ExoShaneey

Silvermist Evermore never belonged. Born to unloving parents and cast aside, she had long accepted that life would never offer her warmth—until she was chosen as an apprentice at Moonstone Academy, a place where magic breathes and fate is written in the stars.

But her arrival comes with a price. In an act of betrayal and manipulation, Silvermist shatters Frost's staff, the formidable Winter Guardian, unraveling a secret that should have remained buried.

 Now, bound by an ancient rule, she must take its place—not as a mere apprentice, but as something far more dangerous: Frost’s human staff, the living embodiment of his power.

As Silvermist struggles to navigate the treacherous halls of Moonstone, she discovers that Guardians without apprentices are doomed to vanish, and the balance of the four seasons—Spring, Summer, Autumn, and Winter—hangs by a thread. But the shadows whisper a greater truth: a war looms on the horizon, fueled by the Sandman’s wrath and a hidden enemy who has been pulling the strings all along.

Haunted by cryptic dreams, hunted by those who seek to use her, and betrayed by those she once trusted, Silvermist must uncover the truth behind her own existence before she loses herself to the very storm she was forced to wield.

Can she survive the weight of Winter, or will she be the final snowfall that buries them all?

FROST

Amethyst's sharp eyes bore into Cullen, her gaze unwavering — like twin shards of violet glass, searching, dissecting. Yet Cullen stood his ground, meeting her scrutiny with an eerie calmness that made the air feel heavier between them.

"Why are you staring at him like that?" Elise muttered beside her, shifting uncomfortably. The other apprentices were beginning to press against each other near the auditorium doors, their nervous whispers blending into the distant hum of the night. "We should be figuring out how to bloom this damn peony, not throwing death glares at people."

Amethyst didn't blink. Her voice was low, almost absent-minded. "Look at his hand, Elise."

Elise's brows furrowed, but when her eyes finally followed Amethyst's line of sight, her breath caught. The delicate peony cradled in Cullen's palm — supposedly crimson like the rest of them — was a withered bloom soaked in the blackest shade of ink.

Where Secrets Take Root