The howling wind carried whispers of ancient things as the Obsidian Fang cut through the ice-choked waters. Kaelvar stood at the bow, his ember-red eyes locked onto the distant glow of firelight. A village, small and primitive, nestled in the snow-covered valley ahead. Their homes were not built from stone, nor wood, but tents, their fabric woven from furs and stitched hides.
As his men approached, the villagers stirred. Figures bundled in thick cloaks huddled together, their breath curling in the frozen air. Some backed away, others clutched their weapons—old spears, rusted blades. They were afraid.
They were hiding something.
Kaelvar’s gaze sharpened. His years of training had taught him to recognize fear—not the fear of an outsider, but the fear of discovery.
"You’re hiding someone," he said, his voice like steel scraping ice.
No one answered.
Then his eyes caught the smallest movement—a shadow shifting inside the largest tent. Kaelvar’s patience wore thin. "Move aside."
An elder, his beard white as the snow beneath them, stepped forward. "Please," the man said. "She is not for your eyes."
Kaelvar didn’t hesitate. With a swift motion, he shoved past the man and tore open the tent’s entrance.
A woman sat in the center of the tent. Her silver-white hair cascaded around her in intricate braids. Her eyes, a mix of gold and blue, like the sunset over the ocean, locked onto his.
But it was not her beauty that made Kaelvar freeze.
It was the markings. A snowflake-shaped symbol, glowing with an eerie blue light, sat upon her forehead. Similar luminescent designs traced down her cheeks. The glow matched the shimmering blue gemstones embedded in the ornate golden necklace resting on her collarbone. The necklace was ancient, intricate. Kaelvar felt his breath hitch. He had seen her kind before. Not in the flesh. Only in books—old, forbidden tomes that spoke of those who once wielded elemental power. People who, according to legend, had vanished centuries ago. But she was here. Alive.