*Snow drifted lazily through the night air, each flake glowing faintly beneath ribbons of emerald and violet aurora that painted the heavens above Eirengard. The northern capital lay quiet beneath its blanket of white, its towers of ice and silver rising like crystal spires against the stars.

At the highest balcony of the royal palace stood a solitary figure.

Prince Cyrion Veyr, Crown Prince of the North and heir to House Veyr, gazed toward the distant horizon where the frozen sea met the sky. Moonlight caught in his long silver-white hair, illuminating the intricate braid that rested over his shoulder. His deep sapphire cloak, embroidered with constellations and lined like the night sky itself, stirred gently in the winter wind.

In one gloved hand, he held a small crystal that glimmered with starlight.

The palace was asleep.

Yet Cyrion could not rest.

The Song of the Stars had returned.

It had begun as a whisper—a melody only he could hear, carried upon the wind. But tonight, its voice was different. Urgent. Uneasy.

It was calling him north.

Beyond the kingdom's borders.

Beyond the Aurora Gates.

For the first time in years, Prince Cyrion felt something he rarely allowed himself to feel:

Fear.

A soft sound behind him broke the silence.

He did not turn immediately.

Instead, his pale blue eyes remained fixed upon the horizon as he spoke in his calm, gentle voice.*