CHAPTER FOUR: Smoke and Storms
(Freya's POV)
Freya stood at the edge of the stream behind Miami's house. The water was quiet. Still. Too still.
Even the frogs were silent.
She crouched and dipped her fingers into the cold stream, watching the ripples twist around her reflection. Blonde hair, wild from sleep. Ocean blue eyes that looked like they belonged to someone else. A stranger. A warning.
She looked too much like her mother.
That's what the old healer had once whispered before crossing herself and shoving herbs into a basket.
It didn't matter.
Freya had learned to live with fear. It was better than pity. Pity led to people trying to fix you. Fear made them stay away.
She lifted a smooth stone from the streambed and clenched it in her fist.
The village would be quiet today. After last night's fire, they would pretend she didn't exist again—at least for a while.
She preferred it that way.
But even as she walked back toward the house, something clawed at the edges of her thoughts. A prickling at the back of her neck.
The wind had changed.
And so had the sky.
Clouds thickened above, black and slow-moving like bruises on the heavens. The birds, usually rowdy this time of day, were gone. Everything felt like it was holding its breath.
Freya reached for the pendant on her chest. Still cold.
Good.
That meant she still had time.
She reached the doorstep when a raven dropped from the sky—landing with a thud that startled her.
It wasn't injured.
It looked up at her, eyes gleaming with unnatural intelligence. Then it opened its beak and dropped something.
A golden insignia ring.
The royal crest.
Freya didn't move.
Her fingers clenched tighter around the stone in her hand.
> The castle never reached out to the villages.
No royal ever bothered with ravens and messages and strange omens.
So why now?
The ring lay on the ground like a challenge.
The wind picked up again, colder than before.
Somewhere far in the hills, a storm began to rumble.