Chapter 8 – Fire and Frost

The wind howled as Drakonix soared through the night, his wings cutting through the cold air like a blade. Voss gripped the dragon's back, her pulse still racing from the confrontation.

The hunter's words echoed in her mind.

"You're not the only one waking up."

Something was changing, and she could feel it in her bones. But right now, she had more pressing concerns—like the man seated behind her.

Soren.

His arms were wrapped loosely around her waist, his breath warm against her neck. He was trying not to lean on her too much, but she could feel the exhaustion in his body, the tension in his muscles.

"Stop being stubborn," she muttered, adjusting her grip on the reins.

Soren let out a breathless chuckle. "That's my line."

"You're injured."

"So are you."

She scowled but didn't argue. He had a point.

The battle had left them both battered, their bodies aching from wounds they couldn't afford to tend to right now. But Soren's warmth pressed against her back, steady despite his exhaustion, was a grounding presence.

For a long moment, neither of them spoke.

The world was quiet, save for the steady beat of Drakonix's wings.

Then—

"I saw what you did back there," Soren murmured. "The fire. The shadows."

Voss stiffened.

She knew he would bring it up. She just didn't know how to explain it.

"It's... different," she admitted, her voice quieter now. "It feels like something inside me is waking up."

Soren was silent for a moment before he shifted slightly. His fingers brushed against her hip—whether intentionally or not, she wasn't sure. But the contact sent a jolt through her, unexpected and unwelcome.

Or maybe... not so unwelcome.

"You scared them," he said finally. "The soldiers. The hunter."

Voss let out a slow breath. "Does it scare you?"

Soren didn't answer immediately. Instead, he reached up, brushing aside a stray strand of her hair, tucking it behind her ear. His touch lingered for a second longer than necessary.

"No," he said softly. "It doesn't scare me."

Voss swallowed.

She wasn't sure why those words made her heart hammer harder than any battle ever had.

But she knew one thing for certain.

Soren was the only person in this world who could look at her fire and shadow—and not flinch.

And that terrified her more than anything.

---

A Moment Beneath the Stars

Drakonix landed near the edge of a frozen lake, his breath coming in slow, heavy puffs as he settled onto the ice. The fight had taken its toll on him too.

Voss slid off his back, wincing as her feet touched the ground. Her muscles ached, but she ignored the pain.

Soren dismounted behind her, his boots crunching softly against the frost.

She turned to him. "We need to rest. Just for a while."

He nodded, but his gaze lingered on her longer than necessary. "Agreed."

They found a small alcove of ice and rock for shelter, and Voss set to work making a fire. Not with wood—there was none out here—but with her own hands.

She focused, calling forth the flames from within. The fire flickered to life in her palm, steady and controlled this time, the shadows held at bay.

For now.

Soren sat beside her, stretching out his legs with a quiet groan.

"You always make it look easy," he murmured, watching the flames.

"It's not," she admitted.

A beat of silence.

Then—

"You should rest," Soren said.

Voss huffed. "I could say the same to you."

A small smirk tugged at the corner of his lips. "Fine. How about this?"

Before she could react, he reached out and gently pulled her toward him.

She tensed—but only for a second.

Because his warmth was solid. Steady. And after everything that had happened, the exhaustion creeping through her bones, the pain laced through every muscle in her body—she didn't have the strength to fight it.

She let herself lean against him.

Just for a little while.

Soren shifted slightly, adjusting so she was more comfortable against his side. His arm wrapped loosely around her shoulders, his touch protective but unassuming.

They sat there in silence, the fire crackling before them, the cold held at bay.

Voss wasn't sure how much time passed before she spoke.

"Soren."

"Mm?"

She hesitated.

Then, quietly, "You're the only one who doesn't look at me like I'm a monster."

Soren's arm tightened around her, just slightly.

"You're not a monster, Voss," he murmured. "You never were."

She wanted to believe him.

She really did.

But the fire and shadow inside her whispered otherwise.

And she didn't know how much longer she could keep them under control.

Voss didn't sleep.

Soren did, eventually, his breathing slowing as the exhaustion finally pulled him under. His arm remained draped around her, his warmth steady even in sleep.

She should have moved away.

But she didn't.

