Upon opening his eyes, a brief oblivion enfolded him. For a fleeting moment, it was as if nothing had happened, as if the world remained whole and unblemished. He rose with the heavy languor of sleep, wrapped in a peculiar sense of peace and drowziness. Yet, the instant he sought to steady his head, a sharp bite of pain lanced through his neck—the dominant, searing reminder of his wound—and he fell back with a stifled groan, his features contorted. Through bleary, misted eyes, he blinked upward and recoiled at the sight of a massive silhouette looming beside him, instinctively trying to scramble away. Then, the realization struck: it was Makar.

  A faint smile touched his lips, unbidden. But a heartbeat later, the horrific visions resurfaced, accompanied by a throbbing headache that made his terrors feel physically manifest. In a surge of panic, he seized Makar’s arm. Kardam, in a gesture of tenderness that defied every prejudice Byuga harbored against his race, took the young man's hand and placed it gently upon his own abdomen. As Byuga tried to rise, his mind racing toward the young Bahysa, Lin-Shu, Makar pressed firmly against his chest and raised a warning finger to his face.

  Byuga’s heart lightened at the sight of him, a smile flickering once more, but the memory of Lin-Shu returned like a blow. He attempted to turn his head to survey his surroundings, only to hiss in pain as the wound in his neck protested. This time, he moved with tempered persistence, slowly turning to find Lin-Shu lying nearby. She appeared to be adrift in sleep, her body bound in various bandages. Byuga turned his gaze back to the Kardam, struggling to comprehend why he—a formidable warrior—would aid a crippled Bahysa. He could not ask; they shared no common tongue, no chance for words.

  They remained in that sanctuary for several days. Lin-Shu awoke that evening and immediately drew close to Byuga’s side. She showed no fear of the Kardam; the heir of Gaigon realized they must have grown acquainted while he lay unconscious. It was then he noticed their refuge was an inn. On the second day, Makar returned, leading a Bahysa woman at the edge of his axe. With trembling hands, the woman dressed Byuga’s wounds far more skillfully than the Kardam had, cleansing the raw flesh. After a brief exchange of words, the Kardam extended his hand. The woman shook it, her eyes wide with dread, before fleeing. In the days before his full awakening, Byuga had sensed the air growing steadily colder. It felt as though no matter how high the hearth-fires roared, the chill was beginning to take root within their very marrow.

  On the first day he could sit upright, Byuga attempted to signal their need to depart, but the Kardam held him there for one more day. Byuga searched for parchment and ink to communicate his plight to Lin-Shu, but such things were non-existent here, and his own journal was lost to the chaos. He tried to inquire of the innkeeper, but the man met his gestures with blank confusion. They spent the following days watching the arrival of other survivors fleeing the fallen city—starving, parched Bahysas. Byuga sat with Lin-Shu, who remained wrapped in a shroud of silence. He could see the profound sorrow etched into her being.

  When they finally prepared to leave, Makar brought him a map, likely taken from one of the refugees below. Trepidation clouded the Kardam's eyes. The ones arriving with this unnatural cold were the "Dread Kardams." In Nuwailiji, Byuga had seen none of their kind, but he remembered those he had encountered in Gaigen and the Frostspear Mountains. He knew all too well that once the Bahysas here had filled their bellies—or when they sought a scapegoat for their misery—they would turn on Makar.

  Byuga pointed to Chaf-Chauin on the map. He knew they had to go there. As before, the answers lay with them. Makar merely nodded, rolled the map, and gestured for them to follow. Byuga reached out to the girl. As they gathered their meager belongings in silence, their eyes met frequently. Had they been able to speak, they might have poured out the weight of the years held within them. Now, however, they could give voice to nothing but their shared desperation. The Gaigon heir wished he could hear even the rhythm of her breath, yet he maintained his silence, trying to feel the world as he once had. He could not.

  They departed toward evening, just as a restless tension began to grip the inn’s inhabitants. Makar tossed a handful of coins to the innkeeper—Byuga did not question their origin—and together they mounted two myshos and rode eastward.

  For days they pressed on under a fitful blizzard. The cold pierced deeper into their bones with every passing league. Byuga could feel Lin-Shu’s firm grip and her racing heart against his back. It felt as though a stain of northern chill had seeped into him from Gaigen, a shadow he could not cast off, following him wherever he fled.

