I reach the small stone doorstep of Mother Brynn’s cottage, the sharp sting of the wind still biting at my exposed skin. The glow from the windows casts long, trembling shadows against the ground, and for a moment, I hesitate. The familiar scent of herbs, aged wood, and something faintly sweet drifts to me through the cracks in the door.  I knock twice, the wood of the door shudders beneath my knuckles, but it is not the sharp echo of some unwelcome intrusion—it is a quiet invitation in its own way. A heartbeat of silence passes before a voice, frail with age but rich in warmth, calls from within.

“Come in, Axl Darkfrost,” she bids, her tone as gentle as it is stern. It is not so much an invitation as it is a command from a woman who has known me since my earliest memories, who, even in her advancing years, can still see through the veil of uncertainty in my eyes. The door creaks as I push it open, the thick wooden frame yielding with a low groan. The warmth inside is immediate, a comforting contrast to the bitter cold I left behind. The air smells of herbal tinctures and old stone. Light spills from the hearth, where a low fire crackles and pops, sending a ripple of gold dancing along the walls. Shelves, heavy with glass jars and dried plants, line the walls, each one holding a carefully measured promise of healing or protection.

Mother Brynn is seated in a chair beside the fire, her hands folded in her lap, her face soft with the years. Her silver hair falls in a cascade of thin strands down her back, the lines of her face deep but filled with a wisdom that only time could bestow. She looks up as I enter, her pale eyes steady and knowing.

“Close the door, child,” she murmurs, her voice rough yet full of an odd strength, “and sit with me. You’ve been carrying something heavy, I can feel it in your steps.”

I do as she says, the door clicking shut behind me. Felix steps into the room with me, his presence a silent reassurance, but it is Mother Brynn’s gaze that holds me in place. I move to the hearth, the warmth chasing away the chill from my bones, and settle into the chair across from her. Her eyes never leave me, as though she is reading the very air around me, sensing the weight of the secrets I’ve been keeping.

“You’ve come for answers, I take it?” she asks, her lips curving just slightly, as if she already knows the question I have yet to speak aloud.

I clear my throat, forcing the words to come, though they feel foreign on my tongue. “Felix told me that you were looking for me. I came to see what it was that you needed.” My voice is steadier than I feel, but I can’t meet her gaze. Instead, I stare into the crackling fire, its orange glow casting fleeting shadows across the room.

Mother Brynn’s presence is a quiet pressure in the air, and after a moment, she speaks, her voice soft but firm. “Tell me of your dreams, Axl.” There’s no question in her tone, only the weight of knowing that I cannot keep them hidden from her.

I hesitate, feeling the edges of my thoughts blur as the memories of those dreams rise like a tide I’ve been trying to hold back. My eyes flick to Felix, searching his face for answers, but his gaze is steady, full of concern, and something else—an understanding that I can’t quite grasp. I turn back to Mother Brynn. “How do you know about the dreams?” The words slip out before I can stop them, a question I didn’t mean to ask.

She doesn’t answer right away. Instead, she holds my gaze with an intensity that leaves no room for doubt. Felix remains silent, his eyes flicking between us. Then, without breaking eye contact, Mother Brynn leans forward slightly, her voice low and measured.

“I, too, have seen them.” Her words are heavy with something ancient, something far older than the shadows looming over the valley. “The blight is no mere affliction of the land, Axl. It is a force, and it is calling to us all in our sleep. You are not the only one who dreams of it.” Her hands tremble slightly as she clasps them together in her lap, a fleeting sign of the weight she carries.

My pulse quickens, and a chill runs down my spine. If she, too, has felt the pull of the blight in her dreams, then what does that mean for me? For all of us?

As if she can sense my very thoughts, Mother Brynn exhales slowly and speaks deliberately,  “I do not know for certain, child,” she admits, her voice thick with unease. “But I fear these dreams are not merely dreams, but warnings.”

A shudder runs through me as flashes of memory rise unbidden—visions of Frostholm swallowed by a growing swamp of writhing blight. Its tendrils coil around homes, blackened and crumbling beneath their grasp. The air is thick with decay, the streets lined with the husks of those who had once lived, their flesh rotted, their eyes hollow. The land itself groans under the weight of corruption, and I can do nothing but watch as everything I’ve ever known is consumed.

I grip the arms of my chair, steadying myself against the nausea curling in my gut. “I see such terrible things,” I whisper, more to myself than to her.

