Frost's bite creeps in right where the Shattered Vale just… stops. No warning, no gentle fade. One step, you're in tundra. Maelin yanked her cloak tighter, grumbling under her breath—nobody warned her about this kind of cold. Kaelen just stomped along, boots crunching, while Iravelle drifted beside them, like she belonged in this weird silence. It wasn't sad or angry here. More like… the world just forgot it was supposed to care.
Honestly, even the trees looked dazed. Rivers wandered without a clue. Time? Eh, felt like it was dragging its feet, hungover and lost.
"The Fifth is close," Iravelle muttered, eyes on the nothing ahead. "But don't expect him to be the same. He's got no name now."
Maelin shot her a look. "What's that supposed to mean? You don't just lose your name."
"He let it all go," Iravelle replied, voice flat. "Past, future, us—everything. He cut himself loose from the Choir."
Kaelen scowled. "So… what? We just wander around hoping he trips over us?"
"No need," said this voice, deep and cold, straight out of the snow.
All three spun. There—some giant of a guy, wrapped head to toe in furs, blue eyes like cracked ice, unreadable as hell. No sword, no staff, nothing except this weird bone flute, hollow and sharp-looking.
He shrugged. "I find you."
Maelin edged forward. "You're the fifth. Aren't you?"
He cocked his head, considering. "Was, yeah. Now? Just call me the Hollow Wind. That's about all there is left."
Oof. Those words—nothing sharp, just empty, like he'd bled out everything inside and didn't bother to fill it back up.
"You were the root," Iravelle said quietly. "Held the whole thing together."
He blinked, slow as snow drifting. "And when we broke—I let go. Only way to survive the quiet."
Maelin sucked in a shaky breath. "You remember the song, though. Right?"
He looked away, jaw clenched. "Some things ain't worth remembering."
She stepped closer, digging the flame-crystal out of her pocket. Four echoes, glowing fitfully inside, humming like a nervous heart.
"Maybe," she said, "but you're still part of it. Even if your voice is a whisper, it's not gone."
He let out a laugh, soft and sad. Not mocking, not mean—just… tired.
"You really think singing to a busted star's gonna fix anything?"
She grinned, stubborn as ever. "Hey, nothing else ever did."
Silence. Heavy, but not hopeless.
Then, slow as sunrise, he lifted that bone flute. Played a note—barely there, thin as the wind but somehow holding the whole world up for just a second. Not pretty. Not polished.
But hell, it was real.
Maelin felt the star map twitch, a fifth light flickering up—cold blue, but alive.
The Hollow Wind let the flute fall, eyes lost.
"I don't know who I am anymore."
She took his hand, warm through the frost. "Then sing with us. Maybe we'll find out together."
Overhead, the sky split open with starlight.
And somewhere far, far away, the sixth member of the Choir turned in restless dreams—chains weakening.
Not much longer now.