I woke to a knife against my throat.
No, not a knife. Just ice-cold air slicing at my exposed skin. The fire had died completely, not even embers remaining. Frost coated my eyebrows and lashes. My breath clouded in front of me.
Where the hell was I?
I sat up too fast. My head spun, vision blurring. The world around me resolved slowly – crystalline trees, a circle of trampled snow, the remains of my pathetic shelter.
Right. The Domain Trial. Frostfall. Thirty days to reach the Temple of Echoes.
And wolves. Ice wolves.
I scanned the clearing. Empty. The pack had vanished while I slept, leaving only paw prints in the snow and scattered bones from last night's meal. Great. Abandoned in a frozen wasteland. Just my luck.
A soft whine broke the silence.
I turned to find a wolf watching me from the edge of the clearing. Smaller than the others – a juvenile, maybe. Its coat was almost silver rather than white, with faint blue-gray markings around its muzzle and ears. Its eyes held the same unnatural blue luminescence as the others, but wider, more curious.
"Morning," I said, my voice rough from sleep. "Your friends ditch you too?"
The young wolf tilted its head, ears perked forward.
"Yeah, I know the feeling." I stretched, wincing as cold muscles protested. "Nothing like waking up alone in a death trap."
I needed to move, to generate heat before hypothermia set in. I stood, stomping my feet and swinging my arms. The young wolf watched, head tilting the other way.
"What?" I asked it. "Never seen a human popsicle before?"
I collected what remained of my supplies and kicked snow over the dead fire pit. Standing around wouldn't get me any closer to the Temple. I had twenty-nine days left, and no idea which direction to head.
The young wolf approached, circling me with light, silent steps. It sniffed at my legs, then looked up expectantly.
"I don't have food, if that's what you're after."
It chuffed, then trotted a few paces toward the forest before looking back.
Follow me.
"Lead on," I said. "Not like I've got better options."
The wolf set off at an easy lope, occasionally glancing back to ensure I kept pace. Unlike the adults' measured stride, the juvenile moved with bursts of energy, sometimes racing ahead, then circling back, tail held high.
We traveled deeper into the forest. The trees grew closer together, their crystalline branches forming canopies that blocked most of the gray sky. The temperature seemed to drop further, if that was even possible.
After about twenty minutes, I heard sounds ahead – growls, yips, the crunch of paws on snow. The young wolf quickened its pace, excitement visible in every line of its body.
We emerged into another clearing, smaller than last night's camp. The entire pack was there, arranged in a rough circle. In the center stood the pack leader, facing off against another large wolf in what looked like a dominance display.
My guide stopped at the edge of the clearing, sitting down to watch. I hung back, observing from behind a tree.
The two wolves circled each other, hackles raised, teeth bared. Neither made contact, but their movements formed a complex dance of feints and postures. The rest of the pack watched intently, some sitting, others standing at alert.
What struck me wasn't the display itself, but the audience. The wolves weren't just watching – they were reacting. Some leaned forward when the challenger made an aggressive move. Others shifted their weight when the leader reasserted dominance. They weren't mindless beasts – they were analyzing, judging, even taking sides.
After several minutes, the challenger lowered its head and turned away, exposing its neck. The leader approached, placed its jaws gently around the other's muzzle for a moment, then released it. Dispute settled.
The pack immediately relaxed, some wolves greeting each other with nose touches, others stretching out on patches of snow.
My young guide stood and trotted into the clearing, heading straight for the leader. They touched noses, and the leader gave the juvenile a quick inspection, as if checking for injuries. Satisfied, it looked past the younger wolf – directly at me.
I stepped out from behind the tree. No point hiding when they could probably smell me anyway.
The pack's reaction was immediate but controlled. They formed a loose semicircle, the leader at the center, the young wolf slightly to one side. Not threatening, exactly, but definitely alert.
"Thanks for the hospitality last night," I said, keeping my voice steady. "Hope I'm not interrupting anything important."
The leader studied me, then glanced at the young wolf, who made an excited yipping sound.
