After ten days, Raven was finally well enough to be discharged from the hospital.

  The healing process had been accelerated with magic, though it hadn’t been possible at first. The healers wore gloves similar to Mary’s, but theirs were embroidered with Runeart designed to enhance the body’s natural recovery.

  Since Raven had been malnourished, using magic too early might have killed him—his body simply wasn’t strong enough to endure the strain. Instead, the process had been spread over several days and multiple sessions.

  The experience itself had been strange. Healing magic wasn’t painless—Raven had felt itching, exhaustion, and occasional sharp pain as his body repaired itself at unnatural speed. After each session, he was left sore and starving.

  There had also been a noticeable shortage of healers, with even Mary being called in to assist.

  Raven stood in the small restroom, adjusting the knight squire uniform in front of the polished metal mirror. The difference between this and the torn rags he had been found in was almost jarring. His old clothes had been little more than frostbitten tatters, barely holding together when they cut them from him to treat his wounds. Now, he was dressed in something whole—something meant for a person with a place in this world.

  If only it fit better.

  The long coat tunic was frost-gray, thick enough for Everfrost’s cold but tailored for mobility. It hung a little too loose around his frame, the hem brushing just above his knees. Beneath it, a lighter tunic tucked into sturdy trousers, both in muted shades of gray and blue—the colors of Everfrost’s recruits. A dark leather belt sat at his waist, cinched tighter than usual. Even with that, the sleeves of the coat tunic reached just past his wrists, and the boots, lined with fur for warmth, left more space at the toes than he was used to.

  He flexed his fingers in the dark leather gloves, the material creaking slightly. Everything felt functional, well-made. But wearing it, he couldn’t shake the feeling that he was a child dressed in an older brother’s clothes.

  Raven sighed.

  It wasn’t surprising—everyone in Everfrost was taller than him, even most of the women. Back in the hospital, he had seen them pass by his bed, knights and civilians alike, all broad-shouldered, tall, and strong. The only exception was Mary. She was just barely shorter than him, and even then, only by a fraction.

  With one last glance at his reflection, he exhaled and stepped out of the restroom.

  A warm smile greeted him the moment he did.

  Mary stood waiting, her green eyes bright, hands folded neatly in front of her deep blue dress patterned with white flowers.

  “It looks good on you,” she said, her tone gentle, sincere.

  Raven hesitated, glancing down at himself. He wasn’t sure he agreed. But when he looked back at her—saw the soft warmth in her expression—he found himself nodding.

  “Thanks.”

  It does, but we’ll need to get you something that actually fits.

  Shadebinder’s amused voice chimed in his mind.

  Mary let out a quiet chuckle. “Ready to meet your new teacher?”

  Raven adjusted the belt at his waist, where Shadebinder rested, and nodded. “Sure. Let’s go.”

  As Raven stepped through the doors of the hospital wing, a strange mix of relief and uncertainty settled over him. The warmth of the infirmary still clung to his skin, but now he walked into the vast stone corridors of Stormhold, following Mary’s lead.

  This book was originally published on Royal Road. Check it out there for the real experience.

  The halls stretched wide and long, their polished stone walls reflecting the soft glow of enchanted sconces that flickered like captured starlight. The wooden floors beneath his boots bore the weight of generations of warriors, worn smooth but still sturdy. Decorative banners hung at intervals along the walls, each displaying the White Kite Shield alongside a different emblem—one with a Hammer, the other with a Wolf.

  As they walked, Raven saw knights moving with quiet purpose, some in groups, others alone. Their fur-lined cloaks billowed slightly as they passed, the occasional clink of armor echoing through the halls. A few warriors nodded in Mary’s direction—a silent acknowledgment of respect. She returned the gesture with effortless familiarity.

  The air grew crisper as they neared the Gatehouse, carrying the distant scent of pine from the forests beyond the fortress walls. The stone archway loomed overhead, its reinforced doors standing as the last barrier between Stormhold and the Northern Wilds.

