It was the scent of roasting meat that roused him. His stomach convulsed; a surge of nausea forced him upright as his rheumy eyes strained to open. Seeing that he had vomited upon the freezing snow, he looked at the wisps of steam rising from the ground with loathing, struggling to gather his senses. The air was biting. They were sheltered within some manner of cavern. Wiping his eyes and pulling himself further up, he saw Bodhi, Balbun, and the other guards sleeping nearer to the entrance. They slept as soundly as infants. He blinked, turning to his left, and realized this was a sanctuary hewn directly into the ice. It was too vast, too perfectly shaped to have been carved by hand.

  It was then that he saw the figure standing in the corner. Aside from Byuga, this was the only soul awake in the cave. The Prince of Gaigon struck the snow in sudden trepidation; words failed him, and he let out whatever strangled sounds he could manage, desperately trying to wake Balbun. Yet they did not stir.

  Then, the figure began to walk toward him. Byuga felt a presence in his mind—a sensation like a needle probing his thoughts. The being calmed him, projecting two distinct truths into his consciousness: there was no danger, and the others were asleep. This sleep was no natural process. They would not wake, not until this stranger allowed it.

  Byuga watched as the figure knelt beside him and threw back a hood. The cloak and cowl were fashioned from a fabric of ethereal beauty; it shimmered against the snow, providing a perfect camouflage yet standing out with a humble, luminous grace. As the figure pulled the cloth down from her face, the young bahysa’s eyes widened.

  Before him stood a countenance that held the faint grace of a feline. Her skin was a shade of grey that bordered on bone-white, as if dusted with a hint of rouge. Her pointed ears reached the level of horn-like protrusions emerging from the hair above her forehead, giving her the appearance of wearing a natural crown. Her eyes were immense, reminiscent of a gazelle’s but magnified, with pupils of molten gold that shone like twin jewels amidst the gloom. They watched him with keen interest. Her nose was a delicate miniature of her jawline, so finely carved it barely drew attention to the center of her face. She was, in every aspect, breathtaking. From the fullness of her lips and the slight curve of her breast, Byuga realized he was looking at a woman. He felt her beauty not just with his eyes, but somehow, with his very soul.

  Byuga wished to ask who she was, but he knew she would not understand. He wondered—this could not be a kardam. Perhaps he was looking upon a race never before seen by his kind. Could she be a shuin? Had a deity truly come to his rescue? He followed her hand with curious eyes as she raised it toward his forehead.

  Her palms were warm, as if the surrounding frost could not touch her. The moment her hand met his brow, Byuga was flooded with a peace that defied explanation. Immediately, the cave vanished, replaced by an image. Amidst a raging blizzard, he saw two mountains of the Frostspears, broken and collapsed against one another, fused by time and ice. The vision drifted between them, revealing a tree rising within a sphere of translucent ice. It was lush and green; protected by the frozen shell, it thrived in the heart of the cold.

  Then, the woman withdrew her hand, and the vision shattered. Byuga could not grasp the meaning of what he had seen, yet in that heartbeat, the woman vanished into the snow. It was as if she had been nothing more than a vivid, lingering hallucination.

  The moment she disappeared, his companions bolted awake. Seeing them all spring up at once, Byuga recoiled in initial fright, but then he spotted Balbun and rushed toward him. He clung to the man so fiercely that the shimlyndvyen instinctively pushed him back. Byuga watched as Balbun stood, coughing. He did not know what to do, how to vent the storm of excitement and terror within him. Balbun sat him down, then rose to help the others.

  Finally, Balbun stopped beside one of the figures lying on the snow. He turned his back to keep Byuga from seeing, but it was too late. The heir of Gaigon ran forward. His stomach growled with hunger, and a bitter taste rose in his throat, but he pressed on and looked over Balbun’s shoulder. It was his uncle. He lay there, motionless. Only he and the guard beside him had not woken. The heir of Gaigon fell to his knees, shaking him, shoving him, but there was no life. As Byuga began to push harder, teeth clenched in denial, Balbun hauled him up and dragged him away. Byuga only realized he was screaming when the shimlyndvyen clamped a hand over his mouth.

  Keeping him at a distance, they wrapped his uncle’s body and lashed it to a litter made from the furs of the fallen guard. Shyugan’s remains had to be returned to the Black Tower. They departed in haste. They had no provisions, no scraps of food; only their waterskins were full.

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  Balbun scanned the horizon as they emerged from the cave. None could recognize their surroundings. They stood at the edge of a forest; somehow, they had been brought south of the Frostspear Mountains. Their bewilderment broke when the shimlyndvyen took the lead. He dispatched two guards to carry word to Sulunchez and Nin-Alumni. Makar, Bodhi, Balbun, and Byuga set out for Gaigen.

