I followed Joran into the darkness, keeping a few paces behind him. The crystal in his hand cast a pale blue glow that barely illuminated the ground at his feet.
"How far do we go?" I asked, scanning the treeline. The shadows between pines stretched like fingers across the snow.
Joran paused, glancing back at me. His eyes reflected the crystal's light, turning them an eerie shade somewhere between silver and blue. "Not far. Just enough to gather deadfall without losing sight of camp."
I nodded, flexing my burned hands. The pain had settled into a steady throb—the left palm radiating heat, the right numb with cold. "So your uncle was a Knight. What about you? Ever consider joining up?"
"No."
"Why not?" I pressed, watching his shoulders tense beneath his layers. "Seems like a family business."
He knelt beside a fallen branch, testing its dryness with practiced fingers. "They asked. I declined."
"Just like that?"
He broke the branch into manageable pieces. "Why do you care?"
I shrugged, gathering a few smaller sticks nearby. "Just trying to figure you out. You know a lot for someone who's just a slaver's nephew."
His hands stilled on the wood. The silence stretched between us, broken only by the distant crackle of Laina's fire.
"I'm not just anything," he finally said, voice low. "Neither are you."
I laughed, the sound brittle in the cold air. "What am I then?"
"I don't know yet." He stood, arms full of broken branches. "But you're not what you pretend to be. You don't seem like you ever get overwhelmed or scared."
I thought about that as we worked in silence for a few minutes, gathering armloads of wood. He wasn't wrong. Back in New Vein, I'd been in plenty of tight spots. Fear was a luxury I'd rarely been able to afford.
But this was different. This was a trial—a test designed specifically for me. And Joran was part of that test, whether he knew it or not.
"Everyone here has survived something," I said finally. "You. Laina. Even that bastard Torsten. We wouldn't be alive otherwise."
Joran nodded slowly. "Fair point."
We gathered more wood in silence. I kept track of our position relative to camp, noting landmarks—a distinctive pine, a rock formation, the angle of the moon through the branches. Trust was a commodity I couldn't afford to spend freely, especially not on a man who'd helped capture and sell me just days ago.
"Why are you helping me?" I asked abruptly.
Joran looked up, surprised by the question. "What?"
"You could have let those reflectors kill me. Could have left me in chains. Could be back with Torsten right now, hunting some other poor bastard to sell." I stepped closer, watching his face. "Instead you're out here, risking your life for someone who should be your enemy."
He held my gaze steadily. "I don't consider you my enemy."
"You should."
"Perhaps." He shifted his bundle of wood. "But I've heard the stories. If you can end this winter, even if there's the smallest chance..." He shook his head. "I have to try."
A distant howl broke the silence, sending chills down my spine that had nothing to do with the cold.
"Ice wolves," Joran said quietly, turning toward the sound. "Far off, but moving this way."
"How much wood do we need?"
"More than we have." He glanced at our piles. "Enough for three more fires, at least."
I nodded toward a dense patch of fallen timber about fifty yards deeper into the forest. "There's plenty there."
Joran hesitated, eyes tracking between the distant timber and our camp. "It's farther than I'd like to go."
"We need the wood," I said simply. "Unless you want to freeze or get eaten tonight."
He sighed, resignation clear in the slump of his shoulders. "Stay close. If I say run, you run. Understand?"
"Crystal clear," I replied, already moving toward the fallen timber. Each step away from camp made my nerves tighten, but I kept my face impassive. Show no weakness. Give nothing away.
The pile of deadfall was better than I'd hoped—an old tree had collapsed, bringing down several smaller ones with it. The wood was dry and relatively free of ice, perfect for burning. We worked quickly, breaking branches and stacking them in manageable bundles.
"How did you end up with Torsten?" I asked, keeping my tone casual as I worked.
Joran paused briefly. "He raised me. After my father died." He snapped a branch with more force than necessary. "Torsten took me in when no one else would."
I nodded, letting that sink in. Family loyalty explained a lot, but not everything. "And the slaving? Was that always part of the business?"
