The prison gates slammed shut behind her.
The sound rang through the underground corridor, iron grinding against iron, until the final lock snapped into place with a cruel finality that made Lena's knees buckle.
She spun around, rushing the bars as the guards turned away.
"Wait!" she screamed, fingers wrapping around the iron so tightly her knuckles whitened. "You've made a mistake! I didn't do anything— I'm innocent!"
Her voice tore through the darkness, echoing wildly.
"I'm innocent!" she cried again, shaking the bars with all the strength left in her arms. "You can't do this to me!"
The guards didn't slow. Their footsteps faded, swallowed by stone.
Lena screamed until her throat burned, until her lungs ached and her voice cracked into something unrecognizable. The iron cut into her palms, but she didn't let go—not until her strength failed her completely.
When it did, she slid down the bars and collapsed onto the floor.
Her breath came in ragged gasps as she drew her knees to her chest and folded over them, sobbing openly now, the sound breaking free in harsh, helpless waves.
"I didn't do anything wrong," she whispered into the darkness. "I didn't."
The prison answered only with silence.
Then the air changed.
A sharp, unnatural cold crept across the floor, crawling up the walls like a living thing. Lena's sobs faltered. Her breath fogged faintly in front of her lips.
"No…" she murmured.
Snowflakes drifted down, slow and delicate, vanishing before they touched the ground.
Lena lifted her head.
At the far end of the cell, frost gathered, shaping itself into a figure she knew too well.
Winter.
The Snow Witch stood in the falling frost, pale and composed, silver hair floating as though stirred by a wind only she could feel.
Lena surged to her feet, fury blazing through her fear.
"You said everything happens for a reason!" she shouted, rushing the bars. "So tell me—what reason justifies this?!"
Her hands slammed against the iron. "You started this. You appeared, you spoke in riddles, and now I'm chained and caged like a monster!"
Winter's gaze remained steady. "You are neither chained nor caged, Lena. Not truly."
"Then what do you call this?!" Lena gestured wildly at the cell. "Because from where I'm standing, it feels like my life just ended!"
Winter stepped closer, frost blooming under her feet.
"This is a pause," she said softly. "Not an ending."
Lena laughed harshly. "Easy for you to say. You don't have Kairos watching your every breath."
Winter's expression tightened—just slightly.
"He suspects," she admitted. "That is why I intervened."
Lena froze. "Intervened how?"
Winter raised her hand. For a heartbeat, the prison shimmered—and Lena saw it. The seer's clouded eyes. The bowed head.
"You," Lena whispered. "You were the seer."
Winter nodded once. "I wore her shape. Her voice. Her sight."
Rage flared again. "You lied to him."
"I protected you," Winter corrected. "Until you are ready."
"Ready for what?" Lena demanded.
Winter reached into her sleeve and produced a small crystal vial filled with shimmering silver-blue liquid.
"For choice," she said. "This will hide your mark."
Lena stiffened. "You told him there was no mark."
"There wasn't," Winter said calmly. "Not one he could see."
She met Lena's gaze. "Your mark awakens only when your path begins to solidify. Until then, it is unstable—dangerous."
Lena's hand drifted to her collarbone. "So the witness wasn't lying."
"No," Winter said. "Nor was he telling the full truth."
She pressed the vial through the bars as frost parted obediently.
"Drink it," she said. "It will veil the mark until you choose your destiny of your own will."
Lena hesitated, then drank.
The cold spread through her chest, sharp and brief, then settled into something quiet and contained. The pressure she hadn't realized was there vanished.
Winter exhaled softly. "Good."
"What happens now?" Lena asked, her voice small despite herself.
Winter's form began to fade, snow thinning around her.
"Now," she said, "you wait. You watch. And you trust the one who has already chosen to stay with you."
Before Lena could ask what she meant, Winter vanished completely.
The cold receded.
Moments later, the prison door creaked open again.
Lena looked up just in time to see a silver cage hurled inside. It hit the ground, magic shattering instantly.
A familiar growl echoed through the cell.
"Oh, absolutely not," Ashikai snapped. "If you're going to throw me in here, at least have the decency to—"
The fox shook himself and looked up.
"…Lena."
She let out a broken laugh. "Ashikai."
He padded toward her immediately, tail flicking irritably. "Are you hurt?"
"Mostly offended," she said weakly.
"Same," he muttered, then turned in a slow circle, inspecting the cell. "They really need better hospitality standards."
He stopped in front of her and sat, eyes sharp. "You screamed."
She swallowed. "I thought I was alone."
Ashikai softened. "You never are. Not really."
She sank back against the wall, exhaustion dragging her down. Ashikai curled beside her without asking, a familiar, grounding weight.
"They think you're just a pet," she murmured.
He snorted. "Let them. Underestimation is a gift."
She glanced at him. "Winter was here."
"I know," he said quietly.
Her head snapped toward him. "You knew?"
Ashikai's tail stilled. "I know more than I say. You know that."
Lena closed her eyes, leaning her head back against the stone.
"Then stay," she whispered.
"I'm not going anywhere," Ashikai replied firmly. "Someone has to keep you alive long enough to choose."
In the darkness of the prison, destiny waited—but this time, Lena was not alone.