Instead, she sat there, staring into the fire, watching the way the flames danced between her fingers when she reached out. Normally, fire comforted her. It was familiar. It had always been hers.

But now…

Now the shadows curled between the flames, flickering at the edges like something alive.

Something waiting.

She clenched her fists, snuffing them out.

She wasn't ready to deal with this. Not yet.

A shift beside her.

Soren stirred, his brow furrowing as he let out a quiet exhale. His grip around her shoulder tightened slightly before he blinked awake, his gaze meeting hers in the dim firelight.

"You're still up," he murmured. His voice was rough with sleep.

She forced a smirk. "Someone had to keep watch."

Soren hummed in response, his eyes searching hers. She could see the questions there, unspoken. But he didn't press.

Instead, he ran a hand through his hair, shaking off the last traces of sleep. "You should rest now."

"I'm fine."

He scoffed. "You say that even when you're on the brink of collapse."

"Because I'm not—"

Soren moved fast. One second, he was sitting there, watching her with that knowing look. The next, he reached up and brushed his fingers lightly against her temple.

Voss froze.

His touch was gentle, tracing a small cut on her forehead. "You're hurt."

"It's nothing," she muttered, but her voice wasn't as steady as she wanted it to be.

Soren's thumb lingered for a moment before he pulled back. His expression was unreadable, but his eyes… they saw too much.

Voss exhaled, shaking her head. "You're worse off than I am."

"Probably," he admitted, stretching out his shoulders with a wince. "But I'm not the one dealing with…" He hesitated, glancing at her hands. "Whatever that was back there."

Voss stiffened.

She knew what he meant. The fire. The shadows. The shift in her power.

She didn't want to talk about it.

She wasn't even sure what to say.

But before she could change the subject, Soren surprised her.

He reached for her hand.

Slowly. Gently.

Not demanding. Not forcing.

Just there.

She hesitated.

Then, without thinking, she let him take it.

His fingers were rough, calloused from years of battle, but warm. Steady. He turned her palm over, studying it. No fire. No shadows. Just her hand in his.

And then—he lifted it, pressing his lips lightly against her knuckles.

Voss's heart slammed against her ribs.

"You don't have to be afraid of it," he murmured against her skin.

She swallowed hard. "I'm not afraid."

Soren's lips curved against her hand. He knew she was lying.

But he didn't call her out on it.

Instead, he let her go, leaning back with a quiet sigh.

"We should move soon," he said, as if the moment between them hadn't just sent her entire body into chaos. "The High Lord won't wait forever."

Voss exhaled slowly, nodding.

Right.

The High Lord. The hunt. The battle that was still coming for them.

She pushed aside the lingering warmth of Soren's touch and forced herself to focus.

Because no matter what was happening between them—

Survival had to come first.

Even if it was getting harder to ignore the fire building between them.

Chapter 15 – Whispers of the Hunt

The morning air was crisp, tinged with frost. The distant mountains loomed in the horizon, jagged and unforgiving.

Voss and Soren moved quietly, their steps crunching against the snow-covered ground as they packed what little supplies they had left.

Drakonix stirred beside them, his massive form rising from his curled position, ice crusted along his wings from the night. His silver eyes met Voss's, searching, as if sensing the storm inside her.

She reached out, resting a hand against his scales. "I'm fine."

A lie.

Soren snorted behind her. "You should really stop saying that."

Voss shot him a look, but before she could respond, Drakonix suddenly lifted his head, his nostrils flaring.

Then, she felt it too.

A shift in the air. A pulse of something wrong.

Soren tensed beside her. His hand went to his sword. "We need to move."

Voss nodded, swallowing back the unease curling in her stomach.

The High Lord wouldn't have given up. Not after what happened in the canyon. Not after she had escaped.

And if he was coming—

She didn't want to be here when he arrived.

They mounted Drakonix quickly, his massive wings unfurling as he prepared for flight.

But just as they lifted off—

A voice, cold and sharp, whispered through the wind.

"You didn't think it would be that easy, did you?"

Voss's blood ran cold.

Soren cursed. "Damn it—"

The sky darkened.

And then the attack began.

---

An Enemy in the Skies

Drakonix twisted sharply, barely avoiding the first barrage of ice shards that came hurtling toward them.

Voss's breath hitched. She turned—

And saw them.

The High Lord's hunters.

