I spin around, trying to pinpoint the source of the noise, but all I achieve is disorientation. Which way am I heading?
Panic pulls taut, but it enhances my senses too. I feel it—a faint pull, like a thread tugging at the edge of my awareness. My magic comes alive, stretching outward, guiding me to the source of the disturbance.
Avalanche.
The realization slams into me like a blow to the chest. My head snaps to the side as golden waves of magic ripple out from me, blanketing the landscape. The world shifts, and I can see the landscape around me through the magic as it paints the terrain in glowing golden detail. There—a rocky outcrop to my left. It might not be much, but it’s my best chance.
The snow is coming fast. I don’t waste another second.
Boots pound the snow packed ground, as magic surges beneath me, hardening the earth and giving me traction. The rumble becomes a roar, thunderous and all-consuming. I grit my teeth, lungs burning as I push myself harder, the rocky outcrop growing closer with each step.
I reach it just as the avalanche crashes into the valley. With a desperate dive, I slide beneath the outcrop, curling into myself as snow and debris surge overhead. The roar is deafening, the force of it pressing down like a physical weight. For one breathless moment, I am completely surrounded—by sound, by movement, by the raw power of nature.
Then, silence.
I lie there, trembling, the adrenaline coursing through me like fire. The moment is fleeting, but it feels like an eternity, etched into my memory as vividly as the golden magic still shimmering faintly around me. Slowly, cautiously, I exhale and let my head fall back against the rock with a thud.
“That was too close.”
Gradually, I shift from my cramped hiding place, muscles stiff and trembling with adrenaline. The air is eerily still, thick with a muffled quiet that presses against my ears. Somewhere above, snow still settles, but all I hear is the echo—dull, haunting—bouncing through the hollow space around me. It fills me with instant dread.
With a shaking hand, I reach forward and my fingers swipe through the empty air. Encouraged, I inch forward on my knees, snow grinding beneath them, sharp and wet as it seeps into my breeches. I flinch at the chill, but push on.
Then . . . my palm hits a wall of snow.
My heart gives a single, hard thud. I press against it, move sideways, feeling along its surface. All around me, the world has become a coffin of ice and snow.
I’m trapped.
You’re okay. It’s okay.
The words sound hollow, but I repeat them anyway, trying to keep the panic at bay. My breathing quickens, rising with panic despite efforts to stay calm. The confined space feels smaller by the second.
I just need to dig. That’s all. I just have to dig.
I let go of my sword—the hilt has been welded to my palm with tension, and my fingers ache from the release. I flex them, trying to restore feeling. They’re stiff, almost numb.
Sliding my hands along the cold walls, I inhale slowly through my nose, then exhale through pursed lips, trying to stay in control. Magic stirs faintly in my chest, a flicker of warmth. I reach for Maxon’s fire, willing it to come to my hands, to spark, to burn a way out—but there’s nothing. Not even a wisp of heat.
Fine. No fire. Just me.
I press my hands against the softest patch I can find and begin to dig.
It takes me longer than I want to claw my way out of the snow. My arms ache with exertion as I drag myself from the cold, wet tunnel and into the fresh, open air. The faint sound of cheers rises up behind me, and a smile creeps across my face. I take a deep breath, feeling the relief wash over me. Yes, I am still alive.
Climbing to my feet, blindfold still in place, I look around, my magic sweeping over the landscape once again. Less than a hundred yards ahead is the wall I have to get over. I head in that direction, easily navigating the terrain now. I pick up the pace, not too sure how much time passed while I was digging my way out of my icy tomb.
Unease slithers through me and my fingers flex around the hilt of my sword. Sensing something is off, but I can’t pinpoint exactly what it is. It’s more like a gut feeling, my intuition screaming at me to slow down and listen. A prickling sensation moves between my shoulder blades, but I push on, not wanting to waste any more time.
I slow as I near the towering wall. An eerie hollowness twists in my stomach, and the tingling sensation crawling over my skin grows clearer, setting every nerve on edge. The hair on the back of my neck rises, and I feel the unmistakable pulse of my magic, a warning I should have heeded sooner.
Before I can react, a gust of wind slams into me with enough force to knock me off my feet. I cry out as I’m sent backward; the world tilting. I hit the snow, the impact jarring, the sword slipping from my grasp. Panic flares, and I scramble upright, my hands blindly searching the freezing ground until my fingers graze the familiar hilt. Relief floods me as I drag the weapon back to my side, clutching it tightly.
With the blindfold still in place and the sword gripped in my hand, I push myself up to stand on shaky legs, gasping in shallow breaths. That’s when I feel it—my magic vibrating through me with a sense of urgency, a ripple of insight. I glance up and freeze. I didn’t notice before, but now I see it clearly; a deadly pit of spikes lying hidden at the base of the wall.
Are they trying to kill me?
I should’ve listened more closely to what my magic was trying to warn me about. Swallowing hard, I force myself to focus.