  Throughout their two-week journey to Chaf-Chauin, they passed through hollowed villages. In the few hamlets where the elderly and the mad remained, the whispers were identical. News of Gaigen’s fall had blanketed the north like ash. None knew the true cause, though many whispered of a new Kardam invasion. Those who caught sight of Makar fled in terror; in one town, he was nearly slain. From then on, they moved like ghosts, avoiding sight and stopping only for essential provisions, steering clear of other Bahysas. Byuga had considered stopping at Ogi, the fishing town upon the banks of the Shem River, where information and rest might be found. Yet, bound by his loyalty to Makar, he chose to press on. The knowledge they sought—and perhaps more—awaited in the mystic city of Quang-Shuin.

  Lin-Shu spoke only a few times during the trek, exchanging brief, forced words with Makar before retreating back into silence. She was grieving; Byuga could see it. She was withdrawn, shrinking away when he occasionally reached out to comfort her. She recoiled from physical touch. He did not ask why—perhaps the trauma still held her in its talons. Even if he wished to ask, he had no voice. The heir of Gaigon felt like a beast in a cage, trapped by his depression and his inability to communicate. No matter what he did, they could not truly understand him.

  Relief washed over him as they finally reached Chaf-Chauin, followed quickly by bewilderment. Winter had laid its claim even here. The forests that had been lush and vibrant when he passed through with Balbun and the shimlyndvyens were now buried under a shroud of white. He turned his gaze toward Chanchaung in the distance. The mystic city was draped in snow, yet its streets remained inexplicably green, filled with budding trees that defied the frost. Byuga knew this was the work of High Sorcery. He glanced at Makar and signaled for them to move, but Lin-Shu was staring at the city as if seeing a vision. When the Jado Shaolin approached her, she looked at him as if waking from a dream, then nodded with a smile and moved ahead.

  Chanchaung was a different marvel by daylight. Trees towered over buildings, and stone houses were woven into the very earth and timber, adorned with sandstone engravings and elegant mezzanines. The moment Byuga stepped within the city limits, a wave of warmth embraced him. Makar followed, his steps hesitant. The entire city seemed swallowed by nature; flowers bloomed within the houses, birdsong filled the air, and trees rose in every corner. As they traversed the streets, they saw the inhabitants sitting in profound peace, some lost in deep meditation.

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  Lost in wonder, Byuga suddenly collided with an obstacle. Stepping back, he found three Bahysas blocking his path. Standing on the far left was the woman who had taken him from the camp that fateful night. Images flickered in Byuga’s mind, reaching for him like distant echoes. He felt, rather than heard, an invitation. When the woman placed her hand on the shoulder of the burly, bearded Bahysa in the center, the man stepped aside, his eyes never leaving Makar.

  They were led into the Great Hall, the very place Byuga had been brought before. He recognized the open fire pit at the center, the ivy cascading in harmony from the ceiling, and the intricate engravings upon the walls. Opposite them sat the High Shimlyn of the Chaf-Chauin. He looked at Byuga with a smile and began to speak in the language of fingers.

  "Welcome. It seems the Winter has not been kind to you."

  In that moment, the large Bahysa attempted to force the Kardam to sit, but Makar seized him with a single hand and hurled him against the wall. The Tiger-woman raised her hands toward him, but Byuga saw the Shimlyn’s mouth open. A ringing sound pierced his ears; the man must have let out a powerful cry. The woman froze, and as the burly Bahysa rose, he and Makar traded looks of pure silver-edged hatred. Byuga turned to the High Shimlyn.

  "You knew what was to come," Byuga signaled with fury, stepping forward. "You told me to let go. You knew the storm was coming—why did you not warn me?" His fingers, numbed by the cold, ached with the effort, but he did not falter.

  "I did warn you," the man said, rising to meet him. "I cannot see the future; only the Seers possess such power. I saw only that you were falling into darkness, and that when you closed your eyes and found peace, all around you was bathed in light. Nothing more."

  "How did you see it?"

  "If one knows how to read them, the air, the water, and the earth will whisper the future to you. Like a dream. In this world, every story is already written; what will happen and when is already ordained." Byuga remembered the legends. The Scripts of Fate had authored the end at the very beginning of time. Quang-Shuin had descended to the world merely to fulfill the decrees of those scrolls.

  "I need your help. I must tell you what happened. All of Bahysaris must know."

  "Tell me first. Tell me what transpired." The Shimlyn gestured toward the fire. Byuga looked back at Makar and Lin-Shu, realizing then that he truly needed to sit. They had been moving through the dead of winter for weeks; he could barely feel his extremities. He bowed his head and took his place by the hearth.

