The young man led us through the great hall to a small chamber tucked behind a tapestry depicting hunters bringing down a frost lynx. Elder Tannin and Elder Senna followed, their faces grim in the dim light. The room smelled of dust and old leather, with shelves lining the walls and bundles of dried herbs hanging from the ceiling beams.
In the center sat a chest. Not large or ornate, just a simple wooden box reinforced with iron bands, its dark surface scarred by time and travel. A heavy lock secured the lid.
"This was recovered from the last expedition," Tannin said, producing a key from within his robes. "Three items were carried back by the survivors. The rest remained locked away, too painful to examine."
Elder Senna stepped forward, her silvery braids catching the lantern light. "We had hoped never to open this again."
The lock clicked, and Tannin lifted the lid.
I peered inside, conscious of Laina moving closer behind me, her warmth at my shoulder. The chest contained an assortment of items: scrolls tied with faded ribbon, a small leather-bound book, a tarnished compass, several pieces of jewelry, and wrapped in oiled cloth, what appeared to be weapons.
"These belonged to the Knights who never returned," Elder Senna explained, lifting out a silver medallion. "Some were recovered by the survivors, others found later by search parties that ventured partway up the mountain."
I nodded, studying each item carefully. "And you think these will help me survive where fifty trained Knights failed?"
Tannin's good eye narrowed. "No. But knowledge might."
He reached into the chest and unwrapped a bundle of cloth. Inside lay two matching daggers, their handles wrapped in what looked like dark leather with silver wire inlay. But it was the blades that caught my attention – blue-white metal that seemed to absorb the lantern light rather than reflect it.
"These are Frostbite and Heartseeker," Elder Senna said, her voice dropping to near-whisper. "Twin daggers forged by the last fire priests specifically to combat the Winter King's influence."
I reached for them, hesitating just above the handles. "May I?"
Tannin nodded.
The moment my fingers closed around the hilts, a strange sensation pulsed up my arms – not painful, but intense, like plunging into cold water and feeling it rush against bare skin. The daggers felt unusually light, almost as if they wanted to move on their own.
A sharp crack of static made me flinch. Somewhere in the distance, a bell rang – clear and resonant, though nobody else seemed to hear it.
"What are these made from?"
"The metal was mined from the deepest part of the Sorrow Range," Senna explained. "Where the boundary between our world and the eternal winter is thinnest. The fire priests imbued them with their last magic."
I glanced at Laina, who was watching me with undisguised interest.
"They've never done that before," she said.
"Done what?"
"Responded." She gestured to the daggers. "Many have held them over the years. They've always been just... cold metal. Dead."
I looked down at the weapons in my hands. They felt right somehow, like extensions of my arms. "How do they work?"
"The legends say they draw heat from the wielder to counter the Winter King's cold," Tannin explained. "The more skilled the wielder, the more effective they become."
Great. Another thing I needed to learn in my severely limited time.
"What else?" I asked, carefully setting the daggers aside.
Tannin pulled out the small leather journal. "This belonged to Torsten. His account of what they found at the Temple."
My fingers twitched as I took it. The leather was cracked and worn, the pages warped from moisture. "Has anyone read it?"
"Torsten forbade it," Senna said. "Said some knowledge was too dangerous to share."
I tucked the journal inside my jacket. "Where is he now?"
"The healing house," Laina answered. "His wounds are severe, but he's awake."
I stood, the daggers in one hand, the journal in the other. "I need to speak with him."
***
The healing house sat on the village edge, a low stone building with smoke rising from multiple chimneys. Inside, the air hung heavy with the scent of herbs and tallow candles. A gray-haired woman directed me to a small room at the back.
Torsten lay on a narrow bed. His eyes opened as I approached – alert despite his weakened state.
"Come to finish what the wolves started?"
I pulled a stool beside his bed and sat, placing the daggers across my knees. "You tried to sacrifice me to save yourself."
"Yes."
The simple admission caught me off guard. I'd expected denial or justification.
