The wind over the Glacient Expanse sang with a hollow cry, its breath biting, ancient, and unkind. Endless fields of frost stretched far into the horizon, touched only by jagged mountains cloaked in snow. Here, silence reigned supreme—only broken by the howl of the wind and the soft crunch of boots over packed ice.
Liora Sylven walked alone beneath the ghost-light of the twin moons, her cloak of pale blue fur wrapped tightly around her slender frame. Her breath rose in silvered wisps as she trudged through the snowdrifts, each step leading her deeper into the untouched heart of the frozen wilds.
She moved with purpose, yet with a heaviness in her heart.
Ahead lay the Moonmirror Lake, a sacred place that shimmered like frozen glass, its surface undisturbed even in the cruelest of storms. The Spirit Elves of old believed it to be a threshold—a mirror between the living world and the spirits beyond. It was where she had been brought as a child by Mistress Aravelle, her mentor and guardian, and where she now returned, alone.
The rune on her arm, once a quiet birthmark, now shimmered faintly beneath her skin like cold fire. It had awoken when she turned ten—on the same day the wolves had stopped howling and the trees had bent low to whisper her name.
A soft growl echoed from behind her.
Liora paused, slowly turning.
The wolf stood at the edge of the trees—massive, fur white as snow, eyes a glacial blue. Frost clung to its limbs, steam rising from its breath. It had followed her here, always watching, always waiting.
Glacien.
Not a pet. Not a beast. A familiar—her familiar.
But he had not accepted her yet.
Liora knelt, unfastening the leather wraps on her hands. The cold bit into her skin, and her breath trembled, but she did not flinch. She held her hands out toward the great wolf, palms bare.
"If this is what you want," she whispered, "then take it. I will not run."
The wolf snarled low, a sound like cracking ice. Then, with speed unbefitting its size, it charged.
Liora did not move.
The beast leapt—teeth bared, claws outstretched—and she closed her eyes, embracing the storm.
And then—silence.
A rush of wind and frost enveloped her, but no pain came. She opened her eyes slowly.
Glacien stood before her, head bowed, the tips of his ears brushing her forehead. Around them, a spiral of frost rose from the earth, swirling upward in a dance of snow and starlight. Her rune blazed a brilliant blue, and she felt it—the bond.
Not of submission, but of recognition.
"You are not afraid of death," a voice echoed—not from the wolf, but from within. "Then you are worthy of my strength."
Liora rose, her eyes glinting with a cold new light.
Mistress Aravelle stepped from the trees, staff in hand, her expression unreadable.
"So… the bond is made," the priestess said quietly.
Liora turned. "It was never about control, was it?"
"No," Aravelle replied, "it was about surrender. Only when you accepted death could life return your call."
The wolf howled once, and the wind seemed to part around them.
Far to the south, a raven circled a distant tower.
Far beneath the roots of the world, a serpent stirred in its slumber.
And far to the west, on a cliff overlooking firelit skies, a boy gripped a blade not meant for mortal hands.
The four were stirring.
The storm had not yet come—but the sky was already darkening.
The wind howled around Liora as she rose from the snow, the bond with Glacien now forged. His massive form stood beside her, quiet and watchful, his ice-blue eyes gleaming with an unspoken understanding. The moonlight danced across the frozen lake's surface, casting a pale glow on the surrounding snow, as if the world itself was holding its breath.
Liora looked at her hands—now glowing faintly with the energy of the rune etched beneath her skin. She had never felt such power before. It was subtle, like a soft current beneath the surface of a still lake, but it was there, pulsing in rhythm with her heartbeat.
"This is only the beginning," Mistress Aravelle's voice broke through her thoughts, though the priestess remained standing at the edge of the trees, her staff carved with runes that glimmered with a soft, ethereal light. "The bond between you and Glacien is only the first step, Liora. Now, you must learn to command that power—before it commands you."
Liora nodded, her gaze drawn to the great wolf at her side. Glacien's eyes met hers, a quiet understanding passing between them. She had always felt the presence of something more powerful, something ancient in the world around her. But now, standing on the precipice of something far beyond her own understanding, she felt the weight of it—the responsibility.
"But I'm not ready," she whispered, the fear she had buried deep within herself rising to the surface. "I've never been trained for this. You've always been there to guide me."
"You are ready," Aravelle said softly. "You have always been ready. It was never about skill alone—it was about knowing yourself, knowing what lies deep within. The mark you bear is not just a symbol of power, but of destiny. You will be tested, Liora. You will face challenges that will break you, bend you to your limits, but you must remember this moment. You chose this path, and you must walk it."
Liora closed her eyes for a moment, feeling the weight of her mentor's words. The cold was seeping through her cloak, but the warmth of her bond with Glacien kept her steady. She had always trusted Mistress Aravelle—now, she had to trust herself.
"The other hybrids," Liora murmured. "They are out there, too, aren't they? Kael… Druun… Nyxira…"
Aravelle's gaze darkened slightly, but she did not look away. "Yes. They are awakening. Each of them has their own journey, their own path to walk. But all of you share the same fate, even if you cannot see it yet. You will meet them, Liora. You will stand with them when the time comes. But now, you must focus on what lies ahead of you."
A gust of wind ruffled the snow, the distant cry of an eagle echoing through the air. Liora's gaze lifted, following the silhouette of the raven that circled high above. It was the same raven that had been watching them for days—its feathers as dark as night.
The wolf beside her shifted, growling softly. Glacien's presence was steady, but Liora could sense the restlessness in him. The connection between them was still new, fragile. She needed to understand him, needed to earn his trust.
Liora took a deep breath and turned back to her mentor. "What now?"
Aravelle's lips curved into a faint smile. "Now, you begin your training in earnest. You will learn to control your powers, to tame them, so that they will serve you and not the other way around. You must be ready. The realms will not wait."
Liora nodded and stepped forward, Glacien following her every move with his steady gaze. The frozen winds tugged at her cloak, but she was no longer afraid of what was to come. She was ready. Ready to face her destiny.
---
As she turned toward the path that would lead her deeper into the heart of the wilds, Liora's mind was focused, her thoughts crystal clear. The trials ahead were uncertain, but she had made her choice. She would walk this path—no matter where it led.
The wind seemed to carry away her doubts as she disappeared into the night.
And far, far away, in the heart of a jungle, a serpent stirred in its slumber. Far beneath the roots of the world, ancient magic awakened once more.