  "The Winter did not come on its own," he signaled.

  "We know. We hear the tidings of the world from the fish and the birds. We know of the demons haunting Nyov-moju, and we know of the fall of Gaigen. The Jade Palace has awakened; the prophecy is unfolding."

  "What prophecy? What Jade Palace?"

  "The Prophecy of Lagos," the man sighed. "It is ancient and momentous to us. When the Wardens of Arrando?il came to Veid centuries ago, they came for the birth of the North’s first Seer. This was his first vision. He said: 'When the world is draped in white, the gates of the Jade Palace shall swing wide once more. The light of the North shall be extinguished, and the wheel of time shall be broken. When the ears no longer hear the word of yesterday, the eyes shall see. The curse of the Divine Heart shall be lifted by the soul spared from death.'"

  "What does it mean?"

  "It means many things beyond our understanding. It means the world shall tremble and one of the Great Prophecies shall come to pass. It means great calamities are upon us." Byuga swallowed hard, hoping he could see this to its end. The man touched Byuga’s chin, tilting his head up, and continued to sign. "But I believe that hope flows through you, Byuga. I believe our salvation rests in your hands. Otherwise, the Shuins would not have revealed you to me."

  "What must I do?"

  "You will learn. First, you must learn who you are, and then your place in this world. Only then will you know your path."

  "I do not know where to go."

  "Often, when the destination is hidden, it is best to choose the path life has deemed worthy of you. Before all this, where were you headed?"

  "To the Shyugan Wardens. I was to stay with my uncle, and then..." He paused, looking up. "The Monks of Taom-Dium..."

  "Wise men have a way of providing answers. They cannot answer every question, but they will give you the one you need."

  "What will I find there?" Byuga’s hands moved with frantic energy, his eyes wide.

  "I do not know. You may not find what you seek, but you will find a way. Whether you accept it or not is up to you. Life offers us gifts; we either take them or refuse them. In the end, living is a matter of acceptance or rejection—nothing more."

  Byuga stood up in excitement, but a wave of dizziness forced him back down. He remembered they needed to stay here a while. Before facing the cold again, they needed thicker clothes, rest, warmth, and food. He looked at the man. The Shimlyn of the Chaf-Chauin was smiling. He welcomed them, even offering a place to Makar. They ate and drank, and for the first time in days, Byuga felt warmth return to his soul.

  They spent the night in Chanchaung, in a room within the Shimlyn’s house. That night, Lin-Shu slept curled against Byuga. The heir of Jado felt his heart overflowing with a rare joy.

  In the morning, when it was time to depart, the Shimlyn and his family met them in the city square. They had brought three myshos, magnificent as chargers. Byuga looked out at the storm raging just beyond the city gates, the blizzard waiting past the greenery. He raised his hands to the Shimlyn.

  "Sen are not safe here."

  "We are safe nowhere, Shimelyun." The man smiled and took his hand. "A Bahysa creates his own safety. If our time comes, the winter will take us too. Neither sooner nor later. Until that day, we shall stand with fortitude. We shall open our arms to those in need. Chaf-Chauin is the House of Wisdom and Guidance."

  "Did the birds not tell you of the demons? Your shimlyndvyens will not be enough."

  "Do not trouble yourself for us. Your path is a different one." He helped Byuga onto his mysho. "Speaking of paths, I wish one of my sons to accompany you. He also knows the finger-tongue; he can understand your plight and speak for you."

  "Thank you." Byuga was about to turn, but he paused his mysho and asked, "I never learned your name. Can you tell me in the finger-tongue?" The man bowed his head, then found a branch and drew four letters in the sandy earth: LUGA. He dropped the branch, helped his son mount his beast, and went to Makar, touching the Kardam's leg and speaking a few words. Then he stood before them all. As he gave a shallow bow, the shimlyndvyens bowed their heads in unison.

  "May your path be clear, Byuga Shaolin."

  "May the eye of Shan-Duval be upon you, Shimlyn Luga. May the children of Chang-Chiang walk with you always."

  With that, Byuga turned his mount and nodded to Luga’s son. Inside the thick, layered garments meant for the winter, he began to sweat. As he urged his mysho into a gallop, he could hear the others following behind. He wondered what answers the Monks of Taom-Dium could possibly hold for him. Then, as he dove into the blizzard and the unbelievable cold began to bite at his skin, he closed his eyes and let himself become one with the storm.