A squad of riders, cloaked in black and silver, their dragons sleek and deadly. They moved in formation, cutting through the air like specters of death.

Leading them—

Volkarion.

And the man on his back.

The High Lord himself.

His gaze met hers across the sky, piercing and unreadable. But she could feel his amusement, the cold confidence in his stance.

"Run again, little flame," his voice echoed in her mind, laced with magic. "See how far you make it this time."

Voss gritted her teeth. Damn him.

Soren leaned close behind her, his breath warm against her ear. "We can't take them all."

No. They couldn't.

But they had to fight.

Because this time, there was no canyon to escape through.

This time, they had nowhere to run.

---

Fire and Frost Collide

The first hunter lunged.

Voss reacted on instinct.

She threw out her hand, and fire roared to life, a swirling inferno of gold and crimson. The flames slammed into the rider's dragon, sending it veering off course with a screech.

Drakonix dove, narrowly dodging another frost spear.

Soren twisted in the saddle, bow drawn in a flash. He loosed an arrow—precise, deadly. It struck a second hunter in the shoulder, knocking him from his dragon.

Two down.

Too many left.

Voss's pulse pounded. The High Lord hadn't moved yet. He simply watched, his presence looming, waiting.

Testing her.

He wants to see how far I've come.

Fine.

She'd show him.

She pressed her palms together—fire and shadow intertwining, crackling with untamed power.

Then she unleashed it.

A torrent of flames streaked with darkness erupted from her hands, carving through the sky. The hunters barely had time to react before it crashed into them, sending dragons shrieking in pain, riders scattering.

The magic pulsed in her veins—wild, intoxicating.

But something else stirred beneath it.

A whisper.

A presence.

Something old. Something waiting.

Her vision blurred for a split second—

And in that moment of distraction—

Pain.

Cold, sharp agony lanced through her side.

Voss gasped, her fire sputtering.

Soren's arms were around her in an instant. "Voss!"

Her vision cleared just in time to see him.

The High Lord.

His outstretched hand crackled with remnants of frost magic, his attack having found its mark.

And the look in his eyes—

Satisfaction.

As if he had been waiting for this exact moment.

"You are not ready," he murmured, his voice sinking into her bones.

Voss's breath came ragged. She clenched her fists.

She didn't care if she wasn't ready.

She would make herself ready.

And she would burn him for this.

The battle wasn't over yet.

It was only beginning.

The High Lord held her gaze for a moment longer, his expression unreadable.

Then—

He turned away.

With a flick of his wrist, his dragon veered back, its midnight wings cutting through the storm-choked sky. The other riders hesitated, their formation wavering as they glanced toward their master.

His voice cut through the wind like a blade.

"Kill them."

And then he was gone, vanishing into the clouds.

borth remained, his piercing gaze locked onto Voss. There was something almost curious in his expression, but he said nothing.

Instead, he lifted his hand, signaling to the hunters.

The battle would continue.

But their master had already lost interest.

---

Voss's breath was ragged. Blood dripped from her side, her limbs heavy from the weight of her magic.

They couldn't win this fight.

Not like this.

"Soren—" she gasped.

"I know." His grip tightened on her waist, steadying her in the saddle.

Drakonix roared, beating his wings harder as another frost spear came hurtling toward them. He twisted mid-air, dodging just in time, but the icy wind still stung like knives against Voss's skin.

They had to run.

"Hold on!" Soren shouted.

Drakonix plunged into a steep dive, banking toward the jagged cliffs below. The wind howled around them as arrows and spells streaked through the sky, barely missing their mark.

The hunters gave chase.

But Voss had fought them once before.

And this time, she knew their weaknesses.

She reached deep, past the fire, past the shadow—into something else. Something raw.

The air around her shook.

Drakonix flared his wings, and suddenly—

A surge of dark mist erupted from Voss's hands, swallowing them whole.

A shadowed veil, thick as night, blinding their enemies.

Soren's breath hitched. "That's new."

Voss didn't have time to process it.

Drakonix dove straight into the mist, disappearing from sight. The last thing she heard was borth's curse as they vanished into the storm.

And then—

Silence.

---

They flew for hours, cutting through the frozen valleys, until finally, the pursuit was gone.

