The second wave of snow made the freeze sharper, wrapping everything in silence so deep it felt like nature held its breath. As Sloane pushed ahead, her hooves hardly dented the growing blanket - earth below already loose, almost tender. Cold air snapped at her nose, yet somehow brought along a strange warmth she couldn't name - not from flames or daylight, but something deeper, tied to how energy stirred within the Veil, stronger since the flakes started falling. She took a slow breath, noticing the chill without minding it much. This snow wasn’t heavy - it arrived with purpose, reshaping the land one quiet layer at a time. She stopped, dragging her hoof through the dust-like snow, eyes on how it broke apart underneath. Then - just for a second - a wisp of cold curled from her hoof, spinning lightly until it faded. Unlike wind or fog, this stuff bent easier, like it wanted to follow orders. So she toyed with it, crafting delicate shapes midair, each melting into quiet breaths before reappearing. Magic felt fresh now, charged by the falling flakes; you could taste it - the lake’s sharper smell, the night air tingling - and even the stars looked crisper up there. A soft sound snapped her attention away - she glanced sideways, sunlight glinting off her delicate wings as a breeze rolled through. Close by, the Veilhorns loomed, barely heard but clearly felt in the frosty hush. Getting up on her hooves, she let out a small cloud of vapor from her mouth; that familiar sense of duty pressed down just like early snow clinging to pine branches. She lifted her face, light playing across the soft curves of her wings like mist under moon glow as night closed in. Not far off, the Veilhorns loomed - huge shapes with branching crowns, stalking slow around the ice rim. Their warm breath curled into ghosty trails, vanishing into the wind-whirled flakes. Through the storm’s haze, those twin-colored eyes burned - golden yet cold - watching each shift she made. One second, everything paused. Then Sloane sensed it - the old bond surging in her blood, written deep inside her body. Not just remembered - felt. The Veilhorns kept things steady, watching over the hidden layer under the frozen lake. Heavy snow meant they’d rise again. They didn’t hunt; they protected. Their job? Stop winter’s power from ripping open what lay beneath. A soft, deep noise came from the lake - something she’d never noticed when snow first dropped. Not just water, but hidden flows under the icy glass. Her hooves dipped deeper in the flakes, while the shake moved through ground, then bones. This wasn’t just sound; it pulled at old magic curled inside her, slow and waiting. She raised one front leg, held it still, then snapped her wrist. A thread of cold spun out instead of heat. Ice curled up her horn like a twisted vine, humming as air rushed past. That line flew forward, glowing as it cut through open space above snowfields. When frost met ground, bright spots bloomed where it landed - tiny lights stuck in time. Others stopped moving - the Veilhorns - with golden eyes opening wide while shapes spread over their world. “Come,” a whisper slipped out - not spoken by lips, yet rising from the lake, as if the water under the frost exhaled slowly. That sound felt far away, still close inside her head, humming like a tune she once knew. She knew its rhythm - ancient, deeper than time, way before anything in Veilheim drew breath. This was the Veil talking, the pulse beneath everything magical. Sloane’s chest thumped, keeping time with the hush of flakes dropping all around. Moving ahead, her hooves pressed into the frosty ground, every motion saying she wouldn’t back down. Near the lake’s rim, the frozen surface split - no loud break, just a soft groan, like it had been holding its breath too long. The Veilhorns dipped their horns low, crafting a curve of bone and dark stone - one realm meeting another beneath its span. Not scary anymore, their nearness gave off safety, old power curling around Sloane like a worn coat. Her brow touched the cold structure, air puffing out in wisps that flickered, then vanished into shadow. Beneath the icy crust, water shimmered in a ghostly blue - like starlight caught in ice caves. That glow tugged at Sloane, almost whispering for her to leap into what lay hidden below. She breathed in sharply, cold air stinging her chest, while inside, a rush of magic burned steady and low. The two forces met - one freezing, one alive - mixing deep within her. A shiver ran through her - like diving into a stream of glittering light. Around, the snow melted into sparkles, every piece grabbing moon glow and flinging it back as shades she’d never seen in cold months. The Veilhorns hummed without sound, their horns vibrating together, while ripples spread across the lake, carrying glimmers toward distant edges. Sloane lifted her front leg smoothly, brushing it against the ice. Then - flash! - a shimmering illusion burst out: a quick silver firebird twisting up, matching her rhythm beat for beat. Its call rang like magic music, bouncing through the hidden world, rolling down every part of the valley. Right then, seconds bent together, smushing old times and what’s ahead into one sharp, clear now. She let go of what the Veil wanted from her, suddenly sure instead. Not still - changed - the world around her shifted. Snow turned into something you could paint on, not just cover things. Ice became a way through, not something that blocked. Those old-eyed Veilhorns