Blood tasted like salt and cold iron as Thorn spat onto the mud.He walked down the narrow cobblestone street toward the eastern gate, his heavy boots dragging through the black water. Rain poured down in thick sheets, slapping against his bare right shoulder and soaking his torn black trousers."Your collarbone is turning light gray," Lyra warned, her faint silver light floating close to his cheek. "If that stone skin touches your throat, you will stop breathing.""I can still breathe," Thorn said, his voice sounding like two dry rocks rubbing together. "How far is the gate?""Two hundred yards," Lyra replied, looking ahead through the dark curtain of falling rain. "The archway is blocked by iron bars, but the street is completely empty.""It is not empty," Thorn said, stopping right in front of an overturned vegetable cart.A single figure stepped out from the deep shadows of a broad archway. He wore no armor, only a dark blue wool coat soaked with rain. A long wooden staff sat acro

LA shadow with wings as wide as a house swept across the icy moon.Thorn crouched under the shelf of a frozen rock, his right hand buried deep in the freezing snow. Rain had turned to heavy white flakes two miles back, coating his black shirt in a thin layer of ice."It is a imperial hunting wyvern," Lyra whispered, her pale ghost light flickering faintly inside his collar. "The mountain guards are scouting the high pass with beasts.""Let them scout," Thorn said, his voice flat and raspy. "The wind is blowing our scent down the valley."He flexed his left hand. The stone skin was cold, thick, and stiff, but it did not feel the freezing snow at all. The dark gray petrification had reached the base of his neck, locking his jaw so tightly that speaking felt like grinding two river rocks together."Your left shoulder is frozen solid," Lyra said, hovering right in front of his face. "If you take one bad fall on these rocks, your arm will snap like dry pine wood.""Then I will not fall," T

Blood dried faster in the freezing mountain wind than it did in the warm capital.Thorn dragged his boots through the knee-deep snow, every breath burning his throat like swallowed glass. His heavy wool cloak flapped behind him, stiffened by ice and red spray from the guards at the lower gate. Beside his shoulder, a small silver light drifted through the blizzard, flickering against the blinding white air."You are moving too slow," Lyra said, her voice ringing thin and clear in his mind. "The guards at the pass post already know we killed the scouts."Thorn did not slow down. He pulled his leather scarf higher up his neck, trying to hide the dark, granite-like stone creeping up toward his jaw. "They will not stand in my way.""They have heavy crossbows, Thorn," she warned, hovering closer to his ear. "And your left arm is almost completely solid today. If you force the relic again, the petrification will crawl right over your lips."He flexed his left hand. The fingers barely moved.

The old man’s blue light died the second Thorn’s blade touched his wooden staff.Splinters scattered across the wet stone shore, floating on the warm surface of the steaming pool. The keeper stumbled back, his boots slipping on the slick moss as he stared at his broken weapon in shock."You are mad," the keeper gasped, clutching his bruised wrists. "The chaos inside you will shatter this spring!"Thorn did not lower his sword. His jaw felt like a block of frozen iron, every word forcing its way past his teeth like cracking dry wood. "Step away from the water.""Thorn, please," Lyra pleaded, her silver light fluttering rapidly around his ear. "He is not fighting you anymore. Just get into the spring!""He is in my way," Thorn rasped, his eyes cold and dark.The keeper scrambled backward against the cavern wall, holding his hands up in surrender. "Go then! Drown in your own poison, boy! See if the ancient magic forgives a heart filled with murder!"Thorn turned away from the old man, hi

A single spark of light in the dark can burn down an empire.Thorn adjusted the strap of his heavy leather pack as he walked out of the cave entrance into the biting morning air. Below the mountain, the vast southern plains stretched out toward the horizon, covered in a thin sheet of dawn mist. Behind him, the old keeper stood silently in the archway, his white hair whipping in the wind."You are stepping into a trap," the old man said, his deep voice carrying over the breeze.Thorn did not turn around. "The capital has been a trap for six years.""Julian will reach the eastern garrison before sunset," Lyra warned, floating close to Thorn's ear, her silver glow pale against the morning sky. "He will tell the commanders that you survived the spring. They will lock every road between here and the river."Thorn picked his way down the slippery shale path, his leather boots digging into the loose rock. "Good. Let them concentrate their forces on the main roads.""What is your plan then?"