The northern wind cut like sharpened glass as Vanda and Daya crossed the frozen ridge before dawn.
Snow groaned beneath their boots, each step muffled by a vast, lonely silence. The pale horizon glowed with the faintest smear of pink, but the rest of the world lay in blue-gray shadow.
Daya pulled her cloak tighter. "I've never felt cold like this," she murmured, her breath a silver wisp.
Vanda adjusted the strap of his travel pack and offered a small smile. "The north tests every creature. Even dragons prefer warmth."
"Do you?" she teased, teeth chattering.
He gave a low chuckle. "I do. But cold sharpens the senses. Listen—do you hear that?"
Daya stilled. At first she caught only the endless hiss of wind across ice. Then something else—a faint, low hum, so soft it could have been the earth itself breathing.
"What is it?" she asked.
Vanda's golden eyes scanned the expanse. "Magic. Old magic." He crouched, pressing a palm to the crusted snow. Heat shimmered faintly beneath his skin, and the hum grew clearer. "It's beneath us."
Daya knelt beside him. "It feels… alive."
The sound deepened, resonating through the frozen ground. Vanda frowned. "Not natural. Something is stirring far below, older than any kingdom."
They rose and continued northward, following the invisible pulse. The sun climbed reluctantly, painting the snowfields with a cold silver light. Hours passed in measured silence until jagged ice cliffs appeared ahead, towering like the walls of an ancient fortress.
As they neared the cliffs, a shadow flickered across the snow—a lone raven, black as midnight, circling once before vanishing into the glare. Daya shivered.
"An omen?" she asked.
"Or a messenger," Vanda said, scanning the sky. "Ravens often serve sorcerers."
They pressed on, reaching a narrow pass where the cliffs met. Wind whistled through the gap, carrying a strange metallic scent. Vanda paused, nostrils flaring.
"Blood," he said quietly.
Daya's stomach tightened. "From what?"
Before he could answer, a shape emerged from behind an ice boulder—a man, slumped and half-buried in snow. His cloak bore the crest of Arven's royal scouts. Vanda knelt, checking for life. The man's skin was pale and rigid, his eyes wide with a frozen terror.
"He's gone," Vanda said grimly. "No wounds. Just… frozen from within."
Daya touched the man's sleeve, flinching at the unnatural chill. "What could do this?"
"Something that drains heat, life itself," Vanda replied. He searched the body and found a sealed scroll in the scout's stiff hand. Breaking the wax, he read aloud:
> "Strange lights seen above the Glacier Hollow. Green fire… voices beneath the ice… the relic stirs."
The last words blurred into a jagged line, as if the scribe had been interrupted mid-stroke.
"Relic," Daya whispered. "Like a legend."
Vanda's jaw tightened. "An ancient dragon relic, if the old stories are true. Artifacts left from the First Brood. They hold power enough to bend flame and shadow."
"Could someone be trying to awaken it?"
"Perhaps," he said, rising. "And if so, we must reach it first."
They moved carefully through the narrow pass, the hum beneath their feet growing stronger. The air grew colder, heavy with an almost metallic taste that coated the tongue.
As dusk bled into twilight, faint green light flickered along the distant ice—a spectral glow that danced like ghost-fire. Daya caught Vanda's sleeve.
"There," she breathed.
He nodded. "The relic calls."
They set up a small camp in the lee of a rock outcrop, the green shimmer pulsing on the horizon. Vanda built a fire with a single breath of dragon heat, the flames springing to life with a golden flare.
Daya huddled near the warmth, eyes fixed on the ghostly glow. "Do you think whoever left that scout here still waits for us?"
"Maybe," Vanda said, settling beside her. "But it's not them that worries me. The relic itself… such power can corrupt even the purest heart."
She glanced at him. "Would it tempt you?"
He looked into the fire, the reflection of the flames flickering in his eyes. "It might. Dragon blood is drawn to old magic like a moth to flame. But I have reason to resist."
Her heart quickened. "Reason?"
He turned to her, gaze steady. "You."
Heat rose in her cheeks, rivaling the fire's warmth. "Me?"
"You remind me what power is for," he said softly. "To protect. To build. Not to dominate."
Silence settled, heavy and intimate. The firelight painted his face in amber and gold, highlighting the faint shimmer of scales along his jaw. For a moment the cold world fell away, leaving only their shared breath and the low thrum of the relic far beneath the ice.
Daya broke the quiet. "Then we face it together."
"Yes," he said. "Together."
A distant howl echoed across the glacier—neither wolf nor wind, but something older, deeper. Vanda's eyes flared, catching the green glint from the horizon.
"Rest while you can," he said, rising to scan the darkened pass. "Tomorrow, we meet what waits beneath the ice."