stared, quiet and full of respect, seeing her now as part of this shift - one where tricks mix with trees, safety dances with fun. Sloane flapped her wings, every motion sending tiny sparks of ice onto the water, crafting delicate circles that glowed with calm energy. These shapes spread out, weaving together like threads in an old cloth, lit along the rims by a gentle yellow gleam. With steady attention, they shifted into a layout - one showing hidden flows of magic beneath Veilheim, seen best when snow covers everything. She ran a hoof - gentle, almost like a horn - over one glowing line, sensing the quiet hum of sleeping magic. Then a single strand flared up, alive with wild make-believe energy, beating just like her heart. Without thinking, she knew it right away: this was what the Veil guarded all along, the deep spring that might fix everything or tear it apart, based on whose hands it fell into. "Protect it," whispered the lake once more - this time sharp, soft, like ripples carrying a quiet plea. "Shield it, just like you’ve watched over the field, the trees, or even the clouds above." A grin, like sunlight hitting new snow, tugged at Sloane’s lips. She wore shades of silver, blue, dark - but deep down, her heart stayed clean and clear. Duty wasn’t new; this time, though, it weighed more, shone brighter. She sat down on the ice, easing into it smooth-like, then started weaving. As her wing moved through the air - her horn twitching now and then - she pulled out strands of make-believe that tangled up with the lake’s hidden power. Those shapes spread wider, building a guard-net overhead, a glowing shell hovering just above the frost, flashing pale blue-white in steady beats. Inside that ring, snow dropped softer, gusts faded off, while everything around slowed way down, like time itself took a deeper breath. The Veilhorns huddled close along the edge, heads dipping together. As their horns grazed the dome, thin shimmering lines appeared - silent proof of loyalty to the mare rooted at the center. A low hum rolled through the frost, shaking up into Sloane's hooves - an old thanks echoing beneath. When night got darker, the stars up there shone stronger, their sharp glow bouncing on the dome, breaking into sparkles over the frozen ground. A soft pull tugged inside Slope - not quite joy, not quite sadness. This scene would stick in Veilheim’s mind, later folks might tell stories about the evening snow hummed and a horse with delicate wings spun a veil from thin air. She looked out to the edge of the sky, where faint light crept in, washing everything with dull purple and warm pink shades. Snow shifted under that glow - alive almost - as if stitched from threads of color, every crystal catching sunlight like a speck of hope for what’s coming next. SloVeilhorns, one of the eldest around, came near, head dipping so his antlers grazed her wing. From contact, a flash of silver cold jumped out, winding along the rim of her wings, coating them in quiet strength. Right then, something clicked - not promises spoken - but a shared pulse, a silent understanding between two. Sloane raised her chin, breathing in the sharp breeze while the Veil’s rhythm matched her pulse. Magic flowing across the land wasn’t some far-off idea anymore - instead, it moved inside her like breath or blood. A quiet smile tugged at her mouth, calm but sure, then she murmured into the air, words light and tune-like drifting with the gusts “Let the snow fall, let the lake freeze, and let the Veil breathe. I will guard it, as I have always guarded the worlds within me.” The snow spun near her while the wind curled close, yet the lake’s light grew stronger - stretching out like fingers through thin air. The Veilhorns hummed a soft tune; their sounds blending into the water’s call, building something steady that rang in each icy twig, every quiet nook, all parts of Veilheim. The night stayed still - just for a sec - then light broke across the sky, making the snow sparkle like it was lit from within. Sloane’s make-believe curtain flickered, hardening into a glowing wall that wouldn’t fade no matter winter or spring, guarding the hidden magic under the ice. She moved away, hooves pressing soft marks into the snow - gone when it thawed, yet her bravery stuck in the earth’s mind. The Veilhorns dipped their heads again, horns shining like liquid metal, then pivoted, walking into the frost-covered woods, shapes blurring with the dawn fog. Sloane stood there, just watching them leave, a calm warmth spreading through her. Big as the world felt, wide as the Veil stretched, she still fit right into it - not because she had to, yet because she wanted to, pulled by affection, sparked by delight, tied tight to each creature stirring beneath the icy heavens. One last soft beat of her wings sent her up, ice on her legs glowing pink as dawn hit while she climbed over the water. Underneath, the fake sky shimmered slow, breathing almost, keeping its rhythm without fail. Up high, colors spread across the morning, thinning starlight melting into daylight. While moving across the icy stretch, Sloane heard the Veil murmuring again - like a vow from ancient times “Protected now, forever, by the mare who dances with frost and illusion.” She grinned - like dawn spilling across the sky - then faded out toward the edge of sight, gone quiet. Behind her, everything shifted slow but sure from the fall of white flakes, a horse’s breath in frosty air, and this low steady glow that just wouldn’t quit.