Arrival in Vael'Rhime
Snow fell sideways in Vael'Rhime, driven by winds that had no mercy and no memory. The land stretched white and wide, its mountains like frozen gods kneeling in silence.
Eleanor stood on the deck of the Hollow Star, wrapped in furs stitched with dried Veinroot. Her eyes didn't blink against the wind. Ashryn, behind her, clutched her cloak and muttered, "We shouldn't be here. This place doesn't want us."
"I know," Eleanor replied.
They disembarked onto a stone dock buried in hoarfrost. A silent escort awaited—figures clad in silver mail and fur-lined masks. They did not speak. They only bowed, turned, and walked into the mist.
Eleanor followed.
Skarth Hall
The citadel of Skarth Hall was carved into the base of a glacier. Doors of frozen obsidian opened with a groan, revealing a hollow chamber of ice-bound grandeur. Every corridor glowed faintly with buried light. Statues lined the walls—pale kings and hollow-eyed queens sealed behind crystal.
Ashryn whispered, "Are they… real?"
"Yes," Eleanor said. "Frozen in honor. Or punishment."
Their escort led them into a high hall lit by torches that burned with pale blue flame. A long dining table stretched beneath banners stitched with silver veins. At the head sat a man wrapped in white velvet and silence.
He rose.
"I have waited centuries," he said, "for you."
The Lastblood Prince
He was tall, with skin like moonlight and eyes too still for youth. His black hair shimmered like oil in candlelight. He wore no crown, but his presence outshone any gold.
"I am the Lastblood Prince," he said. "Born of the Winter Pact. Last heir of the Queen's covenant with the ice."
Eleanor narrowed her eyes. "I didn't come to bow."
"Nor did I invite you to," he said. "But you are not the only one touched by the Veins."
He raised his left hand—and veins of black crystal pulsed beneath his skin, twisting like roots just under the surface.
Ashryn gasped.
The Prince smiled.
Dinner Among the Frozen
They ate in silence. The food was warm but tasteless—stewed roots and salted beast meat. Only the wine had flavor: bitter, spiced, and heavy.
The Prince sipped with slow reverence.
"I once dreamed of marrying the Queen's shadow," he said softly. "A woman with hair of stormlight and eyes like ruin. The old faith called her Vessaria. But they never told me she would forget me."
Eleanor looked up. "You think I'm her?"
"I know you are," he said. "Or what's left of her."
Ashryn glanced between them, lips tight.
"I don't remember," Eleanor said.
"Then the Veins are doing their work," he murmured. "They do not give—they unmake."
A Pact Reoffered
He stood and circled the table.
"The Fourth Vein lies beneath this continent," he said. "And unlike the others… it sleeps willingly."
Eleanor frowned. "You mean it wants to be found?"
"I mean it wants to be freed."
He approached her and knelt.
"You are the harbinger. I am the blood-key. Alone, we fail. Together, we open the gate to something that predates the Queen herself."
Eleanor felt the mark on her chest burn faintly. Her body did not tremble. Her voice did not rise.
"Why would I trust you?"
He looked up at her, eyes not pleading, but waiting.
"Because the Veins are not paths to power," he said. "They are warnings."
The Chamber of Faces
That night, unable to sleep, Eleanor wandered Skarth Hall. The corridors creaked like old bones. Ice had formed veins of its own across the ceilings.
She found a locked door—marked with glyphs from a language she didn't remember learning. Her fingers brushed them, and the door opened.
Inside, a single chamber, lit by breathlight.
And a boy.
No older than ten. Curled on a slab of crystal. Breathing slowly.
She stepped closer.
He opened his eyes.
They were her eyes.
He sat up. "You came back."
Her lips parted. But her mind went blank.
"I'm sorry," she whispered. "Do I know you?"
His smile cracked, just once.
"You promised you wouldn't forget."
Fractures
She stepped back. The boy didn't cry. He just lay back down and stared at the ceiling.
The glyphs on the walls pulsed with sorrow.
Ashryn found her there minutes later, sword half-drawn.
"What is this place?"
"I don't know," Eleanor said. "I don't remember… anything."
Ashryn's voice was hoarse. "That boy—he has your face. Your blood."
"I don't feel anything when I look at him."
She turned her palms upward.
"I don't feel anything, Ashryn."
The Prince Watches
The Lastblood Prince watched from a hidden balcony, arms folded in silence.
His breath misted before him.
Behind him, one of the frozen statues cracked slightly, ice falling from its shoulder.
He smiled.
"Soon."