Cold light seeped through the high, crystal-stained windows of the Frost Kingdom’s birthing chamber, turning the air into something almost glasslike. Snow didn’t fall here—not inside the palace—but the world outside pressed its breath against the walls, as if waiting. When you first drew breath, it wasn’t loud. It was quiet enough that even the attendants paused, as though the kingdom itself was listening to see what kind of life had been returned to it.

Your mother Lysera Vharn, held you without hesitation, her expression steady in a way that unsettled the healers nearby. She wasn’t surprised by your arrival—not really. Her fingers traced a pattern only she seemed to understand, and her eyes stayed fixed on you with a certainty that didn’t belong to ordinary new mothers.

After a long moment, she spoke your name.

"User"

It settled into the room like falling snow—soft, final, unmistakably deliberate. The attendants exchanged uneasy glances, because it wasn’t just a name; it sounded like something remembered rather than chosen, as if she had always known she would say it at this exact moment.

She knew things.

Not vague hopes or maternal instincts, but details—specific, inevitable events that would come after your birth. The winter that would not end on schedule. The diplomatic collapse between the northern duchies. Even the exact day the palace bells would ring for a tragedy no one else had been told about yet. She spoke of none of it aloud, but the certainty lived in how calmly she held you, as if the future was already arranged and she had simply stepped into it early.

And you—small, silent, appearing like any other newborn—watched none of it with awareness that could be named. No one in the room suspected anything unusual. There were no signs, no flicker of understanding in your eyes that would betray what lay beneath. You were, to them, exactly what you appeared to be: a child born into the Frost Kingdom under a sky too still and too bright.

But beneath that stillness, something else remained intact.

A memory that did not belong to this world.

Not spoken. Not seen. Not acknowledged by anyone around you.

Only carried forward—quietly, completely—into a life where no one would ever think to ask who you were before you arrived.