  Mary paused for a brief exchange with one of the gate knights, speaking in Everfrost’s native tongue. Raven caught only fragments of the words, but before he could dwell on them, a mass of fur and muscle bumped against him.

  A dire wolf, its thick coat dusted with the frost of the morning air, nudged his side with an easy familiarity.

  For a moment, Raven hesitated—then instinct took over. He reached out, running his fingers through the creature’s dense fur, scratching behind its ears. The wolf let out a pleased huff, pressing against him with the weight of an animal that knew exactly how large it was.

  Mary gave a small chuckle before motioning for him to follow.

  Their path led them deeper into the heart of Stormhold, where they reached a grand circular staircase. The polished stone steps curved upward, their edges smoothed by years of use. A waist-high railing lined the outer edge, tall enough that even an absent-minded misstep wouldn’t send someone tumbling down.

  As they climbed, Raven felt the weight of each step. His body was still recovering, and though his breathing grew heavier, he refused to slow his pace. The air shifted as they ascended—growing noticeably warmer. A faint mix of parchment, ink, and something floral lingered in the air—a stark contrast to the crisp cold he had grown used to.

  At the top, they emerged onto a broad balcony landing, where a heavy wooden door awaited them. A row of coat hangers stood to the side, some occupied by layered winter cloaks of fine make.

  Heat radiated from beyond the door, thick and comforting—unlike anything Raven had felt before. Or at least, anything he remembered. It wasn’t just warmth. It was a deep, bone-soothing heat, like standing in sunlight after a lifetime of snow.

  Mary let out a sigh of relief and shrugged off her heavy coat, revealing the deep blue dress she wore underneath. Without the extra layers, Raven could now see the sturdy trousers beneath the flowing fabric, tucked neatly into her high boots—practical despite the delicate floral embroidery on her hem.

  “You’ll overheat if you keep that on,” she warned with a smirk.

  Raven hesitated before following suit, peeling off the long coat tunic so that only a single layer remained. The difference was immediate—the warmth settled over him like a thick, invisible blanket.

  Mary turned to the door and knocked twice before speaking in her native tongue—a fluid, confident string of words that meant nothing to Raven.

  A voice from inside responded in kind, smooth yet carrying an unmistakable authority. Though he didn’t understand the words, the tone suggested permission to enter.

  Mary pushed open the door.

  A strikingly different world lay beyond the threshold.

  The chamber was rich in color and warmth, its walls lined with lush greenery, plants thriving in the artificial heat. Golden light emanated from floating orbs, suspended midair like captured stars, casting a soft radiance over the room.

  At the center stood a modest but elegant tea table, its surface covered with embroidered cloth, fine porcelain teacups, and a selection of delicate pastries. On one side, a plush bed-chair, its cushions deep and inviting. On the other, a wide couch, clearly meant for guests.

  Yet, Raven’s attention was drawn to the walls—half covered in chalkboards, filled with intricate white markings. Some bore runic symbols, weaving together in complex designs, while others showcased detailed clothing sketches, their lines delicate and purposeful.

  This was not just a living space. It was a workshop of intellect and artistry.

  Then, his gaze settled on the woman who owned this space.

  She was shorter than the warriors of Everfrost, but her presence filled the room. Sun-kissed skin, wavy brown hair, and keen eyes that shimmered with intelligence. She appeared barely into her forties at first glance, yet there was something ageless about her—an elegance and vitality that made it difficult to pinpoint her true years.

  Her elegant red-and-green dress flowed effortlessly around her form, contrasting the black fingerless gloves that covered her hands—a practical touch for a woman who worked with both magic and material alike.

  Mary turned to Raven with a small smile, then gestured toward their host.

  “Let me introduce you to the Grand Wizard and Highlady of Everfrost—Lilia Wintermane. Or, as you might know her best… Aira’s mother.”