Snow crunched beneath their boots as they began the long climb.
The air thinned with each step, the silence of the Frostspine broken only by the groan of shifting ice and the low whistle of wind across stone.
Kael trudged behind Kairis, his breath forming pale clouds. "Remind me again," he muttered, "who thought walking straight into a frozen deathtrap was a brilliant plan?"
Kairis didn't look back. "You can always stay behind."
"Tempting," Kael said, smirking. "But then who'd keep you from picking fights with the wind?"
Her glare over the shoulder was sharp enough to cut through the cold, but it only made him grin wider.
The higher they went, the harsher the wind grew. Clouds rolled in, thick and heavy, swallowing what little light lingered. The sky hung low, gray and endless, pressing down upon the ridges.
Lyra walked ahead beside Azel, her cloak tugged by the wind. Frost gathered in her hair like threads of silver. The air carried a hum beneath the storm — faint, steady — like something ancient remembering her name.
The path narrowed, sloping over a ridge of glassy ice. Lyra stepped forward carefully, her boots slipping for the barest second.
Before she could fall, a strong hand caught her wrist.
Azel's grip was firm, steady. Their eyes met — just for a moment — the storm roaring around them.
"You should watch your step," he said quietly.
Lyra's breath misted between them. "You should stop always being there when I fall."
Something flickered behind his calm — a faint, almost hidden smile. "Habit, I suppose."
He helped her back upright, then turned away without another word. But the warmth of his hand lingered, even against the cold.
They climbed on.
Kairis slowed suddenly, her eyes narrowing against the blur of snow. "Do you hear that?"
Azel lifted his hand. They stopped.
For a moment, only the wind answered. Then—claws scraping against ice.
Shapes moved through the storm: hulking forms with hides like frozen stone, eyes glowing faint blue. Frostspawn. Their breath misted white, frost creeping outward with every step.
Kael sighed softly. "Company."
"Stay behind," Azel said, his tone like tempered steel. Frost spiraled from his fingertips, the ground groaning beneath him.
The first creature lunged. Azel slammed his palm down, ice bursting upward into a wall. The impact cracked through the ridge, shards scattering like shattered glass. With a flick of his wrist, the wall exploded outward — jagged spikes piercing the beast through.
Another charged from the side. Kairis raised her hand, golden light blazing in her palm. Radiance flared, burning through the blizzard and searing the creature's skin until it crumpled, shrieking into the snow.
Lyra stepped forward, her cloak snapping in the wind. Calm. Controlled. The storm bent around her, as if unwilling to touch her.
When a Frostspawn broke through the haze, lunging straight for Kairis, Lyra didn't hesitate.
Her hand lifted — a swift, sure motion.
Dark tendrils laced with silver light erupted from her palm, cracking through the air. They struck the creature mid-charge, wrapping around its body before it shattered into shards of ice.
Silence followed.
The air trembled with fading power. Kairis's light dimmed. Azel lowered his hand slowly, gaze steady on Lyra — not shocked, but seeing.
Lyra exhaled, the energy fading from her fingertips. Her voice came even, resolute.
"They'll keep coming. We move before the next wave finds us."
Azel nodded once. "Your control's sharper than before."
Lyra met his eyes. "I've had time to learn."
Kael leaned his staff against his shoulder, his grin faint. "Good. Someone has to match her dramatics," he said, nodding toward Kairis.
Kairis shot him a look that could melt stone. "You're welcome to walk ahead next time."
"Not a chance," he said lightly.
No one laughed, but something like warmth flickered through the cold between them.
The wind rose again, carrying the scent of ice — and the whisper of something older, waiting.
Together, they pressed onward into the gray.
The storm thickened as they climbed.
By the time they reached the upper ridge, the path had nearly vanished beneath the drifts. Every breath burned cold, every sound swallowed by the wind.
"Here," Azel said at last, raising his arm toward a cleft of stone half-buried in ice. A faint blue shimmer clung to it — not natural, but placed there long ago.
They forced their way inside.