"And yet here you are," he continued, "holding the very weapons meant to kill the Winter King." His eyes moved to the daggers, then back to my face. "Ironic."
"Why did you do it?"
Torsten shifted, wincing as the movement pulled at his wounds. "I knew you were different from the moment we found you. There's a pattern to how strangers appear in Frostfall. They arrive with purpose, though few understand what that purpose is."
"And you think my purpose is to die for you?"
A ghost of a smile crossed his face. "No. I thought my purpose was to deliver you to the Temple."
"By leaving me to the Reflectors."
"By ensuring you reached the Temple – one way or another." He gestured weakly.
I leaned forward. "What does that mean?"
His eyes drifted to the ceiling. "The Temple echoes differently for each person. For me, it showed endless hallways of ice where I wandered forever, watching my companions die. For you... it might show something else."
"That's not an answer."
"Some things can't be explained, only experienced." His gaze returned to mine, suddenly sharp. "You're not from here. You don't belong to this world."
My pulse quickened, but I kept my face neutral. "Neither do you, if what you say about strangers is true."
He shook his head. "Different. I've been here for decades. My blood has frozen and thawed with the seasons. You... you're still warm."
I stood, tucking the journal back into my jacket. "I don't trust you."
"Good. Trust no one in Frostfall. Not even yourself." He closed his eyes. "Especially not at the Temple."
I turned to leave, then paused. "Is there anything in this journal that will actually help me?"
Without opening his eyes, Torsten replied, "The truth always helps. Whether it saves you is another matter."
***
The clearing behind Laina's home offered privacy and enough space to practice. Morning light filtered through the pines, casting long shadows across the snow. My breath fogged in the cold air as I moved through the forms Laina demonstrated.
"Your grip is too tight," she said, adjusting my fingers on the dagger's hilt. "Let the blade become part of your arm."
I relaxed my hand, feeling the now-familiar tingle as the dagger seemed to settle against my palm.
"Better. Now try again."
I lunged forward, slashing at the wooden post we'd wrapped in hide. The blade cut through with surprising ease, leaving a trace of frost along the edges of the cut.
"You're a quick learner." Laina observed.
"Necessity," I replied, stepping back to catch my breath. My muscles ached from the unfamiliar movements, but something felt different today – my reflexes sharper, my coordination improved. The daggers were changing me, or perhaps awakening something that had always been there.
"In your vision," Laina said, leaning against a tree trunk, "what exactly did you see at the Temple?"
I hesitated, constructing the lie carefully. "Fragments mostly. A hall of ice. A throne room. Something pulsing with cold light."
"The Heart."
"Yes." I executed another sequence of movements, finding a rhythm. "And a figure seated on the throne, though I couldn't see his face."
Laina pushed away from the tree and drew her own blade – a longer hunting knife with a bone handle. "My father was the finest swordsman in the Knights of the Eternal Flame. He taught me everything he knew before he left."
She demonstrated a complex series of movements, her body flowing like water. "He said if he didn't return, I should continue his work. Prepare for the day when someone would finally end the curse."
"Is that why you agreed to help me? You think I'm that person?"
She sheathed her knife. "I agreed to help because you're the first stranger in ten years to speak of the Temple and live. Whether you're the one to end the curse... we'll see."
I wiped sweat from my brow despite the cold. "Your father. What was he like?"
Something softened in her face. "Principled. Devoted. He believed in duty above all else." She picked up a handful of snow, compressing it between her palms.
"You miss him."
"Every day." She tossed the snowball at a distant tree, hitting it squarely. "The worst part was not knowing. For years, I imagined him still alive, trapped somewhere in the Temple."
I thought of my own mother back in New Vein, working double shifts at the core processing plant. Did she wonder where I was now? Had someone told her I'd been chosen by the Domain?
"We should continue," I said, raising the daggers again. "I need to be ready."