Something passed between them – communication too subtle for me to read. The leader looked back at me, then turned and barked sharply to the pack.
They broke formation, several wolves moving deeper into the forest while others settled back into resting positions. The leader approached me, the young wolf trailing behind.
Up close, the difference between them was striking. The leader's coat showed scars beneath the white fur, and one ear had a notch taken from it. The juvenile practically bounced with each step, unable to maintain the dignity of its elder.
The leader stopped before me, eyes level with my chest. It looked up, meeting my gaze without aggression or fear, then turned and began walking toward the forest edge. The young wolf darted around me, nipping gently at my clothing, then following its leader.
Again, the message was clear: Come with us.
I followed them into the trees, deeper than I'd gone before. The forest floor sloped gently downward, leading us into a ravine where the crystalline trees grew so densely their branches interlocked overhead, creating a corridor of ice and pale wood.
After about a half-hour's walk, I heard water – the soft gurgle of a stream somehow flowing despite the freezing temperatures. We emerged at a riverbank, the water moving swiftly enough to resist freezing completely, though ice formed at the edges.
Several wolves were already there, including the ones who'd left the clearing earlier. They were arranged along the bank at intervals, watching the water intently.
The leader took a position upstream, while the young wolf nudged me toward a fallen log near the water's edge. I sat, understanding that I was meant to observe.
For several minutes, nothing happened. The wolves remained stationary, focused on the water with unnerving patience. Even my fidgety young guide grew still.
Then, almost too fast to follow, one of the wolves lunged into the stream, head plunging beneath the surface. It came up with a fish in its jaws – silver-blue, nearly a foot long. The wolf trotted away from the water, dropped its catch on the bank, and returned to its position.
One by one, the others followed suit, each capturing a fish with remarkable precision. Some missed and returned to their posts, dripping and seemingly embarrassed. Others caught two in quick succession, dropping them further up the bank.
The leader went last, wading deliberately into the deeper center of the stream. It stood motionless for nearly a minute, then struck with lightning speed, emerging with the largest fish yet – easily twice the size of the others.
The young wolf beside me vibrated with excitement, clearly hoping for a turn. The leader approached, carrying its massive catch, and dropped it at my feet.
Another offering. Like last night, but more deliberate. This wasn't just sharing – it was teaching.
"Thank you," I said.
The leader nudged the fish closer to me, then looked pointedly at the water.
I understood. My turn.
I approached the stream cautiously. The water would be frigid, possibly dangerously so, but I couldn't refuse this invitation. Something important was happening here.
I crouched at the edge, studying the water. Occasional flashes of silver indicated fish moving beneath the current. The wolves made it look easy – just wait and strike. I rolled up my sleeve and prepared to plunge my arm in.
The young wolf barked sharply. When I looked over, it was shaking its head.
"Not like that?"
It approached the water, staring intently, then mimed the patient stillness I'd seen from the others. It wasn't just about grabbing – it was about waiting for the right moment.
I nodded and repositioned myself, focusing on the water flow, trying to discern patterns in the fish movements. Minutes passed. My legs cramped from crouching, but I remained still, watching.
There – a larger fish, swimming upstream against the current, momentarily slowing in an eddy near the bank.
I struck, hand plunging into the icy water. The cold hit hard, but my fingers closed around slick scales. I pulled, nearly losing my balance, and emerged with a thrashing fish clutched in my numbing hand.
The young wolf yipped in excitement. Several others looked up from their catches, something like approval in their posture.
I returned to the bank, fish dripping in my grasp. My hand burned with cold, but satisfaction warmed my chest. I'd passed some kind of test.
The leader approached again, this time bringing a small pile of what looked like green leaves – somehow still fresh in this frozen landscape. It dropped them beside the fish, then made a chewing motion.
"Eat these with the fish?"
A slight nod.
I examined the leaves – some kind of herb, with a mint-like scent but broader leaves. When I looked up questioningly, the leader made the chewing motion again, more emphatically.
I picked up a leaf and took a cautious bite. A sharp, clean taste flooded my mouth – not quite mint, not quite basil, but refreshing. The herb generated heat as I chewed, warming my mouth and throat.
