Rosaria stepped out of the small wooden cabin and onto the frozen clearing. She wanted one thing: to become the strongest ice mage who had ever lived. Her breath fogged the air. Her grandfather watched from the porch, silent as always. The clearing showed her practice. A jagged spire of dark blue ice rose where she had lost control last week. Smaller shards littered the ground like broken glass. She walked past them and lifted the crown of sharp ice she had shaped to channel her power. She set the crown on her head. Cold bit into her scalp. She pulled deeper, pushing past what felt safe. Frost crawled down her neck. Her fingers stiffened. She gritted her teeth and pushed harder. A bright streak flashed at the tree line. A wolf with a coat like fire stepped into the clearing, steam rising from its paws. It watched her, yellow eyes steady. The heat from its body broke her focus for one breath. That breath was enough. The ice surged out of her control. A new spire burst from the ground beside her, taller than the last. Her left hand froze solid inside its glove. She fell to one knee, gasping. The wolf padded closer and lay down in the snow, melting a small ring around itself. Rosaria stared at her frozen hand, then at the creature. Her power had almost taken her. But she was still breathing, and something wild had come to watch. The clearing was no longer only hers.