The archway leading to the royal tier of dwellings appeared suddenly, a towering frame of carved stone. Kana and Asher slowed their pace as they approached it.

"Get some rest," Asher said softly, his scholarly demeanor giving way to something more protective. "Tomorrow will be busy."

"I will." Her words came out automatic and regal, as if she had rehearsed them a hundred times. But her eyes stayed on the sky, that full silver moon that had, moments ago, bled crimson in her vision.

Asher noticed. He always noticed.

"Kana..."

"I'm fine," she said, cutting him off gently but firmly. The princess voice. The one that ended conversations. 

He wanted to argue; she could see it in the way his jaw tightened. But he also knew better. There were things a princess could not share, even with her closest friend. Especially with her closest friend, when that friend's father commanded the Mbaya'Wolé.

"Tomorrow, then," he said finally, stepping back with a respectful bow that felt too formal between them, but necessary here, in this liminal space where palace politics ruled.

Kana crossed the threshold alone.

In her private dwelling, Kana could exhale and gather her thoughts. The space was hers and hers alone. She looked at it as her sanctuary from the hustle and bustle of her everyday life, meetings, school, conferences, and town gatherings. In her sanctuary, she could unwind.

Her private chambers were carved directly into the mountainside, raw stone polished smooth over centuries, its natural striations visible in bands of gray and white. Multiple levels rose vertically, connected by narrow spiral staircases, each serving a purpose: sleeping chambers on the lowest tier, a central living space with a stone hearth, and study areas overlooking the valley.

Terraces jutted outward at irregular intervals. Some were narrow and intimate; others were broad enough for small gardens where snowwood trees grew. Railings of carved bone and blackened wood prevented falls, worn smooth by countless hands over countless years.

Where the stone had been carved away, veins of crystal caught lamplight, making the entire chamber glow with soft, blue-white radiance. No paint. No decoration. The mountain itself was enough.

The carved chambers faced inward on one side, protecting from northern winds. In contrast, the remaining sides caught maximum sunlight and provided unobstructed views of Eshari spread below, the terraced noble homes, the valley settlements, and the white wolves patrolling the ridges.

The stone walls reflected lantern light. The lanterns held crystals at the bottom that lit her room up with bright light, with minimal effort from the fire. Her fur-lined bed was dyed white and blue, and silk cushions embroidered with the Kelama spiritual text lay scattered across it.

She pushed through the ornate doors and let them close behind her.

Her breath came in shallow gasps.

The nervousness from the day, and the vision that had yet to fade from her memory lingered, giving her a haunting feeling. Kana pressed her palms against her eyes.

It's just nerves, she told herself. I'm just nervous about the Vestige Ceremony.

She slowly walked over to her terrace, spreading the translucent curtains aside, staring into the night. The moon was full, silver, serene, and ordinary. The air smelled of pine, snow, and distant wood burning in furnaces.

Nothing ominous. Nothing out of the ordinary. There's nothing wrong.

The pressure in her chest shifted.

The room's temperature dropped. Frost webbed across the window in delicate fractals, spreading from her breath.

Kana jerked back.

Always the same ice responding to emotion, power begging to be released. What if she couldn't control it during the ceremony?

She forced her breathing into the rhythm her mother had taught her: in through the nose, out through the mouth—the breath of balance and endurance.

Slowly, the frost began to melt, and the temperature rose back to the warmth the furnace provided.

But the pressure remained. Always, it remained.

A sharp knock broke the silence.

"Princess Kana," a servant's voice called through the door. "Queen Kanaé requests your presence in the Corridor of Ancestors. She awaits you."

Of course she does.

Kana smoothed her robe and checked her reflection once more. Composed. Serene. Perfect. No trembling hands. No wild thoughts. No hint of the ice singing beneath her skin.

"I'll come at once," she replied.

She opened the door to find a young attendant waiting, a dark-skinned girl with brown, two braided pigtails and a gray servant's wrap. Her head bowed and eyes lowered in respect. Together they moved through the palace corridors, past warm braziers that burned without smoke, past silent tapestries of brilliant Esharian artists, past bowing servants who made themselves invisible as they passed.

The air seemed to grow colder.

The atmosphere shifted.

Tapestry gave way to carved stone. Incense hung thick in the air. Kana's footsteps echoed differently here. They were sharper and louder with every step. 

"Wait here," Kana told the attendant.

Alone now, she stepped forward.

She took one steadying breath.

And crossed it.