Book One – Chapter 15

All the shaman wore was a long, tattered cloak draped over their shoulders, woven from something that shimmered like moth wings but draped heavy, absorbing rather than reflecting the orange light of the fireplace and the orbs.

The cloak covered most of the shaman’s arms, but their hands showed as they walked. Their fingers were long, tapering into fine, curved points — not quite claws, yet not meant for anything gentle either. The shaman’s feet were bare, the only part of them remotely beastlike. The layers of scales thickened at the ancles and then split subtly at the soles, like the roots of a plant seeking purchase in the stone.

And they moved with certainty. The shaman passed through the common room not as a stranger, but as someone who belonged. Yet their presence unsettled the air itself. The firelight in the hearth flared and flickered, and the wood groaned under an unseen strain. Well, everyone saw the fire, but only Yu heard the wood.

And then Yu realised that the shaman was walking towards him.

They halted only a few steps away.

Yu just stared.

“Good evening, Shaman,” Bubs’ voice cut in.

Yu flinched. He had not seen Bubs coming, had not even noticed him step onto the stool right beside him, just across the counter. The surprise made his feathers bristle, but no one reacted.

The shaman gave a slight tilt of the head towards Bubs. An acknowledgment. “Good evening.”

It was a voice that did not belong to sound but to sensation. It reached Yu both from outside and from within his head. It was not loud, yet carried through the entire room. It was gentle, yet he felt it in the marrow of his bones. And from there, it went straight into Yu’s ever-growing mental archive of unnatural voices.

Yu had heard witches whisper and mountains sing. He had heard rivers, buildings, and things that did not exist. This now — this was ice. Not the sharp splinter of shattering frost. Not the brittle cracking of a frozen lake in the morning sun. No. This was the moment ice began to form. That first, imperceptible shift when the river was still water, but when you pushed your wing in and then pulled back, your feathers gleamed with the tiniest shards. Where ordinary water would roll away, these fragments sank between the barbs, melting only when they touched skin. That was when you felt them, when they were already right on your skin.

The voice felt like those shards. It sounded like them. Too slim and light to be noticed at first, but lingering like an afterthought. And then —

The shaman turned to him. “And good evening, Yu.”