At the White Gate, Nyxara was still stuck in the ice village with her supposed mother, aware of her siblings’ fates and wearing clothes she didn’t like. She had tried to mend the holes and tears, and though she usually did it perfectly, this time she couldn’t manage it...Since it was already evening, she sat at the dining table and slumped down with a murmur – doing exactly what she always scolded Valeria for. Meanwhile, her apparent mother served the food.It was steaming. The bowl was made of smooth white stone, and the smell was… wrong.“Your favorite dish,” said the woman in that smooth, nearly flawless voice as she took a seat across from her.Nyxara looked at the dish. Stew. Even the herbs were cut exactly the way she loved them. Even the root pieces looked real.“How do you know that?” she asked suspiciously.The woman smiled – too gently, too perfectly. “Mothers just know.”Nyxara stared at the spoon that was suddenly in her hand. She was certain she hadn’t picked it up. Yet she moved mechanically, brought the first bite to her mouth – and froze.The taste… was ash.Dry. Bitter. Deadly.She gagged and dropped the spoon. The liquid dripped onto her dress, directly onto one of the tears. For a moment…… the seam began to bleed.She tore the fabric from herself, gasping for breath. The false mother looked at her with soft concern.“Eat, darling. You look so… thin.”Nyxara narrowed her eyes. The word stabbed like a dagger.“I hate that word.”Her voice was rougher than she expected. Images shot through her mind – Valeria’s mocking grin, the knitting needles in her hand, circling around the term like a predator. “Thin” had never been about beauty – it was weapon, mockery, judgment.“Why… is my dress bleeding?”“You're hurt, my little one. You need rest.”She shook her head. No. Something was wrong. More than just wrong. It was twisted. Corrupted.Out of the corner of her eye, she saw the mirror on the wall. A scratched, old frame, the glass like ice. And then – a flicker.Valeria’s face. Right behind her.“Come out…”Nyxara jumped up. The chair tipped over backward, hitting the ground hard. Her heart raced. She ran to the mirror – nothing. Just herself. Her own wide, shocked eyes.But her reflection didn’t move.“Liar,” the reflection whispered. Then it grinned with Valeria’s smile.The false mother had stood up behind her. In her hands – the spoon again. She stepped closer.“One more bite. For me.”Nyxara backed away, bumped into the table. The surface suddenly felt ice cold. Too cold.The woman reached for her hand – and then it happened.The moment their skin touched, something tightened in Nyxara’s arm. Cold shot through her nerves, making her gasp. The skin beneath the touch began to freeze – silver-white, cracking, dead.She yanked herself free, gasping for air. Panic battled rage.“You’re not my mother… you’re my prison.”The world held its breath.Then she raised her arms. Ice shattered from her fingers. Her power raged within her – wild, untamed. She had held it back. Too long.“Order must be right!” she screamed and slammed both hands on the table.It broke instantly. No splintering – a bang, like thunder in a hollow space. Cracks spread through the entire house, the walls burst, windows shattered with a silent scream.The roof collapsed.Ice splintered in the air, swirling around her. The false mother screamed – not a human sound, but something deep, ancient, decaying.Then Nyxara was suddenly outside.But it was no longer a village. No trees. No snow.The world was… ashen.A horizon of gray and black, glowing threads running through it. Debris. Shadows. And the scent of burned memories.“Valeria…” she whispered.Something called her. No voice. But she felt it. In the ground. In the air. In herself.A groan.She turned. At the edge of the ashen plain, between shattered ice floes and clouds of dust, lay two figures. Motionless. Injured.Coin.And Oliver.She rushed to them, knelt down. Her hands trembled.“No… no, not you too…”Coin opened one eye, coughed up coins of pure ice. “We… we tried… to find you…”“They’re coming…” Oliver whispered, before his head slumped to the side.Nyxara looked up. In the distance – shadows. Too many.Then she heard it again: the whisper from the mirror.She turned. And there she was.Her reflection.But the eyes weren’t hers.Valeria’s gaze sparkled from her face.“Sister… we have a problem."

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