***
Maps covered Laina's kitchen table – old, hand-drawn charts of the mountain passes leading to the Sorrow Range. I traced potential routes with my finger while she marked dangerous areas.
"The Grief Marshes will be the first major obstacle," she explained. "The ice is thin, and what lies beneath... isn't just water."
I nodded, making mental notes. Torsten's journal lay open beside the maps, its cramped handwriting difficult to decipher. Most entries were mundane accounts of the expedition's progress, but one passage had caught my attention:
The Temple tests you. It knows what you seek before you do. Harric thought we were there to kill the Winter King. I wonder if that was our mistake.
"How long to reach the Temple?" I asked, calculating days in my head.
Laina considered. "Fifteen days if we push hard and weather holds. More if we encounter trouble."
Fifteen days with seventeen left with my quest. The timeline was tighter than I'd hoped.
"We'll need food, medical supplies, proper clothing," I murmured, making a list. "And weapons that work against Reflectors."
"Fire is still their primary weakness," Laina said. "I've prepared special arrows with oil-soaked tips that ignite on impact. And the daggers, of course."
I picked up Frostbite, studying the strange runes etched along its blade. "Do you know what these mean?"
She leaned closer, her hair brushing my shoulder. "Ancient language. The fire priests kept their secrets well. But legend says the daggers can pierce the Winter King's frozen heart."
"If we can get close enough to use them."
Laina's expression hardened. "We'll get close enough."
I closed Torsten's journal, my mind racing. "We leave at first light tomorrow?"
She nodded. "Everything will be ready."
***
Sleep eluded me that night. I lay on the floor in Laina's room, staring at the ceiling beams, the twin daggers beside my pillow.
A soft noise outside pulled me from my thoughts. I stood up, daggers in hand, and moved to the window.
A shadow stood in the moonlight – tall, lean, familiar. Joran.
I pulled on my boots and slipped outside, the cold night air biting at my skin.
"Spying?" I asked, keeping my voice low to avoid waking Laina.
Joran turned, his face half-hidden in shadow. "Waiting."
"For what?"
"For you to realize you need me." He stepped closer, and I noticed he carried a pack and wore traveling clothes. "I'm coming with you."
I studied him, remembering how he'd tracked the wolves through the snow, how he'd stood by while Torsten prepared to sacrifice me. "Why would I agree to that?"
"Torsten is my uncle," he said, his voice tight. "I won't just sit around here while you go chasing glory and finishing his story."
"Glory?" I almost laughed. "I'm trying to survive, not win accolades."
"Then you'll need help." He gestured to the mountains looming in the distance. "I know those paths better than anyone. I've tracked game where others fear to tread."
"And left me to die when it suited you."
His jaw tightened. "I follow orders. Always have."
"And now?"
"Now I make my own choices." He shifted his pack. "Torsten believes you're meant for something. I don't share his faith, but I respect his judgment."
The door opened behind me. Laina stood framed in the light, a knife visible at her belt.
"Joran," she acknowledged. "Come to see us off?"
"Come to join you," he replied.
Laina's eyes narrowed. "We don't need a spy in our camp."
"You need a tracker," he countered. "Someone who can read the weather, find game, spot Reflector signs before they're upon you."
I looked between them, feeling the tension crackling like static. Laina clearly distrusted him, but his skills would be valuable. And keeping a potential enemy close had its advantages.
"He comes," I decided, ignoring Laina's sharp look. "We need every advantage we can get."
Joran nodded once, his expression unreadable. "I'll be ready at dawn."
As he walked away, Laina stepped closer to me. "You're making a mistake."
"Probably," I admitted. "But I'd rather have him where I can see him than following behind."
She studied me for a moment, then sighed. "Your decision. But I'll be watching him."
"Good." I looked up at the stars, so much brighter here than in New Vein's polluted sky. "We should all be watching each other."
I felt the weight of the daggers in my hands, the journal in my pocket, and the invisible timer counting down above my head. Seventeen days to save a world I barely understood – or die trying.
Either way, dawn would come too soon.