His jaw tightened. "No. That's... recent. The last two years, maybe."
"What changed?"
"Everything." He gestured broadly at the endless winter around us. "The curse got worse. Trade routes collapsed. Settlements started dying out." He shook his head. "There's not much honest work left for men like us."
"So you turned to dishonest work."
His eyes flashed. "We do what we must to survive. You said it yourself."
I held his gaze, searching for any hint of deception. "And what happens when you want more than just another day in this frozen hell?"
"Then you find something worth fighting for."
"Like the Temple of Echoes?"
"Maybe." He gathered up his wood. "Or maybe just a world where we don't have to sell people to eat."
I nodded slowly. "I can understand that."
Another howl echoed through the trees, closer this time. Without a word, we both gathered our loads and headed back toward camp. The weight of the wood made my burned hands scream in protest, but I kept pace with Joran.
Laina was standing guard when we returned, her bow ready and eyes scanning the darkness. She relaxed slightly at our approach.
"Took you long enough," she said, but there was relief in her voice. "Wolves?"
"Moving this way," Joran confirmed, dropping his wood near the main fire. "We need to build the perimeter quickly."
I set my own bundle down, hiding a wince as the rough bark scraped against my burns. "Four fires," I said, pointing to spots around our camp. "Spaced evenly. Create a circle of light."
Laina nodded, already moving to construct the first fire. "The horses are nervous. They sense something coming."
"They're smarter than us," I muttered, arranging kindling for the second fire. "They'd be running if they could."
Working together, we built four additional fires around our camp, creating a rough circle of light and warmth. The flames cast our shadows long across the snow, distorting them into strange, dancing shapes. My hands throbbed mercilessly, but I kept working, ignoring the pain.
Finally, with all fires blazing, we gathered around the central flame. The night had deepened, the cold intensifying with it. Even with five fires, the chill bit through my layers, settling deep in my bones.
"We should rest in shifts," Joran said, eyes still scanning the darkness beyond our light. "Two sleep, one watches."
"I'll take first watch," Laina volunteered, checking her bowstring. "You two get some sleep."
I shook my head. "I'll take first. My hands hurt too much to sleep anyway."
She frowned, violet eyes narrowing. "You need rest more than either of us."
"I'm fine."
"You're not." She stepped closer, lowering her voice. "I saw how you were moving. Those burns are worse than you're letting on."
I met her gaze steadily. "All the more reason for me to take first watch. I won't sleep anyway."
She held my stare for a long moment before sighing. "Fine. But wake Joran in two hours."
I nodded, settling myself near the main fire where I could see all approaches. Laina and Joran arranged their bedrolls on opposite sides of the flame, close enough for warmth but maintaining a careful distance.
As they settled in, I studied them both through the dancing firelight. Laina's face softened in sleep, the stern lines easing from around her mouth. Joran slept like a hunter—on his side, one hand near his knife, body tense even in rest.
The howls came again, closer but still distant. The fires burned bright, keeping the darkness at bay. For now, we were safe—a small island of warmth in an ocean of ice and shadow.
I flexed my hands, wincing at the pain. The left palm was angry red, blistered from Heartseeker's heat. The right was mottled blue-white, frost-nipped from Frostbite's cold. Two extremes, perfectly balanced in their opposite natures.
My thoughts drifted to the status screen—to the locked abilities and attributes that waited just beyond my reach. To complete this trial, I needed to reach the Temple of Echoes. To do that, I needed allies.
But allies weren't friends, and they certainly weren't family. They were tools, means to an end. Just as I was to them.
I stared into the fire, letting its warmth wash over my face as the night grew deeper around us. In the morning, we would head for the marshes. And after that, the highlands, the mountains, and finally the Temple itself.
One step at a time. One day at a time. Survival first, always.
The wolves howled once more, their voices joining together in a mournful chorus that echoed across the frozen wasteland. I sat motionless, watching, waiting, as the night slowly passed.