Chapter 7: Echoes in the Snow

The cave was a hollow wound in the mountain's side, its mouth jagged with frost-rimed stone, its depths swallowed by a darkness that seemed to breathe. Kael stumbled inside, his boots scraping against the uneven floor, each step a jolt of pain radiating through his battered body.

The shard pulsed in his chest, a cold rhythm keeping him upright, but it couldn't mend the exhaustion settling into his bones like frost into stone. His arms ached, muscles screaming with every movement. The stolen sword at his hip felt like a leaden weight. Blood—his own, Valthor's, Torvald's—crusted his hands, flaking off in brittle shards that scattered across the cave floor like ash.

Torvald followed, a hulking shadow in the dim light. His maul slung across his back, his shoulder a mess of blood and torn steel. The wound from the shard's blast had stopped bleeding, but the stain spread dark across his armor—a grim reminder of Kael's loss of control. His breath came in ragged gasps, each one a hiss of pain, but his eyes were sharp, flint-hard. He bore into Kael with a weight that made the air heavier than the stone around them. The Iron Pact had held through the battle in the pass, but it was fraying, stretched to breaking. Kael could feel the tension like a blade at his throat.

"Weak," the shard whispered, its tone a blade's edge, cold and unyielding. "He'll turn on you."

Kael's jaw clenched, his hands trembling—not from the cold, but from the shard's influence, its whispers planting seeds of paranoia. The cave's walls seemed to close in, shadows shifting like unseen eyes. He glanced at Torvald, searching for a sign of betrayal.

He's hurt because of me. Guilt stabbed at his chest, but the shard twisted it, turning it into suspicion. He'll use it against me. They all will.

He exhaled sharply, forcing the thought down, watching his breath mist in the frigid air. But the seed was planted, and Kael hated how it felt like truth.

Torvald dropped to one knee, his maul clattering to the stone. His good hand clutched his shoulder. "We can't stay long," he muttered. "Valthor's warband'll regroup—come back stronger. We need to move deeper into the mountains, find a holdout." He glanced up, his usual grin absent, his gaze hard as stone. "But first, we need to talk, Draven. That… thing in you—it's a problem."

Kael's grip on the sword tightened, his knuckles white. The shard's pulse quickened. He didn't want to talk—didn't want to face what he'd done, what he was becoming. The memory of the pass was a raw wound: the jagged blue arc tearing through the air, splintering stone, slicing into Torvald's shoulder.

He met Torvald's gaze, flint-gray eyes burning with guilt and defiance. "I didn't mean to," he said, voice low. "It… it got away from me."

Torvald's laugh was harsh, more snarl than mirth. "Got away from you?" He stood, wincing as he rolled his shoulder, blood flaking from the wound in dark, brittle shards. "That blast could've killed me, runt. You're a walking hazard—more dangerous than Valthor's dogs."

He stepped closer, voice dropping to a growl. "I swore the Iron Pact, Draven. I'm with you—against them all. But if you can't control that thing, you're as much a threat to me as they are. Fix it, or I walk."

Kael's chest tightened. Torvald was right—he was a liability, a danger to the only ally he had left. But the shard's whispers surged, feeding his doubt.

"He threatens you," the voice hissed. "End him."

Kael's vision blurred. The rage rose, hot and unbidden. His sword was half-drawn before he caught himself. He froze, breath ragged, forcing the fury down. His hands trembled with the effort.

"I'll fix it," he said, voice low. A promise—to Torvald, but mostly to himself. "I have to."

Torvald's eyes narrowed, doubt flickering in his gaze, but he nodded once. Without another word, he turned and limped deeper into the cave, his maul dragging behind him, leaving a faint trail of blood on the stone.

Kael followed, his steps heavy. The shard's pulse matched the pounding of his heart. The air grew colder, the walls slick with ice, the darkness pressing in like a living thing. His breath misted in the dim glow of the shard, casting jagged shadows—a reminder of its power, its cost.

They stopped at a narrow chamber, its floor littered with broken shale, its walls etched with faint, weathered marks—runes. Kael knelt, eyes sharpening as he traced them with his fingers. Older than Veyrholt's noble houses, their lines jagged and precise, they glowed faintly with the same blue light as the shard.

The shard pulsed, uneasy. A tremor echoed in Kael's bones. The memory of the cloaked figure's words whispered in his mind:

"The vessel wakes, but the forge waits."

They're connected. The shard, the figure, these runes—they were all part of something bigger.

Torvald crouched beside him, running a calloused hand over the marks. His face was unreadable. "Old magic," he muttered. "Or something worse. Seen marks like these before—on the borderlands, near the Iron Rivers. Never meant anything good." His eyes flicked to Kael. "This tied to that thing in you?"

Kael didn't answer. The shard's pulse quickened. He reached out, fingers brushing the stone. The glow flared, a cold light that made his skin crawl.

Something shifted in the rubble. A small, rune-etched stone, no larger than a coin, pulsed with the same eerie blue light. Kael picked it up, the shard's hum growing louder, sinking into his bones.

"They come," the voice whispered, hunger lacing its tone.

Kael swallowed hard. The stone was a clue, a piece of the puzzle. He knew it was tied to the cloaked figure, to the Starborn Covenant, to the shard's true purpose.

He slipped the stone into his cloak, his hands trembling—not from the cold, but from the weight of what he'd found. Torvald watched, his gaze hard, a question in his eyes. But he didn't ask. Didn't push.

The cave was silent now. The wind's howl a distant echo. But Kael felt the weight of unseen eyes. A presence lurking in the shadows, making the shard pulse with unease.

They will return, the shard had said. And Kael knew it wasn't Valthor it meant.

The echoes in the snow were growing louder. And Kael feared what they would bring.