A loud, overenthusiastic whinny cut through the quiet, dragging Aden from his swirling thoughts.

  "Yeah, yeah, Sammy, we’re going home," he muttered, stepping into the barn. He inhaled deeply, letting the familiar scents of hay, leather, and warm animals ground him. But something sharp and eye-watering made his nose wrinkle. Someone had skipped stall duty—again.

  Sammy, his absurdly purple unicorn with a coat that looked like someone had dunked a lion in a vat of enchanted plums, tossed his head dramatically. His deep violet hide shimmered in the dim barn light, and his lighter vender mane flowed like some over-styled noble’s hair, which, knowing Sammy, was probably intentional. "Finally! This straw is itchy. I demand better living conditions."

  "Right, I’ll draft a strongly worded letter to the Stable Union immediately," Aden said, voice dripping with sarcasm, reaching up to pat the unicorn’s withers. "Looks like someone dumped their mess in here again. Shocking."

  "Bad day?" Sammy asked, his ears flicking forward.

  "What tipped you off? The sarcasm or the impending breakdown?" Aden shed his snowsuit and hat, his fingers stiff and trembling from the cold, fumbling with the hooks like they were trying to escape his grasp. He hung them up, rolling his sleeves with a practiced efficiency that masked the way his breath came just a little too fast. The chill clung to his skin, a biting reminder of just how exhausted he felt. "Get me a fresh bale, will you?"

  Sammy snorted but complied, his hooves making a distinct clop against the wooden floor as he stalked off. Moments ter, he returned—his hooves nding soundlessly while the bale of hay on his back teetered at an impossible angle, as if gravity had simply decided to take the afternoon off. Aden had long stopped questioning how that worked.

  Aden swung the door wide, bracing against it to catch his breath. "That took longer than usual. You getting slow?"

  "It was the st one," Sammy said, puffing out his broad chest. "Had to get creative."

  "Oh? And what master pn did you come up with this time?"

  "Sawhorses," Sammy decred proudly. "Stacked them, dropped the bale on top, then gave it a strategic nudge. Fell right on my back like I pnned it."

  Aden smirked, shaking his head. "Wow, Sammy, you just outmaneuvered an inanimate object. Shall I alert the historians?"

  "A victory is a victory."

  Shaking his head, Aden spread the straw across the stall, making sure to leave a soft pile in the corner. "Let’s get out of here for a couple of weeks."

  He grabbed his saddle and set it on Sammy’s back.

  "Ugh, the saddle? Really?" Sammy swished his tail like an offended noble.

  "Mandatory for school, unfortunately." Aden tightened the strap, giving Sammy a knowing side-eye. "And don’t even try that stomach-infting trick again."

  Sammy huffed as the air whooshed out of him, his deception foiled once more. "One of these days, you’ll forget."

  "One of these days, pigs will sprout wings and start running flight schools," Aden shot back, sliding the halter over Sammy’s head. A sudden gust of wind shrieked through the loft, making the rafters groan.

  "Remind me again why you don’t use your magic talent to get us to school instead of dragging me along?"

  Aden swung up into the saddle, ignoring the stirrups. "Because my talent makes people dizzy and opens me up to pranks. Plus, I’d miss your sparkling conversation."

  "Good save."

  Stepping outside, the winter air hit Aden like a vengeful spirit, sharp and merciless, cwing at his exposed skin and curling into every crack of his clothing. His breath left him in sharp, misty bursts, stolen before it could even properly form. It slithered beneath his scarf, biting at his ears and numbing his fingers despite the gloves. He hunched into his coat, shoulders tensing as if that would keep the cold from crawling under his skin. He tugged his scarf up higher and squeezed his knees tighter. Sammy took the hint and broke into a trot.

  "Be honest," Sammy said, his voice half-lost in the wind. "Am I really good company, or are you just saying that?"

  Aden dropped his gaze from the pale purple sky to the darker purple ears bobbing ahead of him. Sammy’s body heat had warmed most of him—except his nose, which was likely turning a festive shade of frostbite.

  "Any unicorn is good company to a unicorn rancher," Aden admitted. "But you? You actually talk back. That’s what makes you decent."

  Sammy pranced a little higher, clearly pleased.

  "Not every ‘corn is smart enough to speak Xadian," Aden added.

  "I’m aware," Sammy said smugly, kicking up his heels and dancing an inch above the snow. His hooves barely skimmed the glittering surface, sending up soft puffs of powder. He lifted his legs high, making the ride intentionally bouncy.

  Aden rolled with it effortlessly. Sammy was the only one who could unseat him—not for ck of trying on other mounts' parts. But Sammy’s magic talent of running on air meant that if he didn’t want a rider, that rider was getting yeeted into the nearest snowdrift.

  "Let’s gallop!" Sammy whooped, unching into the air.

  Aden barely had time to clutch his neck before the unicorn went full throttle. The winter wind sliced against Aden’s cheeks, sharp as daggers, but he ignored it, focusing on the blur of snow-den trees below.

  Halfway home, a spsh of green caught Aden’s eye amidst the sea of white and brown.

  "Hold up, Sammy!" He pulled lightly on the reins. "Something’s weird."

  They circled back, retracing their path.

  In the middle of the snow-covered clearing, a massive fig tree loomed like a mispced fragment of summer, defying the icy grip of winter with its lush, emerald leaves. It stood in stark contrast to the world around it, an oasis of color in an otherwise frozen wastend. Snow piled in an odd radius around it, as if the tree had erupted from the earth overnight. The branches groaned under the weight of apple-sized figs in every color imaginable. Warmth radiated from the bark, filling the clearing with the scent of fresh spring rain.

  "What in Xade’s name?" Sammy nded and sniffed the ground warily. "I swear this wasn’t here before."

  Aden pulled a book from his bag of holding. "Let’s see… ah! Winter fig tree. Hates snow. Brings its own climate. Main danger: teleports anyone under it at sundown. Fruit is rare and delicious. Except the red ones—those are poison."

  Sammy recoiled from the red fig he’d been about to munch. "Good to know."

  Aden smirked, flipping to the next page. "If pnted under a full Lepre moon, the red figs grow into summer figs, which don’t teleport. Otherwise, they keep their teleportation magic."

  His heart pounded, the world narrowing to the impossible sight before him. A tree like this shouldn’t exist here—it was like stumbling upon an oasis in a frozen wastend, a hidden treasure meant only for him. Possibilities exploded in his mind like fireworks against the midnight sky, each one brighter, wilder, more exhirating than the st. His pulse thrummed in his ears. This was it. A chance to turn things around. A chance to be known for something other than just being Amelia’s son, the prodigy-by-proxy everyone expected to be brilliant. He wanted recognition for his own achievements, not just the legacy of his mother. This tree—this miracle—might be his way to finally step out of her shadow.

  "Imagine it—real winter figs! I’d be rolling in gold from fig tarts alone! Maybe I could even afford one of those fancy city doctors to poke at my allergy with their overpriced tools." The words spilled out fast, excitement cutting through his usual cynicism like a knife through butter.

  "Are you done daydreaming?" Sammy stomped impatiently.

  "Fine, fine." Aden rolled up his sleeves. "Time to get rich—er, responsible. Let’s start picking."

  As he worked, warmth seeped into his bones, making it easy to forget the frozen world waiting just beyond the tree’s reach. For now, he was in his own little pocket of summer. And for once, things were looking up.

  Zanden