The forest thickened as we rode deeper, massive pines stretching skyward like ancient sentinels. Their branches sagged under the weight of ice and snow, creating a crystalline canopy that fractured the sunlight into kaleidoscopic patterns across the path. Despite the beauty, my thighs burned from yesterday's ride, each step of the horse sending fresh jolts of pain through muscles I never knew existed.
"You're sitting better today," Laina observed, guiding her mount alongside mine.
I snorted. "Almost like I'm learning out of sheer necessity."
"Best way to learn anything." She pushed a strand of dark hair from her face, tucking it beneath her fur-lined hood. "My father made me learn to shoot with a dislocated shoulder once. Said if I could master it injured, I'd never struggle when whole."
"Sounds like a delightful man."
"He was practical." Her violet eyes softened slightly. "But yes, also delightful. He'd sing these ridiculous songs while we trained, made up verses about my terrible aim just to make me laugh."
This glimpse into her past surprised me. Since leaving Hearthhome yesterday, Laina had been all business—checking supplies, scanning horizons, discussing routes with Joran. This was the first personal detail she'd offered unprompted.
"Did his training exercise work?"
"Won every archery contest in the settlement three years running." Pride colored her voice. "Until there was no one left willing to compete against me."
I adjusted my headwrap beneath my hood. "Where I'm from, training usually involves avoiding getting backstabbed."
"Sounds practical too."
"It was." I paused, weighing how much to reveal. "My father taught me to analyze people quickly—figure out who's a threat, who's an opportunity. Said reading a room was more important than reading books."
"Smart man."
"Yeah, he was."
Laina studied me, her expression shifting to something more thoughtful. She didn't press for details, which I appreciated. Instead, she nodded toward a clearing ahead where sunlight broke through the trees.
"We'll stop there to rest the horses."
Joran rode several paces ahead, his back straight, head constantly swiveling as he scanned our surroundings. He'd barely spoken all morning, seemingly content to lead us through the forest in silence. The quiet intensity he projected made me uneasy—not because I feared him, but because I recognized the behavior. It was how predators moved in the Depths, conserving energy, revealing nothing until the moment to strike.
The clearing offered a brief respite from the dense forest. Joran dismounted first, moving to check the horses while Laina and I stretched our legs. I walked the perimeter, rolling my shoulders to ease the stiffness.
"Your uncle," I said when Joran approached, "how long has he been in Frostfall?"
Joran paused, his gray-green eyes narrowing slightly. "Torsten? Longer than I've been alive. Came through during the great migration, before the passes closed completely."
"And you?"
"Born here." He knelt to examine tracks in the snow. "Never known anything else."
"Must make you wonder what's beyond the mountains."
His fingers traced the edge of a print. "Used to. Not anymore."
"Why not?"
"Because wondering about what you can't have is a waste of energy." He stood, brushing snow from his gloves. "And energy is the difference between life and death here."
Laina joined us, a waterskin in hand. "What are you two discussing so seriously?"
"The philosophical implications of limited horizons," I replied, accepting the water she offered.
She raised an eyebrow. "And here I thought you were just asking him about tracks."
"Rabbit," Joran said, answering the question she hadn't asked. "Moving fast. Something was chasing it."
"Something like what?" I asked.
He shrugged. "Could be lynx. Could be wolves. Could be nothing—rabbits scare easy."
I handed the waterskin back to Laina.
"We should keep moving," she said. "I want to reach the river fork by nightfall."
Back on the horses, we continued through the forest. As the day progressed, I was able to study my companions more closely. Joran rode with the unconscious ease of someone born to it, his body moving in perfect rhythm with his mount.
Laina was different. She sat tall in her saddle, back straight like a soldier, but there was a fluidity to her movements that spoke of adaptability rather than rigid training. When she turned to check on us, her profile caught the filtered sunlight—strong jaw, high cheekbones, the slight upturn of her nose. Not conventionally beautiful by New Vein standards, but striking in a way that commanded attention.
"Tell me about the Knights," I said when we rode side by side again.
She didn't answer immediately, her eyes fixed on the path ahead. "They weren't just fighters," she said finally. "The Knights of the Eternal Flame were keepers of knowledge. Before the curse, they protected sacred sites, maintained records, studied the old ways."
"And after?"
"After, they became the only organized resistance against the Winter King. They developed weapons that could harm Reflectors, mapped safe routes through the passes, rescued entire villages when the curse advanced."
"Are there any left?"
She shook her head. "Torsten was the only one left. The Knights never recovered their numbers or their purpose after that failure."
"I'm sorry," I said, and meant it.
She shook her head. "Don't be. The Knights failed, but their purpose remains. End the curse. Restore the natural order." Her eyes met mine. "That's what we're doing now."
"Is continuing your fathers work the only reason why you're helping me?"
"Kind of." She studied me. "But also because I believe you're different."
