Baba Svetlana opened her door before the knock came. A woman stood in the snow, lips blue, frost crusting her dark hood. Svetlana pulled her inside, sat her by the fire, and laid out the deck. "You climbed this far for answers. Ask." The stranger peeled off a glove with stiff fingers. "I don't remember my name. I need to know if it's worth finding." Svetlana turned three cards. The fire snapped. She studied the woman's pale eyes and steady hands — someone who did not flinch, who did not beg. "The cards won't give you your name," Svetlana said. "But they brought you to my door, Cipher Kane, and that is its own answer." Cipher met her gaze. "Then tell me what the door is for." Svetlana set the deck between them. "Stay the winter. I'll show you."

By morning, Cipher Kane had warmed enough to ask the real question. Svetlana set down her tea and gave her the whole shape of it. The cards bind the mountain's restless spirits. To take them, Cipher would give up her search for her old name. No wandering back down. No people kept close. The duty came first, always. Svetlana spoke plainly, because lies would only waste the winter they had left. Cipher listened without moving. When Svetlana finished, she set her cup on the table and looked at the fire. "No," she said. "I came up this mountain to find a name. I won't trade one I can't remember for one I'll never have." She did not soften it. Svetlana nodded once, slow, and gathered the deck back into her hands. The cards felt heavier than before. Outside, the wind shifted, and something on the slope above them began to wake.