At bank, he hammers a piton into buried granite. The ring jutting from rock gleams dull pewter. He threads main rope through, ties a reef knot so precise I feel it in my chest. The other end he loops around my waist before securing himself. When he cinches straps, fingers brush my hip—accidental perhaps, yet static leaps across lattice and spark coils in belly.
We choose a floe shaped like a flat shield to begin crossing. He steps first, boots grinding against crusted rim, testing. I follow three paces back, knees bent to shift weight quickly if plate tilts. Ice groans under our first collective pressure, but holds. A gap three spear-lengths wide separates us from next island. Kylan springs lightly, claws flicking through leather soles to grip. Rope tauts; I breathe, judge rhythm, leap. Boots land, skid; he catches rope, steadying.
We continue this dance—jump, land, crouch—breath condensing in rhythmic puffs. Dawn filters through clouds; pale gold kisses glacier faces above us, throwing fractured light onto river. The beauty is blade-sharp, made cruel by cold.
Halfway across, floes narrow into needle-thin shards separated by swirling black water. Kylan gestures—change tactic. He braces on larger plate, drives second piton into translucent surface, threads auxiliary rope. “Slide cradle,” he calls.
I kneel, hook harness, let him haul me across gap where floes rotate too quick to leap. When my boots touch stable ice again, a sigh escapes.
We reach central channel—widest and swiftest. Here the river has resisted freezing altogether: dark water surges between two craggy ledges like oil through broken glass. A crust of rafts drift but none large enough to bear our mass. Kylan surveys, nostrils flaring. “No footing. Swim beneath.”
Cold spikes fear through marrow. Even wolves built for alpine hunts avoid diving here—temperature bites harder than teeth. But we have little choice. He unclips rope from harness; instead loops it under my arms, ties rescue knot quick. “Hold breath; I’ll pull us.”
“I can propel as well,” I protest.
He shakes head. “Your crystal will constrict under thermal shock. Let me lead.” His eyes glow amber, not with command but with protective determination that rearranges breath in my lungs.
I nod. He strips coat, shoves into pack to stay dry, leaving scarred torso to sting in icy wind. Then he steps to edge and calls over shoulder, “Three beats after I dive, follow.” He draws in lungful, leaps.
I count heartbeats—one, two, three—step off ledge. Water knives through layers, ripping breath from throat. Silence swallows world except for thunder of current above skull. Darkness envelops; only dim dawn glow filters through translucent ice ceiling.
Kylan’s rope tugs; I kick, following line of tension. He swims ahead in half-shift: limbs elongated, webbing between fingers, gills slitting along ribcage, an adaptation rare among pack but life-saving now. I hold breath, pulse pounding temples, trust his navigation.
Then lightning detonates behind closed eyelids—vision strike, merciless. I’m wrenched from body, hurled sideways into sightscape. A circular chamber lined by bookcases unfurling like petals appears. At its center stands a girl of nineteen winters, copper curls tied with teal ribbon: my apprentice Laurel. She unrolls star chart across oak table, eyes scanning constellations with surety. Fingers trace route aiming toward—my stomach lurches—same dragon shrine we left. She bites lip, scribbles rune near Moonstone Mountains. Candle beside her sputters, casting elongated shadow reminiscent of crystalline branches reaching for ceiling.
Vision flickers; Laurel lifts head, mouth forming my name though no sound reaches. Wallpaper behind her peels back, revealing rift crack glowing red. The chamber leans, paper burns. Laurel draws dagger, defiance in young face. The image dissolves as violently as it came.
Water slams senses back. My chest convulses, mouth opens reflexively. Freezing liquid floods throat. Panic detonates. Rope jerks; my limbs thrash but current spins me sideways. Eyes blur. Above, faint silhouette—Kylan—spins, sees distress, kicks hard downward. He wraps arms around waist, slicing direction against flow. I’m weightless and leaden simultaneously, vision tunneling to expanding dark.
Consciousness stutters. Another image flashes—brief snapshot of council ring, seats empty except one: Everest Ashfall leaning on twin blades, head bowed like statue carved from regret. Then black.
When sensation returns,I’m sprawled on riverbank gravel, coughing water mixed with bile. Air saws down throat. Hands press center of chest—Kylan’s. He jerks back as I hack finalstream, then gathers me into sitting position against his torso, rock wall warm compared to wind.
He speaks, words rough with worry. “Breath steady. You’re here.” He rubs my arms, restoring circulation. His bare skin against mine transfers heat like glowing ember. Rope lies in heap; he must have cut it to drag me faster.
I inhale slow, lungs flaming, but pull full breath. Heart reaccelerates. Crystal lattice along ribs throbs—lines darker, as if water shock fed hunger. I rest head against his shoulder, let eyes close though world spins.
After minutes, he mutters, “What struck?” He already knows vision claimed me, feels through bond, but needs details.
“Laurel,” I rasp. “My apprentice. She studies shrine maps. Rift tore her library.”
His arms tighten. “Present or possible?”
“Unclear.” Voice cracks. “But if rift spreads that far, few safe havens remain.” Wind gusts; I shiver violently.
He curses under breath, scoops me off gravel, strides toward overhanging ledge that blocks wind. There, moss and thin grass remain dry under stone lip. He sets me down, unseals waterproof bundle, pulls out spare blanket, wraps around us both. He sits cross-legged, drawing me onto lap so blanket cocoons.
Body contact revives memory of hut’s fire. Heat flows, less urgent this time yet more intimate. He strokes wet hair back. “Could vision be warning—Laurel walking path we left?”
“Perhaps shrine needs her. Perhaps doom hunts her.” Teeth chatter.
“We’ll send message after council.” His voice brooks no argument. “For now you survive.”
I nod, pressing ear to his chest. Heart beats strong and steady. Through bond I feel his fear modulate into fierce calm—wolf preparing to maul fate itself if needed.
Minutes stretch. Dawn fully blooms, painting sky coral and rose. Light bounces off ice flakes swirling around us like shards of shattered dawn. My tremors subside; breathing stabilizes. Only then does he speak again.
“I failed rope protocol. Should’ve tied guide knot to wrist, not torso. Quick release.” Regret heavy.
