The helicopter sounds pass overhead, then gradually diminish as the aircraft continues its search pattern elsewhere. I release a breath I didn't realize I was holding.
"You influenced the storm to hide us," I say.
"Yes."
"You could have let them find me. Let me go."
His expression turns solemn. "I promised I would. When you're ready."
I study his face—the duality of monster and man, the ancient wisdom and unexpected vulnerability in his eyes. "What happens if I strengthen the bond before leaving?"
"It would create a connection," he explains. "You would feel the pull to return. I would sense your presence when you're near my domain."
"And if I didn't come back?"
Pain flickers across his features. "The bond would cause discomfort at first, then gradually fade. For both of us."
I consider this, running my fingers along the frost patterns on his chest. "And if I did come back?"
"It would strengthen further. Eventually become permanent."
"Making me what? Half winter spirit?"
A small smile touches his lips. "No. Still human, but... winter-touched. Able to withstand cold that would kill others. Your life might extend somewhat, though not as mine has."
"And you? What would you get from this bond?"
His eyes meet mine, something vulnerable in their depths. "A tether to humanity I've been losing century by century. Warmth I'd forgotten could exist."
The implications settle heavily between us. Not a decision to make lightly. Not a fairy tale ending with simple happily-ever-afters.
"I still need to go back," I say finally. "People are looking for me. I have responsibilities, a life."
"I know." His voice holds resignation but no surprise.
"But I also want to understand this better before I decide anything." I lay my hand over his heart, feeling the slow, steady beat beneath the cold skin. "Show me more. Teach me what this bond could mean."
Relief crosses his features—not victory or possession, just the simple easing of anticipated loss. "Yes."
The helicopter noise has faded completely now, the search moving to another area. Outside, the storm gentles again, returning to the calmer patterns that have prevailed sinceour first joining. Time stretches differently here, in this space between worlds, between decisions.
I reach for my camera, needing to capture this moment—the winter guardian and the human woman, frost patterns connecting our skin where we touch, choices hovering between us like the suspended ice crystals in the air.
Click.
Some memories need preservation, even if only I will ever see them.
8
Vidar
The distant thrum of an engine penetrates the stillness of the cabin. My body tenses before my mind fully registers the sound—an instinctive reaction to human intrusion in my domain. Freya, nestled against my chest, feels the change in me and raises her head.
"What is it?" she asks, though I suspect she already knows.
"Helicopter," I say, the word tasting bitter. "Search party."
Her eyes widen slightly, but she makes no move to rise, to gather her clothes, to signal the searchers. Instead, she presses closer, as if the sound reminds her that our time is limited.