I wasn't sure how to respond to that. In my experience, belief was dangerous—it made people take unnecessary risks, trust when they shouldn't. But her conviction was oddly compelling.
"What about you, Joran?" I called ahead. "Why are you risking your neck on this journey?"
He glanced back, his expression unreadable. "Family obligation."
"To Torsten?"
"To all of them." He turned forward again. "The dead have claims on the living."
The conversation lapsed into silence after that, each of us lost in our own thoughts as we continued through the endless forest. The monotony of snow and trees was occasionally broken by wildlife—a startled deer bounding away, birds flitting between branches, once even a massive owl watching us from a low-hanging limb.
As afternoon faded toward evening, the forest began to change. The spaces between trees grew wider, the ground more uneven. We descended a gentle slope toward what Laina had called the river fork—where the Silver River split into two branches, one continuing eastward while the other turned south toward the Grief Marshes.
"We'll camp on the promontory," Laina said, pointing to a rocky outcrop overlooking the junction of the rivers.
I nodded, relieved at the prospect of dismounting. Despite my improved riding, my body ached from the constant motion. The mark on my forehead had remained warm throughout the day, occasionally pulsing with a gentle heat that was very comforting in the persistent cold.
We reached the promontory as the last light faded from the sky. Setting up camp was easier tonight. Joran built a fire while Laina tended the horses. I unpacked our supplies and prepared a simple meal of dried meat and hard biscuits softened in melted snow.
As we ate around the fire, the forest settled into nighttime silence. The only sounds were the crackling flames and the distant rush of the rivers below us. Stars emerged overhead, impossibly bright against the black canvas of sky.
"If we maintain this pace, we should reach the Temple in fourteen days." Laina said quietly, staring into the fire.
"Assuming nothing goes wrong," Joran added.
I chewed my biscuit thoughtfully. "I don't know, things are going pretty smooth so far."
A sudden chill ran up my spine, raising goosebumps along my arms. I froze, the sensation horribly familiar.
Shit, I just jinxed it.
I'd felt this exact feeling three times before.
The first was minor—I'd been seven, playing in the abandoned lot behind our apartment building. The goosebumps had appeared moments before a partial building collapse that would have crushed me if I hadn't moved.
The second time, I was nine, waiting to meet a friend. The prickling sensation had come just before a failed awakening breach a block away—I'd run in the opposite direction while others rushed toward the commotion.
The third time was the worst. I'd been twelve, standing in our kitchen while my father packed his gear to observe a hunter awakening. The sensation had crawled across my skin like ice water.
"Don't go," I'd said.
He'd laughed, ruffled my hair. "It's just a routine job. Good pay. We need it."
"Something's wrong," I'd insisted. "I can feel it."
"That's just nerves, kid. I'll be back tomorrow with enough cores to fix the heater."
He never came back.
Now, sitting by a campfire in an impossible winter realm, that same sensation crawled across my skin.
I stood abruptly, scanning the darkness beyond our fire.
"Isaiah?" Laina's voice seemed distant. "What's wrong?"
I turned slowly, examining every shadow, every space between the trees. "Do you hear that?"
Joran's hand moved to his knife. "Hear what?"
The forest had gone completely silent. No wind in the branches, no distant animal calls, no rustling movement.
Laina rose to her feet, bow suddenly in hand. "I don't hear anything."
"That's the problem." My voice dropped to a whisper.
Joran was on his feet now too, back to the fire, knife drawn. "Could be wolves."
I shook my head. "Wolves make noise. This is something else."
The goosebumps intensified, crawling up my neck now. I stepped toward the edge of our campsite.
"Come on out!" I shouted into the darkness. "I know you're there!"
Nothing answered. The silence stretched, broken only by the pop and crackle of our fire.
Laina moved to my side. "Isaiah, there's nothing—"
"There is." I cut her off, my voice hard. "Trust me."
A flicker of movement caught my eye—not among the trees, but on the rocky ground twenty paces from our fire. A shadow where no shadow should be, moving against the faint starlight.
I reached back, my thoughts connecting with the twin daggers. They appeared in my hands instantly, the hilts warm against my palms.
"Isaiah, what are you—" Joran began.
I lunged forward, Frostbite leading the attack as I slashed at the moving shadow. It dodged, a humanoid figure suddenly visible as it twisted away from my blade. Its skin reflected the firelight like polished ice, creating disorienting mirror images around it.
It reached for me, fingers elongated into crystalline claws. I pivoted, Heartseeker slicing through the air where its arm had been. The creature flowed like liquid, avoiding the blade by millimeters.
It lunged again, trying to touch my exposed forearm. I slid backward, keeping both daggers between us. The creature's face—if it could be called a face—was smooth and featureless, reflecting my own startled expression back at me.
"FUCK!" I shouted, backing toward the fire where Laina and Joran stood frozen in shock. "It's Reflectors!"