Mother Brynn turns back to me, her expression unreadable. “Then we must heed them, Axl,” she says, her voice firm despite the uncertainty. “Before it is too late.” She traces the rim of her teacup, her eyes distant, as if recalling something long buried. “There is a place,” she says at last, her voice hushed but steady. “A village, hidden deep within the valleys to the south. Mosshaven.”

The name stirs nothing in me, but Felix shifts beside me, brow furrowed. “I’ve heard of it,” he murmurs. “Traders speak of a settlement tucked away in the old wood, a place untouched by war or ruin. They say its people keep to themselves, but those who seek them out always return… changed.”

Mother Brynn nods. “A great woman leads them—Eldra, Lichenspeaker. Some call her a seer, others a healer. If there is anyone who might understand what these dreams mean, Axl, it is her.” She leans forward, her eyes searching mine. “But it is no short journey. Mosshaven lies a fortnight’s travel from Frostholm, through forests thick with dangers.”

Her face falls, she looks down, swirling the tea absently in her hands. “Alas, I am too old and too feeble to make the journey.” She looks up, locking eyes with me. “But you, Axl, you can make the trek.”

I swallow, the weight of her words settling in my chest. Another path, another step into the unknown. But if it means answers, if it means hope—I cannot turn away.

“Will you accept this challenge, Axl, though it may bring great loss?”

I pause, the words settling over me like a heavy cloak. A fortnight’s journey—farther than I have ever dared to go. The thought twists in my gut, sending a cold tendril of doubt curling through my ribs. My father used to spin tales of the world beyond Frostholm, filling my childhood with visions of wandering wizards, slumbering beasts, and forgotten ruins. But those stories had always been veiled warnings, meant to keep me close to home.

And when he was lost, when the forest swallowed him and left not a clue of what happened, those warnings became more than just stories. They became fear. A silent, smothering thing that wrapped around me like the bitter winds of winter.

I clench my fists, grounding myself in the warmth of the firelight, though my palms feel cold and clammy. I let the fear wash over me, imagining all the horrid things that could be waiting out there. Just as I start to give in to the fear and tell her that I cannot do it, a voice cuts through the silent tension.

Felix’s hand settles on my shoulder, firm and steady. “You won’t have to go alone,” he says, his voice quiet but unwavering. “I’ll go with you.”

The breath I didn’t realize I was holding slips from my lips, a shuddering exhale that carries both relief and something deeper—something steadier. The weight of the unknown still presses heavy on my chest, but it no longer feels like a burden I must carry alone. Warmth lingers where his hand rests, cutting through the chill that has settled in my bones. I turn to meet his gaze, finding not hesitation, not doubt, but certainty.

A small, grateful smile tugs at the corner of my mouth. “Thank you, Felix.” His grip tightens briefly before he lets go, the moment passing like the last embers of a dying fire. But its warmth remains.

“I always have your back, Axl, come what may.”

Mother Brynn watches us in silence, her sharp gaze measuring the weight of our resolve. Then, with a solemn nod, she rises. “If you are serious about this quest,” she says, her voice steady as stone, “you must swear a vow on the iron that binds us all.”

From her wrist, she unclasps a simple iron bracelet, its surface worn smooth by time. She holds it out to me, and as I reach for it, she turns to the mantel, retrieving a small knife. The firelight glints off its edge, and my stomach knots with the memory of the ritual—the Iron Vow, the unbreakable promise.

The flickering shadows seem to stretch as she steps closer, offering the blade. The weight of the iron in my palm is cool, solid. I swallow hard, my pulse quickening. To swear upon iron is to bind oneself to fate, to the very essence of the world. To break such a vow… I do not let myself dwell on the consequences.

Felix stands behind me, silent yet unwavering, a pillar of quiet strength. The firelight casts long shadows across the room, flickering against the iron in my palm. I feel the warmth of his hand at the small of my back—a grounding touch, steadying the storm within me.

For a moment, I swear I can hear his voice, not aloud but somewhere deeper, threaded through my very bones. You can do this, Axl.

I tighten my grip on the bracelet, exhaling slowly. The weight of the moment settles over me like a heavy cloak, but I do not falter. Not with Felix beside me. Not with the iron in my hands, waiting to bind my fate.

The blade bites into my palm, sharp and swift. I grit my teeth as the sting spreads through my fingers, warmth pooling in my hand. Crimson droplets gather, then fall, spattering the iron bracelet in my grasp. The metal drinks in my offering, darkening where the blood touches, as if sealing the bond between flesh and fate.

