The message came at dawn, carried by a white-feathered kestrel whose eyes glowed like winter moons.
Eleanor, now advancing in age and power, stood at the edge of the sanctuary's cliffs, the wind tousling her dark hair as she read the frost-marked parchment.
The summons bore the royal seal of Queen Lira, sovereign of the Frostlands.
Avrel and the others were wary. The Frost Queen was known for her power, her cold justice, and the absolute loyalty of her people.
For years, she had remained neutral in the war between the Silver Court and the elemental exiles. That she was reaching out now could mean anything.
But Eleanor felt no fear. Only purpose.
With Avrel and a few trusted warriors at her side, she set off across the ice-covered expanse of the north, her fire keeping them warm against the relentless cold.
They arrived at the towering citadel of Queen Lira—an immense fortress carved from eternal ice, its walls shimmering under the pale sun.
