The cold had learned how to bite deeper than knives.
Verkhoyansk no longer fought winter. It surrendered to it in small, heartbreaking ways. Wooden shutters froze halfway open. Pipes burst in perfect symmetrical fractures, flooding streets that turned to black ice overnight. Families burned furniture for heat while children pressed their noses to frosted windows, watching the snow spell Irina's name across rooftops in elegant, possessive script. The college campus had become a silent tomb, its paths buried under drifts too deep for boots or hope. Only the old library annex still flickered with emergency light, a single defiant candle in the white.
Irina moved through it like a ghost of herself.
Her skin had gone from pale to almost translucent, veins showing blue beneath the surface like frozen rivers. The silver runes across her breasts and inner thighs glowed steadily now, pulsing with every step and draining another degree of warmth from her body. Baba Olga's charm still rested between her marked breasts, but its hum was little more than a dying whisper. Adrian kept her wrapped in his coat, one arm banded around her waist, his warmth the only shield left. Yet even he could not stop the slow leak.
Professor Yelena Morozova had sent the message at dawn: *Closed campus. Back entrance of the old library annex. Come alone if you can. The texts have more to say.*
Adrian had argued, but Irina insisted. "She knows things no one else does. I need answers before I fade completely."
The secret meeting happened in the basement archives, the only room still lit by a single emergency lamp. Dust hung thick in the air. Ancient Yakut scrolls lay unrolled across the long oak table like accusations. Professor Morozova waited behind them, sharp features carved deeper by exhaustion, her glasses reflecting the dim light. Dmitri Kuzmin stood beside her, helpful classmate and loyal friend, his usual easy smile replaced by quiet worry. And Katya Ivanova lingered at the far end of the table—jealous envy girl, competitive and sharp-tongued, invited under the pretense of "research assistance." Her eyes flicked to Irina with poorly hidden malice.
"You look like death warmed over," Katya said sweetly, voice dripping false concern. "Or should I say… death frozen solid?"
Professor Morozova silenced her with a look. "Enough. We are beyond campus gossip. Irina, the texts have confirmed what I feared. The Hearth King is not the only entity stirring. There is another."
She unrolled a newer scroll, its edges brittle with age. The illustration showed a slender, ethereal figure made of black frost and shadow—beautiful in the way a blade is beautiful, eyes glowing with hungry ambition. The name beneath it was written in old Yakut script: *Vesper*.
"A lesser winter spirit," the professor continued, voice crisp yet heavy. "King Mordren's ancient rival. He has waited centuries for the Hearth King to weaken. Vesper does not want balance. He wants power. And the key to stealing that power is the same anchor that keeps the Hearth King alive."
Dmitri leaned closer, flashlight beam steady on the illustration. "You mean Irina."
"Yes." Professor Morozova's gaze softened as it landed on her former student. "I have seen similar spirits before—years ago, during my own research in the far north. They appear when the veil is thinnest. Vesper will not court you with tenderness like Erwin. He will not protect you like Adrian. He will simply take. And once he has your warmth, he will use it to unseat the Hearth King and plunge the world into a winter without end or mercy."
Irina's fingers tightened on the edge of the table. The silver marks beneath her sweater flared hot and cold, as though the runes themselves recognized the name. "How do I stop him?"
"You don't," Katya cut in, unable to hide the jealousy any longer. Her voice turned venomous. "You're the prize, aren't you? The Winter Bride everyone keeps whispering about. First the river ghost, then Adrian's secret lab make-outs, now this? Some of us actually have to work for what we want."
Dmitri shot her a warning look. "Katya, not now."
But it was too late.
The temperature in the basement plummeted. The emergency lamp flickered once, then died. Black frost raced across the scrolls, sealing the ancient words beneath perfect ice. A slender figure stepped from the shadows between the shelves—tall, ethereal, formed of midnight and jagged crystal. Vesper. His beauty was cruel where Erwin's was tender: sharp cheekbones, eyes like frozen voids, hair of black ice that drifted like smoke. He wore no robes, only shifting shadows that clung to a body carved from winter's darkest dreams.
"So this is the anchor," Vesper said, voice a silken blade. "The little flame King Mordren and his pet elf have been hoarding." His gaze raked over Irina, hungry and calculating. "I can smell your warmth leaking out. So fragile. So ready to be taken."
Adrian was already moving, stepping in front of her, but Vesper flicked a hand and black frost surged forward, forming a wall of jagged ice between them. The lesser spirit drifted closer to Irina, close enough that she could feel the void-cold radiating from him.
"I do not offer palaces or mortal kisses," Vesper whispered, circling her slowly. "I offer power. Give me the Hearth King's claim and I will make you queen of a winter without end. No more fading. No more choice. Just endless night—and me at your side."
Professor Morozova's voice rang out sharp and steady. "Vesper. You were banished once. You will be banished again."
The spirit laughed, a sound like cracking glaciers. "The old woman thinks she knows the rules. But the veil is thinner than it has ever been." His hand rose, black frost forming a single perfect rose in his palm—identical to the white one Erwin had left, yet darker, sharper. "Take it, little key. Or watch your precious town freeze one soul at a time."
Katya stepped back toward the door, phone already in her hand, fingers flying across the screen. A betrayal already forming in her jealous eyes—photos, messages, proof she could sell to Natalia or worse.
Dmitri lunged for her, but Vesper's frost surged again, sealing the archives door in black ice.
The first external threat had arrived.
And it wanted Irina not as a bride, but as a weapon.
Adrian slammed his shoulder against the wall of jagged ice, warm palms glowing faintly with the rival spark he carried, trying to melt a path. "Irina—stay behind me!"
Vesper's void-eyes gleamed with cruel delight. "Choose quickly, little flame. The Hearth King is not the only one who hungers."
Black snow began to fall inside the archives, each flake sharp as glass.
To be continued....