Ah. The herb would help counteract the cold from the water.
I nodded my thanks and set about preparing my meal. Using my knife, I cleaned the fish as I had the rabbit-thing the night before. The wolves watched with interest, particularly the juvenile, who crept closer to observe my technique.
"Different from how you do it, huh?" I said, slicing along the spine.
The young wolf sniffed at the filleted fish, then at my knife.
"Tools. That's the human advantage." I held up the blade. "We're not as fast or strong as you, but we've got these."
The wolf's gaze was uncomfortably intelligent, assessing the knife with unmistakable comprehension.
With the fish prepared, I realized I had no fire. Before I could consider my options, the leader approached, carrying a branch in its jaws. It dropped this at my feet along with several smaller sticks. Other wolves began bringing more wood, creating a small pile.
They remembered the fire from last night. More importantly, they understood I needed it again.
I built another fire, this time with more skill than the previous night. The wolves watched attentively, particularly the young one, who inched close enough to feel the first warmth from the flames.
I cooked my fish, adding the herbs as a garnish. The wolves ate their catches raw, tearing into the flesh with efficient movements. The leader, I noticed, shared portions of its large fish with two smaller wolves – perhaps older cubs or lower-ranking adults who hadn't caught their own.
As we ate, I studied the clearing more carefully. Patterns emerged in how the wolves positioned themselves – family groups together, younger members protected in the center, sentries at the perimeter. Not random at all, but a sophisticated social structure.
After the meal, most of the pack rested, some cleaning each other's fur, others dozing in patches of sunlight that broke through the canopy. The leader and three others disappeared into the forest, presumably to patrol.
The young wolf remained near me, occasionally bringing interesting objects for my inspection – a strangely shaped piece of ice, a feather, a small stone with crystal inclusions. Each time, it watched intently as I examined the item, as if gauging my reaction.
"You're a curious one, aren't you?" I said, turning the crystal stone in my hand. "Smarter than most humans I know, too."
With a full belly and the fire's warmth, I felt more alert than I had since arriving in Frostfall. I decided to explore the immediate area, keeping the stream in sight as a reference point.
The young wolf followed, sometimes leading the way, sometimes circling back to check on me.
About fifty yards upstream, I noticed something odd – a section of bank too regular to be natural. I approached cautiously, brushing away snow to reveal worked stone beneath. Not rough cobbles, but precisely cut blocks fitted together without mortar.
The young wolf whined, suddenly nervous.
"What's wrong?" I asked, continuing to clear snow from the stonework. "This was made by someone. Something was here before."
As more snow fell away, markings became visible on the stone surface. Not random scratches, but deliberate patterns – curved lines arranged in circular formations, each about the size of my palm. They reminded me of the circuit-like patterns I'd seen in my own veins during resonance episodes.
The young wolf growled softly, pawing at my arm as if trying to pull me away.
"Alright, alright." I stood, brushing snow from my hands. "Not a fan of archaeology, I get it."
I took one last look at the strange markings. Some appeared weathered, others surprisingly crisp, as if recently carved. I committed the patterns to memory before allowing the wolf to lead me back toward the pack.
As we returned, I noticed something I'd missed earlier – a path leading away from the stream, too regular to be a game trail. The snow along it was disturbed in a pattern suggesting frequent use.
The young wolf followed my gaze, then deliberately stepped between me and the path, blocking my view. Its message was unmistakable: Not that way. Not now.
"Secrets, huh?" I said. "Fine. I've got twenty-eight days left. Plenty of time to figure out what you're hiding."
The wolf's ears flattened briefly before perking up again as it heard something I couldn't. It looked toward the forest, then back at me, excitement replacing its momentary concern.
Distant howls echoed through the trees – the hunting party returning. My guide yipped in response, then raced ahead, clearly expecting me to follow.
I cast one last glance at the hidden path before turning away. Whatever lay down that trail could wait.
The Temple of Echoes wasn't going anywhere. And neither, it seemed, was I.