The cold bit at Casia’s cheeks, and heavy clothes pressed her as she trudged through the snow, her breath trailing in misty wisps. Each step pressed into the frozen crust of snow, which groaned and cracked under the uncomfortable weight of her boots, the sound sharp and hollow in the stillness. It was a noise that seemed not to carry far in the quiet forest, as if the land was muttering disapproval at their intrusion. The forest around the lights of the ancient holy site stood still. The black outlines of skeletal trees painted against the pale snow, their branches covered by heavy snow stretched like fingers toward the heavens. It was a silence she could almost feel—a vast, empty stillness that pressed against her skin and made her heart quicken. When the first light flickered above, she halted, her gaze snapping upward. The aurora unfurled like ribbons of a dancer, sinuous and hypnotic, their vibrant greens, violets, and golds weaving through the night sky with grace, like living serpents. She sucked in a sharp breath. She’d seen the lights before, but this… this was something else. The brilliance was so fierce it seemed to pierce through her skin, filling her chest with a strange, aching wonder. “They’re alive,” she whispered, more to herself than Aygul, who had frozen on her spot. The words barely escaped her lips, her voice trembling with awe. Magic hummed in the air, a faint vibration that danced along her nerves. She felt it stronger here, far from the villages and the hum of human life. In the north, where the land was wild and untamed, magic pulsed like the heartbeat of the world. It filled the emptiness, flowing through the frost, the ancient trees, and the endless sky. Beside her, Aygul shifted uneasily, tearing her eyes from the snow-crusted path to the undulating sky. The glow reflected in her dark eyes, making her seem younger and smaller against the vastness of the night. “Do you feel it?” she asked, her voice hushed. “The air is thick with it. This place—this light—it’s not just the gods’ work. It’s the land itself.” She stretched a gloved hand toward the aurora as though she could touch it, her fingers trembling. “The gods may claim it, but the magic here is older than worship. It’s older than us, people.” Her voice grew quiet, almost reverent. “Where there are fewer people, there’s more room for it to breathe. The north is full of it—creatures, power. I know it. I can feel it in my blood.” Her thoughts flickered to her homeland, to the stories Ani had whispered long ago, of spirits and djinn, of wild places where magic thrived. She did not know how far her roots reached or how ancient the blood that ran through her veins might be, but here, in the untouched wilderness, she felt the echo of something vast and unknowable. The aurora shifted, its colors growing more vibrant, almost frantic, and her heart skipped a beat. Was it a sign? A warning? Or merely a gift meant only for those who wandered far enough to see it? Casia lowered her hand, her breath catching. “The lights are alive,” she murmured again, her voice shaking. “And they’re watching us.” Aygul smiled and shook her head, wrapping her arms tighter around herself. They had always loved stories and mysteries, but the House of Wisdom had explanations for many mysteries. “I feel cold,” she said flatly. “And I see lights. Beautiful lights, yes, but…” She trailed off, staring at the heavens with a serious face. But after a pause, her voice softened. “I just wish I knew what they really were. Tapani’s story about fire foxes sparking the sky… it’s charming.” Casia tilted her head at Aygul, watching her with a faint, curious smile. “You overthink,” she said lightly, though her gaze softened. She gestured toward the sky. “Just look. Tell me that doesn’t make you feel something, even if it’s not magic.” Aygul didn’t reply. She kept her arms crossed, staring at the twisting ribbons of light with an expression that balanced awe and distrust, as though the heavens had opened just for them—and not for anything kind.