Noria Storn did not know her own name until the wind stole her memory of everything else. She only knew two things now. The ice stretched flat and white in every direction. And a wall of grey cloud was rushing toward her, faster than she could run. She pulled the silver fur cloak tight at her throat. Someone had given it to her once. She could not remember who, or where, or why her hands knew the clasp so well. That empty space frightened her more than the storm. She had woken this morning with a head full of nothing. No home. No family. No path back. The first gust hit like a shove. Snow tore sideways across the ice and stung her cheeks. She staggered and dropped to one knee. If the blizzard caught her in the open, she would freeze before dark. Then a light danced past her face. It was a tiny woman with wings of frost and bright violet eyes. She hovered just out of reach, watching Noria the way a bird watches a cat. She did not speak. She only darted a short way off, then stopped, then looked back. "You want me to follow," Noria said. Her voice cracked in the cold. The pixie flew. Noria forced herself up and chased the small glow into the white. The wind screamed louder. She could not see her own feet. She followed the light because it was the only thing left to follow. The pixie led her to a dark shape rising from the ice. A cave, carved into a low snowy slope. Noria threw herself through the mouth of it as the blizzard slammed shut behind her. Inside, the wind fell to a hush. The cave held old wooden furniture, a narrow bed, and a cold stone hearth. Someone had lived here long ago. Ash still filled the fireplace. Noria found dry wood stacked against the wall and struck a spark with numb fingers. Flame caught. Warmth spread across her hands. The frost pixie settled on the hearth's edge, wary, ready to bolt. Then Noria saw it. On a small table by the bed sat a flower made of ice. Its petals were clear as glass. Its heart was a crystal core that caught the firelight and threw it back in sharp blue points. It was not frozen over. It was fresh, as if picked that morning. Her chest tightened. She had seen this flower before. She was certain of it. The memory hovered close, then slipped away like the pixie. Noria reached for the icy bloom. Her fingers trembled, not from cold now. "Whose is this?" she whispered. The pixie stared at the flower, then at Noria. She backed toward the cave mouth, afraid. The storm had spared her. But the shelter was not empty of the past. Someone had left this flower here for her. And Noria meant to find out who.

Noria held the ice flower and waited for the memory to come back. It did not. The recognition had brushed her mind and slipped away. She turned the bloom in the firelight, hoping the blue glints would spark something. Nothing rose to meet them. Without a place to hang the feeling, it faded to a dull ache. She needed more than a flower. She needed the ground it came from. The frost pixie hovered near the cave mouth, watching her. Noria stood and pulled the silver fur cloak close. "You brought me here," Noria said. "You knew the way through the storm. So you know this place." She lifted the flower toward the small winged woman. "Where does this grow?" The pixie's violet eyes fixed on the bloom. She flew a tight circle, then darted out into the calmer air. The blizzard had passed. Noria stepped from the cave and followed the glow across the ice. They walked a long time. The pixie led her over a low rise, and Noria stopped short. Ahead stood a shrine of pale ice and stone. Frost softened its walls. Tall crystal spires rose from its roof and caught the flat grey light. Snow banked against the steps. The doors were carved with deep runes she could not read. Her legs carried her forward before she chose to move. She had climbed these steps. Her feet knew the height of each one. She had stood at this door as a child, small enough to reach only the lowest carving. The recognition did not fade this time. The shrine held it in place. A memory opened like a door swinging wide. She saw hands giving her the ice flower on these very steps. A voice told her the shrine was hers to guard. She was young. The person was tall and kind and she had loved them. She reached for the face. The face would not come. The memory stopped at the edge of it. But the rest stayed. This place was hers. She belonged to it, and it to her. Noria pressed her palm to the cold door. "I have been here," she said. Her voice shook. "This is mine." The pixie landed on the frozen steps and folded her wings. She no longer looked ready to flee. She watched Noria with something like relief. Noria set the ice flower on the top step where the memory had shown it given. She had an anchor now. Not the flower. The shrine. A real place in the world that knew her name before she lost it. But a locked door stood between her and the rest. The runes meant something. The face at the memory's edge meant more. Someone had trusted her to guard this shrine, and that someone had left her out on the ice to wake with nothing. She meant to learn why.

Noria stood at the shrine door and tried again to see the face. The memory gave her hands, a tall shape, a warm voice. The face stayed a smear of light. She pressed her fists to her eyes and forced it. Nothing sharpened. She could not know who had left her on the ice until she could recognize them. The frost pixie tugged at her sleeve. She led Noria past the shrine wall to a carved pillar of clear ice. Runes ran down its length, glowing faint purple. The pixie hovered before the stone and waited. Noria touched the frozen surface. The runes meant nothing to her. But her fingers moved on their own, tracing one mark, then the next, in an order she did not choose. She had done this before. A child's game, or a lesson. The memory pushed harder against the blur. "You're trying to help me remember," Noria said. The pixie's violet eyes held hers. She flew deeper along the wall, toward a low stone altar crowned with a frozen waterfall. Noria followed. Ice sheeted the altar's carved base. The frozen water hung still and glassy, smooth as a mirror. She knelt before it and looked. Her own face stared back, pale under the silver cloak. Then the surface seemed to hold a second reflection, faint behind her own. She had knelt here as a child. Someone had knelt with her. The warm voice had spoken over her shoulder, into this very ice. The memory flooded up, and the blur began to break. Noria stared harder. A jaw came clear. Then a mouth, set in a small smile. Silver hair, like her own. Eyes she knew. The face filled in whole, and her breath stopped. It was a woman. Older, but her features matched Noria's own. Same cheekbones. Same pale hair. The face was not a stranger's. It was almost her own, grown older. "You look like me," Noria whispered. The reflection in the ice did not change, but the memory did. The woman had knelt here and taught her the runes. The woman had given her the shrine to guard. And the woman had led her out onto the ice one last time. Noria pressed her hand flat to the frozen altar. She had the face now. She would know this woman anywhere. The blur was gone, replaced by a person she could hunt for across all of Alpenglow. But the memory carried more than a face. The woman's mouth had been moving as she left. She had said something, some word, some reason. Noria strained for it and caught only silence. She knew who had abandoned her. She still did not know why. The pixie settled on the altar's edge. Noria rose. "Find her," she said. "Take me to where she went." The pixie lifted into the air and led her back into the cold.