  They trekked through the woods for days. Makar managed to snare a few rabbits, but Byuga never questioned why the kardam remained with them. They were a wretched sight. Food was scarce, and the cold was relentless. Every morning brought a deeper frost. Byuga could not remember ever being this cold. Though they moved south, the chill never relented. Sometimes he thought the air grew warmer, only to realize the blizzard had merely lessened its fury for a time. The act of walking was an exhaustion in itself. Looking at the faces of the others, he saw his own misery reflected back.

  By the time they cleared the forest, he had lost count of the days. When they reached the outpost a day or two later, they found it abandoned, save for two guards. Balbun spoke with them briefly. It seemed those at the post had not expected Shyugan to return—certainly not as a corpse on a litter. Those who were missing had gone to sell the myshos. When Balbun explained this, Byuga was stunned. He could not fathom why anyone would commit such a profound act of disrespect and dishonor. He was only beginning to unravel the workings of the world. Since passing through the gates of Gaigon, he had seen nothing but shadow.

  They stayed two nights at the outpost. They had planned for one, but they slept for hours and woke too wracked with pain to travel. When they finally set out, they moved like the walking dead. At least now, they rode upon myshos.

  They crossed the tundras for days. This time, they passed the Monument of Bansko—an ancient statue depicting a hero whose name had been lost to time. Its arms had crumbled, yet the monument, crafted from a strange, bronze-like stone, stood with weathered majesty. Normally, Byuga would have been overjoyed to see it. Now, standing at the feet of one of his homeland’s most mysterious ancient relics, he felt not even a flicker of excitement.

  Each night, hidden from the others, he would peel back his uncle’s shroud. Perhaps he wanted to remember. He was afraid. It made him feel how fragile life truly was. Dying was easy. Because it was so simple and so painless, he felt himself sinking into a dark existence, as if he were dying a little every day. The forced realization of how easily everything could be lost shattered his spirit.

  At last, days later, Gaigen appeared in the distance. The Black Tower rose in all its stark grandeur. The cold was now razor-sharp. Byuga remembered the mere "chilly breeze" that had greeted them when they first set out; now, he could not stand for even a few seconds without his furs. The winter had truly sharpened its teeth. He turned his head to the north. A blizzard raged there, barely visible. They made camp one last time with Gaigen spread before them.

  The heir of Gaigon hesitantly raised his hands and looked at Balbun. "What were they?" he asked—the first words he had spoken in the weeks since waking.

  "I do not know." Balbun had grown distant, almost like a stranger. He did not wish to answer the boy. He struggled to believe what he had seen. Was it the end of the world? Or had those creatures been there for millennia?

  Then, Makar’s voice cut through the air. The kardam spoke with a heavy, broken accent, yet his voice carried a weight of terror.

  "Witches," he said. Balbun and Bodhi frowned at him. The kardam huddled into his cloak; even he seemed to feel the chill. As Byuga reached out to touch Balbun, asking for an explanation he couldn't hear, the shimlyndvyen signaled for silence.

  "They were always there." Makar’s eyes drifted into the snowy void. "We have legends of them. No kardam child goes beyond the Frostspears unless they are cast out to die. Because they are there. It is known."

  "But what are they?" Bodhi pressed.

  "Daughters of Winter... none know their true nature."

  "Do they rule the kardams?"

  "Only a kardam rules a kardam. But we fear them."

  "There were armies of kardams there."

  "They are dead." As the two men stared at Makar, the other guards watched him with a mixture of loathing and dread. "The witches slay the soul and enslave the flesh. Those kardams have no names, no souls. They are corpses. They serve only the witches now."

  "Can they do that to us?" one of the guards whispered.

  "I do not know." Makar fell into a heavy silence.

  When Byuga pressed for an explanation, Balbun suddenly kicked him with such force that the heir of Gaigon was sent sprawling across the snow. When he scrambled up, he looked at his protector in terror. Balbun stood and walked away without a word. Bodhi came to his side, explaining what had been said as he helped him up.

  "Do not push him," Bodhi whispered. "He cannot face what he saw."

  "We all saw the same thing," Byuga replied, before turning and walking away.

  Toward the evening of the next day, with the blizzard howling at their backs, they reached Gaigen. The gates swung open long before they arrived, and guards rushed out to meet them. They were all at the breaking point. As a guard took his arm, Byuga surrendered his weight, savoring the relief of being held as he wordlessly handed over the reins of his mysho.

  They passed through the walls one by one and were taken to the infirmary. Byuga saw Balbun showing his uncle’s shroud to Hattori and the Nimras. He closed his eyes, leaning against the guard who carried him, wiping his tears against his cloak while pretending it was merely the exhaustion of the road. Only then did he realize how much fear, grief, and sorrow he had been holding inside.