoned thing I found. I iced the walls so you could sleep comfortably.”

  He smiled. It was small. Careful. Like it might break if I looked too long.

  “You’re kind,” I said truthfully. “Too kind for a world like this. I wish more people in the palace were like you.”

  He looked away and reached for a flask. His hand trembled slightly as he twisted the cap, but he said nothing.

  Instead, he asked, “Do you know about Dreamer’s Magic?”

  The shift was abrupt. Like ice cracking underfoot.

  “Yes,” I said, perking up. “I studied it in the royal library. Why?”

  He sipped slowly. “Are there consequences?”

  “Yes,” I said. “Sleep debt. The more complex the spell, the heavier the toll.”

  “Thought so,” he murmured. “I was wondering if that story was true. The Sorcerer Who Slept Forever.”

  “It’s true. Mostly,” I said. “But they didn’t sleep forever. Just long enough to die in their sleep. They cast something massive. Permanent.”

  His breath hitched. “That’s... dark. What kind of spell could be worth that?”

  “One meant to fix the world,” I said, quieter now. “Or at least, I’d like to believe that. If I had that kind of magic, I think I’d try to do the same.”

  His gaze dropped back to the fire. He poked at the embers, stirring up a swirl of smoke and sparks.

  “What kind of spells would you cast?” he asked.

  I gave him a sad smile. “A spell to dethrone Felipe. Another to bring back my parents. Just enough to undo everything that’s gone wrong.”

  “You don’t need magic for that,” he said, still looking into the fire. “We’ll do it together. We’ll reach the kingdom.”

  I turned to him. Met his gaze.

  “And find your best friend,” I added. “And bring justice.”

  His lips curled, barely a smile, before slipping away again. The wind shifted, rustling the trees like whispers between giants. Smoke from the fire twisted into strange shapes, rising like questions we were too afraid to ask.

  He watched the flames, distant again.

  But for the first time since yesterday, I saw a sliver of his usual self—brighter, if only faintly.

  And it made my chest ache.

  Even if this warmth was borrowed. Even if it would vanish with the next gust of wind.

  ***

  We walked the forest path in silence, the sun lacing through the canopy in fractured strands, shadows trailing behind like quiet sentinels. The trees spoke in hushed tones, wind threading through their branches. Leaves crackled beneath our steps—a peaceful sound, but not without weight. Not without warning.

  A slip of paper tore through the air, sharp and sudden, brushing past the edge of my hood like a whisper turned frantic. I caught it mid-flight. It flapped once in my hand, then stilled. A flyer—creased and ink-faded—advertising the Horse Racing Competition in Fresha this year.

  “Skymint,” I said, raising the paper, “this might be our chance to earn leaf bills.”

  He lifted a brow. “You want me to race? But—”

  “We’ll find a way.” I folded the flyer neatly, as if doing so might bend fate into something more manageable. “I know you can do it.”

  He exhaled slowly, dragging a hand behind his neck, gaze slipping sideways. “It’s not that simple. It’s an annual event, sure, but each kingdom sends their best. Their chosen. Only the strong are even invited.”

  A pause. Then his voice dropped—thinner, like a memory pulled taut.

  “Sunstar’s got speedsters. Finnian’s representative? Lightning-fast. And Glacia?” He met my eyes for a heartbeat, and in that moment, I could almost see the past flicker in his pupils. “Your icy kingdom won’t sit this out either.”

  The silence that followed wasn’t empty. It was full—of ghosts and memories and names unspoken.

  My brother once stood at the top of that podium, the snow glinting off his armor like a crown. But he was gone. Burned into ash and air. And Glacia needed someone now.

  There was another double-elemental fruit master left. Skadar.

  Maybe… maybe that was why I said it. Maybe I wanted Skymint in the race not just for bills, not just for survival—but to see Skadar again. To measure the distance between what we were and what we’ve become.

  I swallowed the thought. Buried it beneath the rustle of wind and the brush of hair against my hood.

  Beside me, Skymint’s ears twitched.

  He kept stealing glances, his gaze flicking sideways, then forward again. Watching me—or something behind me?

  “About your mother,” I said, gentler now, each word like a footstep on cracking ice. “I’m sorry. If we hadn’t gone to the Guardian, maybe you wouldn’t have known the truth.”

  He tapped the rim of his black bucket hat, the gesture casual, but his tone carried a brittle edge. “Better bitter truth than sweet lies. That old man would’ve bled us dry in ice bills while feeding us scraps.”

  He looked forward, jaw tightening. “I can’t unknow it now. And I can’t do nothing either.”

  He hesitated. Then—“If the competition’s my way out, I’ll take it. I’ll race. I’ll win. I’ll clear the bounty.”

  A small flame sparked in my chest, sudden and golden. “That’s the spirit, Skymint.”

  He turned, and something in his expression softened—not melted, not broken, but shifted. As if my belief in him pressed against a crack he hadn’t noticed yet.

  “Thanks,” he murmured.

  We continued walking down the road of fallen leaves, our footsteps rustling against the amber trail.

  Then, a change. A stillness in the wind. Skymint suddenly stopped.

  He turned back—and standing in front of him was a figure unlike any I’d seen before.

  A Grizzlyman.

  Not all of them were this massive, but this one towered like a mountain wrapped in fur.

  His broad frame stood motionless, casting a long shadow across the path.

  "Are you Skymint?" the creature asked, his voice deep and deliberate.