Prologue
The Frostbound Prophecy
The wind howled through the icy spires of Thor-Yvresse, carrying the whispers of ghosts long forgotten. Snow fell in quiet sheets, blanketing the ancient halls of the Snow Elf palace, where Queen Arielle stood before a mirror framed in frost.
Her reflection was not her own.
The woman staring back at her had violet eyes like starlit skies, her dark hair woven with silver strands of moonlight. She was no queen of Thor-Yvresse—she was something more, something ancient.
A voice echoed in Arielle’s mind, soft and haunting.
“You have walked this path before, my love. And you will walk it again.”
Arielle’s breath hitched. The vision had come again—this impossible memory, these dreams of a life unlived.
The doors to her chamber slammed open.
Malekith entered, his golden eyes sharp with suspicion, the scent of cold steel and embers clinging to him. His presence was suffocating, a weight she had borne for too long.
“You are restless,” he observed, his tone devoid of warmth. “Something troubles you.”
Arielle lowered her gaze, masking the storm within. “It is nothing, my King.”
Malekith studied her for a long moment before scoffing. “Then come to bed. It is time we discuss the matter of your heir.”
She stiffened. There was no love in his voice. Only expectation. Only duty.
That night, as Malekith slept beside her, Arielle lay awake, the dream still burning in her mind.
And far beyond the frozen mountains, in the lands untouched by winter, Livian, the Night Elf King, stood beneath the Well of Eternity. He lifted his gaze to the stars, as if drawn by an invisible thread, sensing the same aching pull of fate.
Their time was coming.
Their love, long buried, was about to awaken.
And the world would burn for it.