The cavern was shallow, little more than a hollow carved by the wind. The walls gleamed with frozen veins, catching the faint light of Kairis's glowstone. It wasn't warmth, but it was shelter.
Kael dropped his pack with a groan. "Finally. Somewhere that doesn't feel like it's plotting my death."
"You'd be surprised," Kairis muttered, brushing snow from her shoulder.
Lyra sank onto a flat slab of stone, drawing her cloak tighter. Her breath came in slow curls. The cold no longer hurt her the way it once had — not since the chaos within her had learned to burn quietly beneath her skin.
Azel crouched near the entrance, tracing his hand across the stone. Ice bloomed beneath his touch, sealing off the worst of the wind. The sound outside dulled to a low, distant hum.
For a while, no one spoke. The silence wasn't comfortable, but it wasn't hostile either — heavy, filled with unspoken thoughts.
Kael eventually leaned back, his voice echoing faintly. "If this is only halfway, I'd rather not imagine what lives at the top."
Kairis gave him a look. "Then don't."
He smirked but fell silent.
Lyra's gaze drifted toward the mouth of the cave. There was no sky — only an endless gray, thick with snow and shadow. Yet for a breath, something flickered beyond it — faint threads of silver light, shifting through the storm like the echo of constellations.
Not seen.
Remembered.
Shapes wove through the mist — fragments of old names: The Veilkeeper. The Shattered Crown. The Pale Archer. Faint and distant, not light but memory itself, bleeding through the clouds for the briefest instant.
Then they were gone.
"You saw it," Azel said quietly, not looking at her.
Lyra hesitated. "Saw what?"
"The sky that isn't there." His voice was low, thoughtful. "It happens sometimes, up here. The mountain remembers what the world forgot."
"Constellations," she murmured, still staring into the gray. "But how…?"
"Not stars," he said. "Ghosts of them."
The words hung between them, fragile and cold.
Kael gave a half-laugh. "Wonderful. Haunted sky. Just what I needed."
No one answered him.
Azel leaned back against the wall. "Rest while you can. The climb tomorrow will be worse."
Lyra nodded faintly, though her eyes lingered on the mouth of the cave — on the faint shimmer where the constellations had been. For a moment, it felt as though something vast had looked back at her.
Then the wind howled, and all was white again.
Kairis stirred from where she sat near the faint glowstone, her voice quiet but edged with thought.
"You think it's real?"
Azel opened one eye. "What?"
"The sky," she said. "Those lights. People used to say they were the eyes of the old remnants Watching. Waiting."
Kael snorted softly. "Sounds like a story to keep children from wandering out at night."
"Maybe," Kairis murmured. "Or maybe they were something else."
Azel's gaze lingered on the sealed entrance, the frost glittering faintly beneath the glow. "My mother told tales of them," he said at last. "Remnants that guided mortals long ago — protectors, wanderers, warriors written in the heavens. But that was before the rift. Before the skies went dark."
Lyra lifted her head. "You mean when the stars fell?"
Azel nodded. "If that ever truly happened. No one remembers how or why. Some say the higher remnants turned against the lesser. Others say the gods themselves erased the heavens to keep mortals blind."
He gave a faint shrug, the kind that carried years of disbelief. "It's just myth now. No one's seen real starlight in generations."
The words settled heavy in the air.
Lyra's hand brushed the edge of her cloak, where faint threads of silver shimmered — only for a moment before fading again. She didn't know why her chest tightened at his words, why the thought of forgotten constellations felt like loss.
Kairis watched her, eyes narrowing slightly. "And yet, sometimes myths remember what we forget."
Kael stretched, yawning. "Or they're just stories told by half-frozen people in caves."
Kairis shot him a look. "You can sleep outside if you want to test that theory."
He held up his hands, grinning. "I'll stay with the myths."
Azel shook his head, almost smiling. "Rest," he said again. "We move at first light — or what passes for it."
The cave fell quiet. Only the soft hum of wind pressed against the ice, carrying the echo of something old — names written once in light, now lost to shadow.
And as Lyra closed her eyes, for the briefest heartbeat, she thought she heard them whisper back.