That same night, in Elroy’s forge, she makes one last attempt to melt the gauntlet. She places it in the furnace. The flames bite the metal. And then it happens.

A flash. A scream not from her throat but from the universe itself. The fire freezes. The world folds. The gauntlet explodes in liquid light.

And the ground disappears.

Saeris falls.

Not off a cliff. Not into a physical trap.

She falls between worlds.

The gauntlet, on her arm, fuses with her skin. It becomes part of her. A curse. An open door.

When she wakes, she is no longer in Zilvaren. Under her feet is no sand, but ice. Above her, a starry, hostile sky. In front of her, a silhouette with a sheathed sword and a face carved by war.

—I’ve been waiting for you —the figure says.

And for the first time in years, Saeris has no ready answer.

Only questions. And fear.