Each day, I walked around the town. Snow blanketed the roofs now, but the streets were busy again. Kids used boards strapped with old leather and skated across the flat plazas. Tinkerers had replicated mana-powered snowmobiles—some more like sleds strapped to combustion runes than actual vehicles, but they worked.At the centre of the plaza, the massive hearthstone still glowed, feeding warmth into nearby structures. Around it, benches and tables had been set, and people dined even in winter—hot stew, bread fresh from underground ovens, grilled hotdogs, cup noodles, coffee, warm cider and laughter.And in the evenings, I would find myself with Silvarya.Sometimes, she sat close as I stirred soup. Other times, she taught little kids how to braid spell-thread for winter charms. Her eyes were softer these days. The pain in them didn’t vanish, but it dimmed. She smiled more now. Even laughed.One night, as the sky above turned violet with the northern lights, I found us both sitting by th

I was just finishing a report with Miss Agnes when the sentries at the north gate blew the horn—three long blasts. Not an attack. Not a threat. A return.My heart skipped a beat.I didn’t run. Lords don’t run. But gods, I wanted to. Instead, I made my way to the gate with long strides, coat flapping, boots slamming against stone.When I saw them, I froze.Kael and Karl. But they weren’t the same.Gone were the broad-shouldered, confident men who’d once sparred with my best warriors and joked with cooks over meals. The two figures that limped through the open gate wore tattered cloaks, had raw armour, gaunt faces and sunken eyes.Aged. What the hell happened to them?That was the only word for it. Their skin had dulled; streaks of grey cut through their hair. Kael’s hand trembled slightly as he gave me a salute, and Karl—always the grinning rogue—was silent. Still. Haunted.“They aged,” Agnes whispered beside me. “That’s… impossible.”No. It wasn’t.Not with cursed fog, dark mana, and

It began during the third night after Silvarya’s breakthrough. The last snow of winter still clung to the shadows, even as spring pushed through with green shoots and bird songs. I was in the middle of approving new blueprints for our road bridge when the watchtower bell rang. Voice from the two-way radio echoed.The wind shifted before the first scream reached the walls. A sudden chill, like fingers crawling down my spine. Then another bell. Then two.“What the heck is that?” I was halfway through a supply meeting with Agnes and the road engineers when the third alarm rang.Five chimes. Emergency.I shoved the plans aside and bolted from the hall, sword already buckled, backpack on my shoulder. instincts howling. From atop the east tower, I saw it—the world shifting.The farmlands beyond our walls were in chaos.Chickens and goats stampeded across muddy fields. Horses screamed, throwing off their riders. A dozen farmers ran for the gates, some carrying children, others dragging the w

Deep within the heart of the cursed woods—where even sunlight feared to tread—a pulse of foul magic stirred the earth. The trees here were not trees anymore, but twisted bones wrapped in bark, roots feeding on sorrow, not soil. The air tasted of blood and rusted iron. Animals long since fled, and even the crows that once circled high now avoided the skies above.And in the eye of that storm of mist and madness... he waited. The mage who should have been dead. The mage whose power predated even the First Kingdoms.Ferdinand. Once a prince of men. Once a scholar. Once a son.Now—only a husk wrapped in hatred. His skin was pale as ash, stretched thin over his gaunt frame like parchment. His eyes—once a soft gray—now glowed with void-fire. Ancient runes were carved into his flesh, burned there in agony by the cruel hand of his father, sealed to keep him chained to the shadows.But those chains had begun to weaken. He stood in the glade, mist swirling at his feet, his long fingers twitchin

SILVARYA'S POVFew hours ago, while Dirk stepped into the black heart of the forest, I sat deep within a cave outside town, surrounded by glowing runes and quiet wind. I was meditating—or trying to.The air was thick. Something pulled at me.I went deeper.Images flooded my mind—Fire. Chains. A city burning.My own voice screaming spells in a tongue I didn’t remember learning.And then— Dirk.He was kneeling. Covered in blood. Not his enemies'. His own.His left eye was gone. His armor cracked. He held something—a jewel? A heart? And he whispered, "Silvarya... run."I gasped and awoke, my body drenched in sweat. My magic flickered out of control, wind swirling around me violently. Flare growled nearby, sensing my distress.Was it a vision? A memory?Or a warning? I held my trembling hand to my heart. The dangerous thought coiled in the back of my mind. I felt an ancient magic in the air, like a honey…and I was a mere bee. The magic pulse and I didn’t want to stop. It was intoxicating