It snowed the morning the north came calling. Not the polite, storybook kind, this was a hush that blanketed the Sanctuary in white, muffling every sound and making the fortress feel like a secret at the heart of the world. The fairies took it as a personal affront and an excuse to build a snowball arsenal on the ramparts. Nyx called it "auspicious," which I suspected was dragon for "someone important is coming."
She was right. By noon, the trees at the edge of the domain were heavy with frost, and a procession emerged, tall figures cloaked in white and blue, their fur glimmering with frost-rimed runes. At their head strode a woman who could have cowed a legend.
Siraq, matron of the polar bear kin, moved with the strength and calm of a glacier, every footstep deliberate. Her cloak trailed in the snow, runes glowed on her arms, and her eyes, icy blue, impossibly old, took in the Sanctuary as if she were measuring it for a throne.
I stepped forward, doing my best impression of someone who hadn't spent the morning detangling fairy garlands from his beard. "Welcome to Sanctuary," I called, adding just enough dry edge to sound like I knew what I was doing. "We have walls, rules, and fair warning, a surplus of cake."
Lira and Pip swooped down, wings a blur, and offered Siraq a snow-dusted honeycake. Siraq regarded it with the solemnity of a treaty, then accepted, bowing her head with surprising grace.
"We come in peace," she said, her voice a rumble that sent a shiver through the air. "The old pacts stir. The world remembers its Warden. I am Siraq, matron of the north."
Her warriors and advisors fanned out behind her, all stoic dignity and wary respect. Nyx, at my side, watched Siraq with open curiosity and just a hint of a smirk.
As Siraq and her retinue were formally welcomed into the Sanctuary, I noticed something odd a flush to her cheeks, the way she looked everywhere but directly at me when I spoke. Her reputation was one of unflinching calm, but the moment our eyes met, she faltered, her composure flickering for just an instant.
Lira noticed, too, of course. She zipped up to my ear, whispering, "She's never blushed before. Not even when she punched a mammoth."
I tried not to let my own face give away anything. "Maybe it's the beard," I deadpanned.
We walked the outer grounds together, Siraq taking everything in with a deliberate, assessing air. She asked about the fortress's walls, the shadowfire lanterns, and even the fairy-constructed "mystery staircase." Every answer seemed to make her relax a little more, the regal mask slipping a bit as she laughed softly, surprised at Pip's story about the "Great Honeycake Disaster."
At the Hall of Shadows, she paused, gaze lingering on the runes I'd carved. "Your domain feels… honest. Like a place with nothing to hide."
I shrugged, feeling suddenly exposed. "I figure, if you're going to build something new, might as well make it real."
She nodded, thoughtful, and for a heartbeat, I thought she might say something more. Instead, she handed me a totem carved from ice and bone, runes glowing faintly. "A gift," she said, voice softer. "It remembers old oaths. It will keep watch at your gates."
Our fingers brushed as I took it. Siraq's hand was warm and strong, but she quickly withdrew, her composure snapping back into place.
"Thank you, Matron Siraq," I said, a little more gently than I intended.
She hesitated, glanced at me, and then, for a moment, smiled. Not the queenly smile for her people, but a quick, bashful thing, gone before I could catch it.
Nyx, watching from the archway, arched a brow and gave me a knowing look. The fairies, meanwhile, started plotting "Operation Bear Romance" in whispers, but I shot them my best "not yet" glare.
As Siraq and her kin settled into the Sanctuary's guest quarters, the air was thick with the promise of new alliances and, maybe, something more. But for now, it was enough to let the snow fall, to share cake and stories, and to feel the slow, hopeful thrum of a legend just beginning.
The System chimed:
[Potential Bond Detected: Siraq, Matron of the North.
Slow Burn Mode: Engaged.
Legend: Still Writing.]
And for once, I was in no hurry at all.