## CHAPTER 3: _"Fate Woven in Snow"_
The snow fell like memory—soft, persistent, and too heavy for the world to carry.
Arien stood on the edge of the Winter Palace's outer wall, high above the rest of the kingdom. His eyes scanned the forest. The same forest that had haunted his dreams for months, now pulsed with a strange urgency.
He should not have been out here. The guards would sound the alarm if they saw him. But no one dared stop the prince of ghosts.
Not even when he disappeared into the trees.
He moved through the woods with unnatural grace. The trees did not bow for him as they had for her. But they made no attempt to stop him either.
His breath did not fog.
His footprints did not linger.
He was not alive enough to disturb nature.
But something had disturbed it.
The closer he got to the Weeping River, the more he felt it — the pull. Not like rope. Like blood. Like gravity. Like a heartbeat he'd never had.
He reached the edge of the water just as the sun dipped behind the mountains. Shadows stretched like reaching hands. The river whispered in tongues too old for men to understand. And across it, he saw the hollow of the forest open.
Not physically.
Not visibly.
But something gave way.
He stepped onto the frozen river. The ice held.
One step.
Another.
And then—
A tremor.
He fell to one knee, clutching his chest.
Pain.
He had never felt pain. Not once. Not ever.
But now, his chest screamed with fire. His heart — the one that had never beaten — stuttered.
Not a beat.
But something close.
A shadow moved beyond the trees. Silver. Flame. Her.
He rose and ran.
---
Lysia stopped walking.
She felt him.
The pulse. The echo. The tether.
He was close. So close the magic between them twisted like thorns. Her fingers sparked, and her pendant burned against her skin.
She turned.
He emerged from the shadows.
Black cloak. Pale face. Eyes like dying stars.
He looked broken and beautiful. And impossibly, she knew him.
> "Arien," she whispered.
He froze.
> "You…" he breathed. "You're real."
They stared at each other across the field of dead snow. The world held its breath.
Lysia took a step forward. The ground wilted beneath her feet.
Arien's hand twitched.
> "Don't," he said. "Don't come closer."
> "I'm not afraid of hurting you."
> "I am."
She laughed. Bitter. Soft.
> "Then we're both fools."
She reached out. So did he. Fingers trembling.
And then—
They touched.
The wind exploded.
The snow rose in a spiral.
Magic screamed through the forest.
A vision tore through both of them:
— A battlefield soaked in blood.
— A child crying in a burning room.
— A crown split in two.
— A kiss. A death. A vow.
They staggered apart, panting, trembling.
> "What was that?" Arien whispered.
> "The future," Lysia said. "Or the past. Or both."
---
They found shelter in a forgotten ruin, a stone temple swallowed by vines and memory. Neither spoke for a long time.
Then Arien asked, "What are you?"
Lysia looked at him.
> "What they feared. What they erased."
> "You're Moondamned."
> "So are you."
He flinched. "What?"
> "You carry their blood. Or their curse. Maybe both. That's why you have no heartbeat. That's why I felt you even in sleep."
> "My father slaughtered your people."
> "Yes."
> "And still we're bound."
> "Curses aren't logical."
He laughed, a sound that felt too alive in his dead lungs.
They sat in silence.
> "What now?" he asked.
> "We find out why fate wants us dead."
> "And if we fall in love?"
> "Then one of us dies."
> "And if we don't?"
> "We all do."
Outside, the snow fell heavier.
Inside, two cursed souls sat on the edge of war.
And in their hearts, something began to beat.