When I came to, I was half-buried in snow.
The world was cold and spinning, and my back was on fire.
Not metaphorically. It was fire. Pain so sharp it felt like teeth scraping along my spine, where the Haugrmenn had torn into me on the cliff. Blood soaked through what remained of my coat—hot at first, then cold, frozen stiff against my skin.
I couldn't breathe properly.
I couldn't think.
I couldn't die here.
With a grunt, I rolled over—barely. Every movement pulled at torn muscle. The snow beneath me was stained pink and black, my fingers too numb to feel the ground.
No pack. No potions. No tools.
Only the daggers still strapped to my hips. Somehow, they hadn't been ripped away with the rest.
I looked up. The wind howled above the ridgeline, swirling frost and loose powder around jagged rocks.
No shelter in sight.
I clenched my jaw and began crawling—slowly, one elbow at a time, dragging my weight like a dying animal. The stone scraped my knees. Blood dripped steadily behind me, steam curling from it as it hit the snow.
Every breath was shallow. Painful.
Every heartbeat felt like a countdown.
I didn't know how long it took to reach the narrow overhang tucked between two jagged stone spires—ten minutes, maybe twenty. It didn't matter.
It was cover.
Enough to shield me from the wind.
And just enough space to bleed out in peace if I didn't act fast.
With trembling hands, I unsheathed one of the daggers and shoved it into a crevice of rock. The other, I pressed against the stone until sparks flew. Again. And again. Until a tiny puff of smoke caught on the dry bark I'd managed to strip from a broken tree limb along the way.
I blew on it until it grew.
A small flame.
Flickering. Weak.
But enough.
I laid the dagger into the fire and waited. My breath came in shudders. My head throbbed. The gash across my back was leaking warmth I couldn't afford to lose.
When the blade glowed red, I pulled it free.
No hesitation.
No time to think.
I bit down hard on the edge of my leather bracer, shoved the blade behind me, and pressed it to the wound.
"—AGHHHHH!"
The scream tore through the cliffs, raw and guttural.
The pain didn't come all at once. It came in waves. Crawling through my veins. Tearing into nerve endings like wildfire. I shook, my limbs convulsing as I forced the blade across the deepest tear.
The smell of burning flesh made my stomach lurch.
I barely managed to pull the blade away before everything started to go dark.
Vision swimming.
Breath shallow.
The bleeding had stopped.
But the pain hadn't.
I collapsed sideways, curling into the wolf-pelt scraps still clinging to my frame.
The fire hissed.
My eyes shut.
—
It was snowing in the dream.
Heavy flakes falling onto ruined stone and slush-soaked mud. Smoke drifted from the remains of a thatched roof nearby, and blood stained the snow like spilled ink.
I was younger.
Thirteen, maybe.
Standing in the middle of a burned-out village that hadn't surrendered quickly enough.
It wasn't Adelyria. This was a smaller kingdom. A proud little territory that had refused to kneel to my father. They fought with honor, if not skill.
That day, we were ordered to clear out stragglers. A sweep. Nothing more.
At least, that's what the commander said.
Then everything went wrong.
The squad split. Smoke rolled in. And I was alone.
That's when he appeared—stepping out from behind a toppled well, blade in hand. Not a boy. A man.
Older. Worn. Covered in mismatched armor and a green-plated shoulder guard etched with runes.
His sword hummed faintly—glowing along the edge with pulsing blue lines.
Not Æther.
Mana.
"You're just a kid," he said, surprised. "They really sent you out here?"
I didn't answer.
I was already moving.
Steel clashed.
His blade moved smoother than mine—guided by technique and enhancement magic. Every strike crackled with mana, cutting faster, sharper. My own movements were rougher. Raw. Driven by instinct and pain and something hotter under the skin.
I ducked under a swing meant to take off my head, and slammed my dagger into his thigh.
He staggered, snarled, and elbowed me across the jaw.
I went down.
Blood in my mouth. Vision spinning.
I rolled as his blade came down, splitting the snow where I'd been.
Back on my feet. Breath ragged.
He came again. Fast. Too fast.
I deflected one blow with my forearm—felt the edge bite through the coat. Pain flared. I screamed and pushed Æther through my legs, driving forward.
He twisted. Nearly caught me across the back.
I dropped low, pivoted, and—
Drove both daggers into his ribs.
He gasped.
Fell forward.
I pulled them free as he dropped to his knees.
Steam rose from the blood as it met the snow.
His sword clattered to the ground.
I just stood there, shaking, waiting to see if he'd move.
He didn't.
His eyes never left mine.
Not hate. Not fear.
Just surprise.
Like he hadn't expected to die that way.
Neither had I.
—
My eyes opened slowly.
The fire had burned low. My body was stiff, frozen against the stone. My back still throbbed with every heartbeat, but the bleeding had stopped. The pain had dulled to something I could almost ignore.
I sat up.
The dream still clung to my chest like frost.
The man's face. The blood. The way it sizzled.
I rubbed my eyes and looked out over the ridgeline.
Still more mountain ahead.
Still alive.
But barely.
I stood—slowly—and started walking.