Chapter 6 – A Kingdom of Frost

The wind howled through the valley, carrying the scent of snow and blood.

Voss stood at the edge of the ruined watchtower, staring into the darkness.

Her body ached from battle, her wounds still raw.

But her mind was sharper than ever.

The High Lord would retaliate.

She knew it.

The question was how soon.

Behind her, the fire crackled weakly. Drakonix lay nearby, his silver eyes glowing in the dim light.

Soren slept fitfully, his face still pale from blood loss.

She had pushed him too hard.

And now she had to decide their next move.

We're running out of time.

She clenched her fists.

They needed more strength. More allies.

And she knew exactly where to find them.

The remnants of Skaikru.

---

The Gathering Storm

Far to the north, within the heart of Eldridge, the High Lord watched the storm gather.

He stood atop his citadel, his frost-cloaked city stretching beneath him like a kingdom carved from ice and steel.

Below, legions of warriors trained in the frozen courtyards, their breath misting in the frigid air.

Dragon riders patrolled the skies, their beasts circling like vultures.

And deep within the citadel, the war council gathered.

The doors to the chamber groaned open.

borth stepped inside, his armor gleaming beneath the pale torchlight.

"My Lord." He knelt. "The riders await your command."

The High Lord did not turn.

Instead, he raised a hand.

The flames in the brazier before him darkened, twisting into shadows and ice.

A vision flickered within the embers—Voss.

She stood atop the ruined watchtower, her face set in determination.

The High Lord's lips curled.

She does not yet understand what she is.

He exhaled slowly, frost curling from his breath.

"She believes she can fight me."

The brazier flared.

"She will learn."

His fingers closed, and the flames vanished.

He turned to borth, his voice a whisper of ice and death.

"Burn the valley."

borth did not hesitate.

"As you command."

---

A Desperate Flight

The first sign of danger was the wind.

Voss felt it before she saw it—a shift in the air, a cold that did not belong.

Then the sky ignited.

Drakonix roared, his massive form rising as the first wave of fire and ice crashed down.

Voss spun, her instincts screaming. "Move!"

The ruins exploded.

A legion of riders descended from the clouds, their dragons tearing through the sky like falling stars.

The High Lord's forces had arrived.

Too soon.

Drakonix launched into the air, his wings splitting the storm.

Soren barely had time to grab his sword before Voss hauled him onto Drakonix's back.

Then they were flying.

Through the chaos. Through the fire.

Through the vengeance of the High Lord.

---

The valley burned.

Flames and frost clashed in the skies, turning the battlefield into a storm of destruction.

Voss grit her teeth as a frostclad beast descended toward them, its rider cloaked in midnight armor.

A commander.

Drakonix twisted midair, his wings carving through the wind.

But the enemy was faster than expected.

A spear of black ice shot toward them.

Voss barely had time to react.

Then—

Impact.

Pain exploded through her side.

Drakonix roared, diving low, the wind ripping through her wounds.

They were falling.

She forced herself to focus. They had to land.

Had to survive.

Had to—

Darkness.

And then—

Nothing.

The world was pain.

Voss gasped awake, her lungs burning, her body half-buried in snow and ash.

Her vision blurred. Blood dripped down her side, staining the frost beneath her.

For a moment, she couldn't remember where she was.

Then it hit her.

The ambush. The fall. The High Lord's forces.

She groaned, forcing herself to move. Her muscles screamed in protest, but she pushed through the pain. She had to find Soren.

And Drakonix.

A shadow loomed over her.

She barely had time to react before a blade pressed against her throat.

"Don't move," a voice growled.

Voss's eyes snapped into focus.

A warrior stood over her, clad in tattered furs and dented armor. His face was half-burned, his eyes cold.

Not one of the High Lord's men.

A raider.

She lunged.

Pain flared through her body, but she didn't care.

She caught his wrist, twisted, and drove her knee into his gut.

The man gasped, stumbling back.

Voss snatched his dagger and buried it in his throat.

His body collapsed.

She didn't wait to catch her breath.

She turned, scanning the battlefield.

Where are they?

Then—

A roar split the air.

Drakonix.

---

A Battle on Broken Ground

The dragon tore through the wreckage, his silver scales streaked with blood.

He was injured.

But still standing.

Still fighting.

Voss ran toward him, ignoring the pain.

"Soren!" she called.

A figure stirred near Drakonix's wing.

Soren pushed himself up, his face pale, but his eyes sharp.

"I'm alive," he grunted. "Barely."

Voss exhaled.

There was no time for relief.

The sound of approaching hooves made her turn.

A second wave of riders was coming.

More soldiers. More enemies.

More blood to be spilled.

She clenched her fists.

She had no choice.

They had to fight.

---

Unleashing the Fire Within

The first rider charged.

Voss met him head-on.

She ducked beneath his sword, twisting away as she grabbed his arm and yanked him from the saddle.

Before he could react, she drove her blade through his chest.

One down.

Another came from the side, his spear aimed at her heart.

Drakonix struck first.

His massive tail lashed out, sending the rider crashing into the ice.

Soren fought beside her, his sword moving in deadly arcs.

But there were too many.

They were being pushed back.

Voss gritted her teeth.

She needed more power.

And then—

Something inside her snapped.

The air shimmered.

The fire in her veins exploded.

And shadow bled into the flames.

Her power was awakening.

Again.

---

The High Lord Watches

Far away, within the icebound towers of Eldridge, the High Lord watched.

His magic swirled within the frost-covered mirror before him, revealing Voss's battle.

He saw the flames.

Saw the shadow creeping through her fire.

Saw the power she was beginning to unlock.

His lips curled.

"She's learning," he murmured.

A whisper of amusement.

A whisper of anticipation.

He turned to the figure standing beside him—borth.

"Send word," the High Lord said.

borth's expression remained unreadable. "To whom?"

The High Lord's gaze darkened.

"To all of them."

He turned back to the mirror, watching as Voss's fire turned to shadow.

"The real hunt begins now."