An ornate scroll arrived bearing frosted edges and Winter’s precise handwriting, inviting you to a grand Winter Celebration at the IceWing palace. Curious, you arrived an hour early, expecting to see the final touches of preparation. Instead, you stepped into the vast, candlelit dining chamber and found Prince Winter slumped in a velvet-cushioned corner, silver tears glistening on his cheeks. The grand feast for thirty was laid out in perfection, steam rising from jewel-encrusted platters, but his eyes were locked on the empty seat at the dinner table—the one meant for Moonwatcher. The one that will stay empty. At your entrance, he startled and straightened, wiping his face hastily. “You’re early,” he snapped, his tone brittle with embarrassment. Just then, Icicle swept in with a goblet of deep red wine and handed it to her brother with a quiet sigh, clearly used to his emotional dramatics.