Tyr’s arms are locked around me. His body curves over mine, protective even in sleep. We’re both covered in dried blood and dust—some his, some mine, some the silvery-black stuff that spilled from the thing we killed. His ribs have healed—solid muscle under my cheek instead of broken bones.
We’ve been sleeping on frozen ground for hours. Should be uncomfortable. Should be freezing. But his body puts out heat like a furnace, and his arms feel safer than any shelter I’ve ever found.
Another crack echoes. Closer. Then another. A chain reaction spreading in every direction.
His eyes open. No transition. One second asleep, the next fully alert, his grip tightening automatically.
“It’s spreading.” My voice is rough. “Everywhere.”
He listens. More cracks. The ice fracturing as far as we can hear.
“Good.” His voice is low from sleep. “Let it all fall apart.”
I push myself up. His arms loosen reluctantly—like releasing me costs him. The wasteland stretches around us, gray and white and endless.
But different now. The crushing weight that’s been pressing down since we entered this territory is gone. Like taking off armor I forgot I was wearing. The air feels lighter. Cleaner.
And the ice is fracturing everywhere. Cracks racing across the surface like lightning frozen mid-strike.
“Caelreth.” I turn to him. “Where this started. I want to see it.”
He studies me. His hand comes up to grip my jaw—not asking permission, taking. “Why?”
“Because we did this. I need to know what that means.”
He holds my gaze for a long moment. Then nods. Rises, pulling me up with him. His hand moves to my hip, fingers digging in hard enough to leave marks.
“Then we go.”
We travel for hours.
Frozen wasteland becomes frozen forest, then farmland, then territory I recognize. The outskirts of Caelreth. The city where I first saw what we were fighting. Where Tyr and I were assigned as partners in a mission that was supposed to be reconnaissance.
That feels like another lifetime. A different version of me—one who didn’t know what it felt like to be claimed by a dragon. One who still thought she could walk away from anything.
He keeps pace beside me. His stride adjusts to match mine without being asked. His palm presses against my lowerback every few minutes—checking, claiming, reminding me he’s there.
I’ve stopped pretending it annoys me.
The cracks grow more frequent as we approach. Water seeps through in places—the first liquid I’ve seen that wasn’t blood. Actual water, dripping through ice. Running down walls in tiny streams. Pooling in hollows on the ground. The realm is thawing.
Then we reach the walls.
Caelreth rises before us. The ice coating everything is fracturing. Thin layers crack and fall, revealing actual stone beneath. The unnatural shimmer that made everything look preserved in glass is fading, replaced by actual texture. Actual reality.
The gates stand open, frozen mid-swing, the way they’ve been for months.
As I watch, they move. A fraction of an inch. A tiny shift that shouldn’t be possible in a city locked in stasis. The gate swinging slowly, continuing a motion started ages ago.
“It’s waking up.” I keep my voice quiet. “The whole city.”
Tyr grips my shoulder, hard. “Let’s see.”
We enter.
The people are moving. We move deeper into the city. Everywhere, the same thing.
And there, in the market square, I see her.
