The Bone Gate rose before us like the ribs of some ancient beast, its skeletal arches slick with frost and veined in black moss.

The air here was wrong — too still, too heavy — as though every sound was swallowed before it could echo.

Even the snow didn’t dare fall past the threshold; flakes drifted down, only to dissolve into nothing before touching the jagged stones beyond.

My pulse beat high in my throat. I could feel it — not fear exactly, but something older, older than my name, ...