The cavern shimmered with frost, each crystal a fragile web of light. Shirin sat at the mouth of the cave, her pale hair spilling like moonlight down her back, her eyes fixed on the human camp far below. Smoke curled from their fires, faint against the starlit sky.

Her father’s voice boomed behind her, shaking the earth. “You’ve been staring at them again.”

Shirin didn’t flinch. “They’re fascinating,” she said softly, her voice like the wind threading through winter trees.

The White Div stepped into the moonlight, his massive frame cloaked in a mantle of snow and shadows. His eyes, as cold as glaciers, narrowed. “They are dangerous.”

“Perhaps,” Shirin replied, not looking away. “But they are also brave.”

“Bravery is the disguise of weakness,” her father growled. “Do not let their fires fool you. They will snuff out your light if you draw too close.”

Shirin said nothing, but her gaze lingered on the camp. On him.

She had first seen the warrior two nights ago, when he had stumbled into her father’s domain, sword in hand, seeking glory. His hair was dark, his armor dull with wear, but his voice carried a fire that even the frost of her father’s realm could not quench. He had stood before the White Div, unyielding, as he declared vengeance for a fallen comrade.

Shirin had watched from the shadows as her father had struck the warrior down, hurling him into the snow. But instead of fleeing, the human had risen, blood staining the ground, his eyes defiant.

That fire had ignited something in her.

Now, as the wind carried the faint sound of his voice—a song sung softly to his wounded companions—Shirin’s heart ached with a longing she didn’t understand.

“I forbid you to go near them,” her father rumbled, his voice a warning.

Shirin rose, turning to face him. “You cannot keep me here forever,” she said, her voice steady. “The frost does not bind me as it does you.”

The White Div stared at her, his expression unreadable. Then, without a word, he turned and disappeared into the depths of the cavern.

Shirin waited until the shadows swallowed him, then descended the icy slope toward the camp.

When she reached the edge of the firelight, the warrior was there, sitting alone, his sword resting across his knees. He looked up as she approached, his eyes widening.

“You,” he whispered, his hand tightening on the hilt of his blade.

Shirin held up her hands. “I mean no harm.”

The warrior didn’t lower his weapon, but he didn’t raise it either. “You’re one of them,” he said.

“I am,” Shirin admitted. “But I am not like my father.”

He studied her, his dark eyes searching hers. “Why are you here?”

Shirin hesitated, the words catching in her throat. How could she explain the pull she felt toward him, the way his voice had reached her even through the walls of ice? “I…wanted to see you,” she said finally.

The warrior frowned, but there was a softness in his gaze now, a flicker of something unspoken. “You’re risking much,” he said.

“So are you,” she replied, gesturing to his wounds. “Yet you are still here.”

He smiled faintly, the first hint of warmth she’d seen. “I have my reasons.”

Shirin stepped closer, the firelight dancing on her pale skin. “Then perhaps we are not so different, you and I.”

The warrior didn’t reply, but he didn’t stop her when she knelt beside him, her hand brushing his. The frost melted at her touch, and for the first time in her life, Shirin felt warmth.

In the distance, a low growl rumbled through the mountains. Her father would know she was gone.

But for now, in this fleeting moment, she let herself believe in the firelight and the song of a warrior’s heart.