The sleigh carved a steady path through the frozen north, gliding over snow-packed trails lined with towering pine trees. Frost clung to every branch, glittering in the pale afternoon light, and the only sound was the rhythmic hiss and crunch of the runners cutting across the ice and snow. The world felt quieter here—hushed and still, as though holding its breath.

  Raven sat next to Mary and across from Aira, wrapped in a thick fur-lined cloak. He watched the pines blur past in solemn silence, his breath fogging in the cold air. The road ahead curled toward the second-to-last rest stop before Ironholt—still a few hours away.

  From beneath her seat, Mary pulled out a small cloth-wrapped bundle. "Lunch," she said simply, unwrapping the neat stack of sandwiches she’d made back at the last stop.

  The scent alone was enough to pull Raven from his thoughts. Dense oat bread, lightly crusted and still holding a touch of warmth, encased slices of rich, smoked venison layered with sharp, crumbly mountain goat cheese. A slather of herbed butter added just enough richness to soften the bold flavors. It wasn’t extravagant—but it was good. The kind of good that warmed the chest.

  They ate in silence for a while, each bite grounding them in the moment, softening the edges of the cold and fatigue.

  After a few minutes, a familiar voice broke the quiet—cool and amused.

  So, Aira... why is Lyara so grumpy?

  Shadebinder’s mental voice echoed in all their minds.

  And what did you mean by being "in the right place at the right time"?

  Aira sighed mid-bite, chewing slowly before answering. "It all started when I came back home."

  Raven raised an eyebrow. "Isn’t that usually where stories end?"

  Aira rolled her eyes. "Not this one. Long story short, Mother took me sightseeing all around Mornhollow—for nine years."

  Shadebinder whistled.

  That’s not a short anything. And when you returned...

  "Wolfking’s previous wielder had passed away shortly before I returned," Aira continued, brushing a few breadcrumbs off her lap.

  And Wolfking chose you?

  Shadebinder pressed, curious now.

  Mary shook her head lightly. "It wasn’t that simple. Aira was given the first chance to awaken his power."

  Raven leaned forward a bit. "Is that... hard to do?"

  Shadebinder scoffed.

  Hard? Raven, you’ve barely scratched the surface with me. Wielding a Soul-Weapon like Wolfking takes more than swinging it around like a club.

  "Sorry," Raven muttered, holding up a hand. "So, when does the next candidate get a shot?"

  Wolfking’s voice joined the conversation—deep, slow, and thoughtful.

  A candidate is given six months to bond with me. If they do not succeed, I am passed to the next.

  Mary gave Raven a knowing look. "Aira managed it in under a month."

  That earned her a small, proud smile from Aira. Shadebinder, meanwhile, hummed in consideration.

  So Lyara never even got the chance to try?

  Aira’s smile faded. "No. She was next in line. She’d trained for it, worked hard for years. If I’d come back just a few weeks later, she probably would be Wolfking’s wielder now."

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  Huh...

  Shadebinder mused.

  So... no qualified men? Or was Wolfking just being picky?

  Aira hesitated. Her lips parted, but no answer came.

  After a long pause, Wolfking answered, his tone edged with something distant—wistful.

  When I choose, I follow a feeling. Nostalgia. Pride. A connection to something I no longer remember. But I know it when I feel it.

  "I see," Raven said quietly, watching the snow drift past.

  The sleigh continued forward, its runners humming over the frost. The final rest stop before Ironholt came into view through the misted treeline, smoke curling from chimneys, lanterns flickering gently in the pale midday light.

  Later, as the sleigh glided along the final stretch toward Ironholt, the sun had begun its slow descent, casting long shadows across the snow. They had departed from the third and last rest stop not long ago, the warmth of its hearths fading from memory as the cold crept back in.

  Curled beneath his cloak, Raven shifted slightly, glancing at Aira. "Hey... mind if I take another look at your cards? I was curious about the people on them."

  Aira pulled out the deck with a quiet rustle, the cards feeling cool in her hands. She handed them over to him, not bothering to explain yet. Raven eagerly flipped through them, his eyes scanning each card with interest.

  He fanned out three cards—the Wolf Warden, Wolf Over, and Wolf Under.

  "The wolf cards..." he murmured. "They’re your family, aren’t they?"

  He held up the Warden first—a stern, silver-haired man with piercing blue eyes and a fur-lined cloak clasped with the sigil of a wolf.

  "That’s your father, Cedric," he guessed.

  Then the Over—a regal woman with sun-kissed skin and flowing brown hair, her robes marked with arcane sigils and stars.

  "Your mother," Raven said, more certain now. "Lilia."

  Finally, he turned to the Under—a younger woman in armor, her black hair tied back, gold eyes bright with determination. She held a longsword with a familiar crossguard: the unmistakable form of Wolfking’s hilt.

  "And this one’s you."

  Aira offered a small smile. "You noticed. Yeah... the Wolf cards are us. But to be honest," she added, rifling through the rest of the deck, "all the face cards represent someone in my family."

  Raven’s curiosity sparked. "Really? Every card?"

  Aira smiled and flipped through the deck. She stopped at one, holding it up. The Gem Over card featured a beautiful woman with blonde hair, wearing an elegant dress that draped over her like water. "This is my Aunt Selene. She’s the one who painted the cards for me."

  Raven peered at the card. "Lady Selene... she’s got quite a regal air about her."

  "She does, doesn’t she?" Aira said with a soft chuckle. "She’s a magistrate, too. Very much the dignified one of the family. Very disciplined."

  Raven glanced back down at the deck, finding another card that caught his eye. He pulled it up, a smile tugging at the corner of his lips. Anchor Warden—the woman on this card was bold, no doubt. She had long, wavy red hair, a sassy expression, and sea-green eyes that seemed to hold a challenge in them. She wore a tunic open at the chest and waist, but in a way that wasn’t overtly immodest—just bold. A dark leather corset cinched around her waist, while tailored, reinforced pants ended just above knee-high boots. She looked like someone who lived for the sea breeze and the thrill of battle.

  Raven raised an eyebrow, holding the card up between them. "Then who is this... boldly dressed woman?"

  Aira’s lips twitched into a small smile. "Careful if you ever meet her," she said lightly, "She might take offense at that pause."

  Raven glanced up at her, unsure of how serious she was. "Oh?"

  "She’s my Aunt Rhea," Aira explained. "She taught me everything I know about the Art of Deception."

  Raven’s eyes widened in realization. "Then she’s the pirate Lilia mentioned?"

  Aira snorted. "Pirate, huh? She does call herself the ‘Pirate Queen,’ but that’s just a gimmick. She’s a freight captain. She is moving goods."

  Raven leaned back with a wry grin. "Sounds like an interesting person."

  Shadebinder's voice cut through the conversation, her tone amused.

  It seems like you have a really big and talented family, Aira.

  Aira leaned back against the sleigh, looking toward the horizon as the outline of Ironholt began to appear in the distance. "Yeah, well, they’re something. But I think we’re almost at Ironholt."

  Raven, Mary, and Aira all felt the sleigh slowing, the rhythmic crunch of the runners against the snow softening as the city came into view. The towering walls of Ironholt rose above the trees, and lanterns flickered from the distant skyline. Smoke curled from chimneys, and the gleam of metal on rooftops caught the last of the sunlight.

  Aira let out a quiet sigh, a mix of relief and anticipation. "Finally..."