West stared at the child, heart lurching against the rhythm of the ley still pulsing faintly in his chest. The girl's gaze was ancient, far too knowing for her age—yet undeniably hers. A piece of her. Thawsoul. Frost. Whatever remained.
Sebastian stepped forward, blade half-drawn. "That's her?"
"No," West whispered. "That's what's left of her before she became the seal."
The girl's eyes flashed. The temperature dropped.
"You shouldn't have remembered me," she said, her voice echoing double-layered, as if another version of her spoke in tandem—older, colder, bound to storm and frost.
West stepped into the light. "I had to."
Behind the girl, the corridor opened into an impossible expanse—a landscape carved from frostlight and memory. Giant, frozen spires jutted from the horizon like broken ribs. Lightning forked between them, silent and unending, illuminating relics of a world that never was.
The child tilted her head. "Then come."
And she vanished—scattering into snow.
---
