Elara Frostwhisper had three winters left to find an heir, and the storm meant to take them all today. She pushed through the snow with her crystal staff, blue stones swinging from its top. Her white hair whipped across her face. Each vision she had ever read had cost her a little more of her youth. Soon her sight would be gone, and no child would carry it after her. She had come onto the Permafrost to search for such a child. Now she could not even see her own hands. The wind turned white. Snow struck her like thrown sand. She could not tell up from down. Her boots sank, then stuck. She knew this cold. People who stopped moving out here did not start again. She gripped the staff with both hands and breathed on the crystals. Nothing came. She breathed again, slower, and a faint blue light spread from the stones. It did not warm her. It only showed her a few steps of snow ahead. Then a shape moved in the light. A butterfly with the body of a small dragon, its wings deep blue, hovered before her face. It should have frozen in a second. Instead it beat its wings and drifted sideways, waiting. "You want me to follow," Elara said. Her lips barely moved. She had no better plan. She stumbled after the creature. It led her a dozen paces, then a dozen more. Her legs shook. She fell once and tasted snow. The dragon-moth circled back and hovered until she rose. At last a glow broke through the white. Not the creature's glow. Something larger, golden, steady. A house stood in the storm. Its walls were pale crystal, every facet lit from within. Warm light poured from the windows and the tall front doors. The dragon-moth flew to the glass and tapped it once. The doors opened. A child stood in the gap. She was small, with raven hair and large dark blue eyes. Her black fur robe was marked with bright blue lines that glowed like the house itself. She did not look afraid of the storm or the stranger. "You almost waited too long," the girl said. She stepped back to let Elara in. "I sent him for you an hour ago." Elara crossed the threshold. Warmth hit her like water. She leaned on her staff and stared at the child, who had summoned a creature through a whiteout to find one freezing stranger. "You sent him," Elara said. "How?" The girl shrugged and shut the doors against the wind. "I knew you were out there. I know things before they happen. Nobody believes me." Elara's heart beat hard. She had searched the whole Permafrost for a child with the sight. The storm had nearly killed her. Instead it had driven her straight to the one person she needed. "I believe you," Elara said. "What is your name?" "Michaelah," the girl said. "You're going to stay."

The storm still howled outside, but inside the crystal house the air was warm and bright. Elara leaned on her staff and tried to think like a teacher. She had found her heir. Now she had to begin. A child with the sight needed guidance, and Elara had little time to give it. She turned toward the fireplace, where a bright fire glowed inside clear, faceted walls. "We should start now," Elara said. "I will show you how to read a vision without losing yourself in it." She took a step toward the fire. Her legs folded under her. The staff slipped from her hand and clattered on the floor. The room tilted, and the warm light rushed up at her. Small hands caught her under the arms. Michaelah was only a child, but she held firm and did not let Elara fall. "I knew you'd drop," the girl said. "I saw it before you took the step." She braced her feet and steadied the old seer's weight. "Let me go," Elara said. "I can stand." "No, you can't." Michaelah guided her, one slow step at a time, to a small bed covered in white fur near the hearth. She eased Elara down onto it. "You're too cold inside. Teaching can wait." Elara wanted to argue. She had three winters left and no time to rest. But her hands shook, and the cold sat deep in her chest like a stone. She had pushed her body across the whole Permafrost, and now it refused her. She could not teach anyone while she could not even stand. Michaelah pulled the fur blanket over Elara's legs. Then she dragged the bed closer to the fire, grunting at the weight. The crystal frame of the hearth threw heat across Elara's face and hands. Slowly the shaking eased. Feeling crept back into her fingers. "Drink," Michaelah said. She pressed a warm cup into Elara's hands. It smelled of melted snow and something sweet. Elara drank. The warmth spread down her throat and into her chest. The stone of cold began to break apart. "You planned this," Elara said. "The bed. The fire. The drink." "I told you. I know things before they happen." Michaelah sat on the floor and watched her. "I knew you'd try to teach me today. I knew you'd be too weak." Elara closed her eyes. The warmth held her. Her strength did not come flooding back, but it stopped draining away. She could feel her own heartbeat again, slow and steady. For the first time in days, she rested. The lesson she had wanted to give had not happened. Instead the child had cared for her. Elara saw the truth of it clearly now. She had come to teach Michaelah. But the girl's sight was already sharp, already working, already ahead of her own. The question was no longer whether the child had the gift. It was who would be teaching whom.