Drakonix landed in a secluded hollow beneath a ridge, steam rising from his scales. He let out a low growl, shaking the ice from his wings.

Voss barely slid off the saddle before her legs gave out.

Soren caught her.

"Easy," he murmured, lowering her carefully onto a patch of dry rock.

Voss pressed a hand to her wound, wincing. "It's not deep."

"Liar," Soren muttered, already pulling out a strip of cloth.

She exhaled sharply as he wrapped the bandage around her side. His fingers were steady, careful, but she could feel the tension in his touch.

"You scared me back there," he admitted.

She looked up at him, surprised. Soren rarely admitted things like that.

"I'm still alive," she said softly.

His jaw tightened. "For how long, if you keep using power like that?"

She didn't answer. Because she wasn't sure.

Soren sighed, brushing a damp strand of hair from her face. "Just... don't do anything reckless without me, alright?"

There was something else in his voice. Something unspoken.

For a moment, Voss let herself lean into him. Just for a second. Just until the exhaustion faded.

Then—

The wind howled through the hollow, rattling the frozen trees above them. The night stretched on, heavy with silence, broken only by the slow, steady breaths of the dragons resting nearby.

Voss sat against the cold rock, her body aching. Soren had finally stopped fussing over her wounds, though his presence remained close—closer than usual.

He hadn't moved from her side.

Drakonix huffed softly, curling his wings around himself, his massive form half-shadowed in the dim firelight.

They were safe. For now.

Soren let out a breath, rolling his shoulders as he adjusted his grip on his sword. His gaze flickered toward the sky, scanning for any sign of pursuit.

"They'll come for us again," he murmured.

Voss didn't doubt it. The High Lord had left the hunt in the hands of his generals, and they wouldn't stop until they had her.

Or she stopped them first.

She shifted, ignoring the sting of her wounds. "We need to move soon."

Soren frowned. "You can barely stand."

"I don't have a choice."

He stared at her for a long moment before sighing, running a hand through his hair. "Fine. But we need a plan."

"We need more than a plan," a voice interrupted.

Both of them snapped to attention.

Soren's hand flew to his sword, while Voss reached for the dagger at her side.

From the shadows beyond the firelight, a figure stepped forward.

A man.

Tall, broad-shouldered, wrapped in a thick, dark cloak lined with wolf fur. His auburn hair was tied back in a loose knot, strands falling over sharp, knowing eyes. He moved with the ease of a seasoned fighter, his leather armor battered but well-kept.

Behind him, a dragon stood at the edge of the clearing, its golden eyes glowing like embers in the dark.

Voss didn't lower her blade. "Who are you?"

The man stopped just outside the fire's glow, lifting his hands slightly—non-threatening, but not submissive.

"Lucien." His voice was smooth, edged with quiet confidence. "And unless you want to be dead by morning, I suggest you listen."

Soren shifted, muscles tense. "We don't take orders from strangers."

Lucien smirked. "Good. That means you're not complete fools."

Voss narrowed her eyes, studying him. There was no insignia on his armor, no crest to mark him as belonging to any of the High Lord's forces. But that didn't mean he wasn't dangerous.

Still, there was something about him—something sharp and observant. He had been watching them.

She took a slow step forward, ignoring the way her body protested. "You followed us."

Lucien shrugged. "Not hard, considering the chaos you left behind." He tilted his head. "You're lucky you lost the hunters. They don't usually give up so easily."

Voss's grip tightened on her blade. "We didn't need luck."

Lucien chuckled. "No, I suppose not." His gaze flickered to her hands, to the faint traces of darkness still clinging to her fingers. "Not with power like that."

Soren stiffened. "What do you want?"

Lucien's smirk faded.

"To survive," he said simply. "Same as you."

For a moment, there was silence.

Then—

A distant howl echoed through the night.

Lucien's expression darkened. "They're tracking you."

Voss's stomach clenched.

Soren swore under his breath, glancing at her. "We need to go."

Lucien didn't move. "I know a place. A safehouse, a few hours from here."

Voss hesitated.

Trusting a stranger was dangerous.

But staying here was worse.

She looked at Soren. His jaw was tight, but he gave a small nod.

Voss turned back to Lucien. "Lead the way."

Lucien smiled, but there was steel behind it.

"Try to keep up."

And with that, they vanished into the night.