"Then listen for winter," I tell her. "It will guide you to me."
The helicopter's spotlight sweeps across the clearing outside, its beam visible through the windows. It's now or never.
I lean down, pressing my lips to hers one final time. Cold meets warmth in a kiss that tastes of farewell and possibility both.
"Go," I whisper against her mouth.
She steps back, eyes never leaving mine as she reaches for the door. "Goodbye, Vidar."
Then she's gone, stepping out into the snow, waving her arms at the helicopter hovering above. I stand in the doorway, hidden in shadow, watching as the spotlight finds her, as the aircraft circles, preparing to land in the nearby clearing.
With a final gesture, I calm the storm completely, ensuring her safe rescue. Then I step back into the cabin, gathering the few possessions I'll take with me. Outside, I hear human voices, exclamations of surprise and relief as they find her alive against all odds.
In moments, I'll be gone, retreating deeper into my domain where humans rarely venture. The cabin will become just another abandoned structure, its secrets left to the imagination of those who find it.
But as I prepare to leave, I feel the unfamiliar warmth that lingers where she touched me, the phantom sensation of her presence still pulsing at the edge of my awareness. Five centuries of perfect solitude shattered by a single human woman who somehow withstood my cold.
Whether she returns or not, I am changed. Whether our connection strengthens or fades, I will remember what it felt like to not be alone.
For a creature of winter, that memory will have to be enough.
9
Freya
The helicopter's downdraft batters me as I stand in the clearing, arms raised overhead, waving frantically. Snow swirls around my legs, but the storm has mysteriously calmed—visibility clear enough for the searchlight to find me easily. I squint against the brightness, heart pounding with a confusion of emotions: relief, regret, uncertainty.
Behind me, Vidar's cabin stands dark and silent. He's already gone, melted into the wilderness like the winter entity he is. I haven't turned to look. I'm afraid that if I do, my resolve will crumble, and I'll run back inside, choosing mystery and danger over responsibility and safety.
"We see you!" crackles a voice over a loudspeaker. "Stay where you are!"
The helicopter circles once, then hovers nearby, unable to land in the deep snow. A figure in orange rescue gear descends on a line, touching down twenty feet away. He approaches cautiously, as if worried I might be injured or unstable.
"Freya Lindholm?" he shouts over the roar of the rotors.
I nod, forcing a smile that feels like it might crack my face. "That's me!"
"Are you injured? Can you move?"
"I'm fine!" I call back. "Just cold and tired!"
Relief washes over his features. He says something into his radio, then reaches me, checking me over with practiced efficiency.
"You're a miracle," he says, genuine amazement in his voice. "Three days in these conditions... most people don't make it past the first night."
Three days. Has it only been three days? It feels like I've lived a lifetime since getting lost in that storm.
"I found shelter," I explain, gesturing toward the cabin. "Got lucky."
"Very lucky," he agrees, helping me into a harness. "We're going to lift you up first, okay? The rest of the team will check the cabin, make sure there's no one else."
A flutter of panic rises in my chest. "There's no one. It was abandoned when I found it."
He studies me briefly, then nods. "Still protocol to check. Ready to go up?"
As we're lifted into the helicopter, I watch the ground fall away—the cabin growing smaller, the vast white landscape expanding around it. From above, the isolation of the place is breathtaking. How did I ever find it in that blizzard? The odds seem impossible.
Not impossible, a voice whispers in my mind.Guided.
