Kragnir Peak didn't just loom—it swallowed the horizon. Jagged and fierce, it spat fury into the howling winds. The students trudged forward, shins carving trenches through deep snow. Each step was a battle against the bitter cold. Their mana flickered, weak and fading.
Milla clutched her chest. Frost crept across her collarbones in delicate, branching patterns. Only Alan moved with relative ease, steam curling faintly from his skin due to his fire magic.
"Share the heat already!" Milla rasped, batting icicles from her eyelashes. Alan sighed. He cupped his hand—not for her, but for Emma. A flame leaped between his fingers, brushing Emma's cheeks. The ice mask on her face melted. Milla shoved between them, teeth chattering. "My turn!"
Sylas stood three paces back, his lips turning blue. "What about—" he began, but a gust of wind stole his words, leaving him spitting snow.
Mr. FluGer and Ms. Wellform moved ahead, leading the front. The snow melted beneath their enchanted boots—not with fire magic but something else. Milla scowled and said, "cheaters! You're using protection spells." Their comfort felt like a living insult.
Jareth's voice cracked through the cold. "Eyes forward, Millicent. Resentment dulls focus." He walked beside Ms. Silvermine, a sword's length apart. Not quite allies. Not quite enemies. Between them, the snow sizzled as it touched the ground, hissing like a warning.
Nora's path shimmered in gold. Frost gnawed her knuckles as she clung to Gerral's arm. Their rivalry faded in the struggle to survive. Snow clung to their faces, their lashes stiff with ice. When Gerral's knee cracked, Nora sneered through cracked lips. "Yield, and I'll drag your corpse the rest of the way."
"Children." Mr. FluGer's rebuke carried no heat—literally—even though his enchanted cloak glowed like a forge. "Save energy for—"
"Aaaghhh!" A scream cut him off.
Milla lay face-down in the snow, her mana shield gone. Alan pulled her upright, frost melting where his hand touched her skin. "You're using too much mana," he shouted. "Breathe with it. Don't spray it!"
Too late. Milla bit her lip, stifling a scream. She curled into a heap, skin blotched blue. Ms. Silvermine rushed toward her, pressing a vial to her lips. "Swallow," she ordered. "Unless you want to lose your toes."
Jareth watched, unmoved. "Five minutes. Then we continue."
No one celebrated the break. Emma massaged feeling back into her deadened fingers. Sylas stared at his reflection in a shard of ice—one earlobe darkened with frostbite. Even Mr. FluGer's protective glow dimmed slightly.
Nora's shallow breaths dwindled, each one a fragile whisper against the biting air. She moved like a marionette with snapped strings, her steps uncertain, teetering on the brink of collapse. The weight of exhaustion pressed upon her, yet Jareth's gaze remained distant—calm, unreadable, dissecting her struggle with the detachment of a man studying a puzzle he refused to solve.
At that moment, the ice chose to betray them.
Chhhttt—Krrraaack! Sploosh!
The crack detonated like a gunshot, splitting the ground beneath them in a vicious, jagged wound. Milla's scream barely had time to exist before the frozen abyss devoured her. Sylas lunged without thought, his chivalry outrunning reason—arms outstretched, fingers grasping at vanishing air.
Then he was gone, too.
The black water swallowed them both, an impossibility in a place that should have remained solid.
Freezing water wrapped around them—a suffocating shroud that seeped into their bones, heavy as lead, numbing every limb. Sylas's arms found Milla in the chaos, locking around Milla in a desperate grasp—for warmth, for stability, for life. Their skin pressed together, a fleeting, fragile comfort beneath their wet clothes that provided them none.
PLUNK!
Alan dove in. His body sliced through the icy surface like a blade. The cold slammed into him, merciless and crushing, his lungs burning for air. His heartbeat thundered—a war drum driving him forward. He carved through the water with powerful strokes, commanding the current to guide his search. The water obeyed, but the cold was relentless.
Pressing his palms together, Alan conjured an air bubble, channeling a blast of heat to fight back the relentless chill. Warmth spread through him, forcing the cold into retreat—but the darkness still clung, thick and impenetrable. Then, as if answering his presence, Sylas released a spark.
Above, teachers shouted spells, but the cold hindered their magic. Through the fractured surface, they saw it—Alan blazed, and water boiled off his skin. He burst from the pond, dragging Milla and Sylas. He hung suspended in the howling winds, his hair crackling against the bitter air.
Ms. Silvermine stared. "Flight magic shouldn't be impossible at his rank."
"Not impossible," said Jareth, smiling. "Merely...unexpected."
The pond taunted them with its rippling surface. Mr. FluGer's detection spell revealed faint traces of magic—inscriptions curved along the pond's edge. "A trap," he growled. "It lay dormant, biding its time...until we stumbled right into it."
Worried glances passed between the teachers. "We must be cautious," Mr. FluGer warned. "The weather may not be our worst enemy."
Jareth's voice sliced through the concern. "We need to find shelter—and fast. Alan's shaking. Milla's lips are blue. Sylas's trembling. We need to warm them first. Figure out the rest later."
They scramble to a makeshift camp. Emma rubbed Milla's frozen fingers. Sylas retched pond water onto the snow. Alan crouched by the firepit, coaxing flames to life.
As the fire crackled to life, its first glow danced across Nora's face. Her eyes were sunken. Her skin was white. She swayed, then collapsed. Jareth caught her with ease. "Enough theatrics," he snapped. A vial glinted in his hand. He pressed it to her lips. Without hesitation, he forced it against her lips. Nora jerked as the liquid burned its way down her throat, choking, her body rejecting the bitter alchemy. Her fingers clutched. She gasped a strangled plea.
Ms. Silvermine appeared from the shadows. "That's no healing potion, is it? It's…blood? You—!"
"Merely balancing her mana flow." Jareth arranged Nora's limp form by the flames. "The frostworm will stabilize her. Simple alchemy—nothing more."