I raise my gaze, my voice steady despite the weight of the words. “I will seek out the cause of the blight and destroy it, come what may.”

The fire crackles, the air thick with the scent of iron and smoke. Mother Brynn nods, solemn and knowing. Felix’s hand lingers against my back, his breath slow and measured. The vow is made. The path ahead is set. There is no turning back.

I pull the map from my coat, the old leather creaking as I unfurl it before Mother Brynn.  “I saw my father working on this years ago,” I say, my voice hushed with something between reverence and unease. I pull the fire crystal pendant from my neck, holding it over the map to better illuminate it, feeling the warmth of the crystal in my palm. The crystal-light dances across its faded lines, illuminating the valley, the distant mountains, and that strange sigil burned into its surface.

“For some reason, he hid it away in the cellar, as if he knew it would be needed one day.” My fingers trace the sigil, the ink worn but still visible. “There’s a name that’s lingered in stories and whispers—a wizard. I think he may be real. And if he is, he might be the key to stopping the blight.”

Mother Brynn studies the map, her brow furrowed in thought. The fire crackles in the silence that follows, shadows shifting across her lined face. Then, she looks up, her gaze sharp with something I can’t quite name—recognition, or perhaps something deeper. “Wizards are not so easily found,” she murmurs. “And those who seek them rarely return unchanged. Magic has all but left this world, and those that can still wield its power are few and far between. But if you can find him, the change you undergo may well be worth it.”

“It’s settled then,” I say, a tinge of excitement in my voice at the thought of setting out on an adventure; dangers be damned.

Mother Brynn’s expression softens as she steps away from the fire, moving toward the small, shuttered window behind her. “Before you go, I have something for you,” she says, her voice low but firm.

A rush of cold air whirls into the room as the window creaks open. A blur of pale feathers sweeps through, landing gracefully upon my shoulder. The weight is slight but grounding. I turn my head, meeting the sharp, golden eyes of a snow owl—Nyx.

“She is trained,” Mother Brynn explains, “to find what is needed and to guard against what should not be.” Nyx shifts, her talons pressing lightly through the fabric of my cloak. Felix glances at me, and I return his look, both of our faces a mix of surprise and puzzlement.

Next, Mother Brynn moves to a small chest at her bedside, opening it with careful hands. She draws out a parchment, its edges curled with age, the ink faded but still legible, its faint blue glow constrasting against the amber crystal light. “This is a ritual,” she says, handing it to me. “A calling for crows. They see far, they know much. If you seek guidance, they will answer.”

Lastly, she turns to face me fully, her gaze holding something heavier than before. “And your path,” she murmurs, “is one you have always walked.” She touches her fingers to my temple, a fleeting gesture. “The Sighted are rare, but you have always had the gift. You see beyond the veil, beyond the waking world.”

A shiver runs through me—not from cold, but from something deeper, something ancient stirring in my bones. I have always known there was something different about me, a pull toward things unseen. Now, as I stand on the edge of an unknown journey, it no longer feels like a mystery—it feels like a calling.

Mother Brynn steps back, her gaze sweeping over me and Felix one last time. The firelight casts deep shadows across her face, making her look older, wearier. “Now go,” she says, her voice heavy with certainty. “Prepare yourselves, for the journey will be harsh and unforgiving.”

Nyx shifts on my shoulder, her talons flexing as if in silent agreement.

Mother Brynn’s expression softens, and she lifts a hand toward the owl. “She is more than a guide—she is a tether. No matter how lost you may find yourselves, Nyx will always find her way back to me.” Her eyes meet mine. “Send her, and I will know you still walk this path.”

Felix’s hand moves up my back, resting gently on my shoulder, a half-embrace that feels like both a comfort and a promise. I breathe in, steadying myself, the weight of the vow heavy in my chest. The firelight flickers in the silence between us, but his presence steadies me.

Then, without a word, Felix pulls me in closer, his arms wrapping around me in a quiet, unexpected embrace. I catch the familiar scent of sage and pine, memories flooding back from our youth, from days spent chasing shadows in the forest, from nights under the stars where we swore we’d never let the world tear us apart. His breath is warm against my ear, his voice a whisper in the cold of the cottage.

“Whatever happens,” he says, “we face it together.”

The sincerity in his voice settles deep within me, and for a moment, I allow myself to believe that, despite the darkness ahead, we may still have a chance.

There is no turning back now.