The ice caves stood quiet, their mist swirling around the narrow pass like a living shadow, the cold sinking deep into the tired bones of the survivors. The air carried a sharp chill that made their breaths fog, the mist curling thicker with every passing moment, as if it hid something watching. The Nightbound, still seventeen strong under their alpha Kael, moved with heavy steps, their ember red eyes dim from the long fight, casting faint glows as they guarded the five Old Blood wolves. The ground beneath them crunched with frost, and the distant howl from the night before lingered in their heads, a deep, mournful sound that made their skin prickle with unease. Ethan slumped against the frozen cave wall, his pale silver hair stark against the ice, matted with blood and sweat, sticking to his pale face in damp strands. The Blade of Severance shook in his weak hands, its light flickering like a dying flame struggling against the dark, but the black wound from Varek's death magic crawled slow across his side, a cold burn that drained his life with every ragged, painful breath. He fought to stay awake, his amber eyes half-closed, the blade's faint pulse a lifeline, its warmth a small fight against the growing pain that threatened to pull him under. Elara knelt beside him, her golden eyes dark with exhaustion, the long days of travel across rugged lowlands and shadowed hills carved deep into her tired face, leaving her skin pale and drawn. Her hands trembled as she pressed a wet cloth to his wound, the fabric stained red, her body so worn she could barely sit without swaying, but her fear for him, a tight ache in her chest, kept her close, her fingers brushing his arm with a gentle, worried touch.
Helena crouched nearby, her herbs spread out on a flat stone, the sharp scent of crushed leaves filling the air as her fingers moved fast, grinding them into a paste with a focused frown. Her face was tight with worry, her brow furrowed as she worked, the cold making her hands stiff. The Veil's ripping apart, she said, her voice low and rough, like she held back tears that threatened to spill. The generals get stronger every hour, and we're running out of time. Elara looked at her, the dream from the caves flashing back with vivid clarity, Malrion's frost cloak shimmering like a frozen mirror, Varek's hollow eyes staring into nothing, and a dark shape handing a sigil in the shadows, a memory that twisted her gut with dread. I saw someone give them a sigil, she whispered, her voice breaking with a mix of anger and fear, her heart pounding as she glanced around. A traitor's among us, hiding in plain sight. Rufik limped over, his leg stiff and sore from the earlier clash, his blunt four cornered blade scraping a faint mark in the ice with each step. His eyes burned with rage, his breath heavy as he glared into the mist. We find him, he growled, his voice thick with fury. Cut him down before he betrays us again. Kael stepped forward, his face hard but calm, his broad shoulders steady as he faced the group, his voice firm yet measured. Not yet, he said, his gaze sweeping the shadows where the mist seemed to shift, hinting at a presence but revealing no face. We need the Rite first. His words carried a weight, the unspoken danger of the traitor lingering like a ghost, unseen but felt.
The packs stayed whole, no more lost to death or desertion, the howl a call that some feared but none dared follow into the dark trees beyond the pass. The Moon Sigil Banner scout stood close, his dented armor catching the flickering torchlight, his voice still heavy with the warning he'd brought. More generals stir, he said, his eyes darting north and south. North and south, they're coming. That news pushed them to act, a desperate need driving their every move, and the survivors pulled together, their new swords, bows, arrows, and whips gleaming in the torchlight, the metal and wood a stark contrast to the ice. Their hands stayed steady despite the cold biting their skin, turning their fingers numb, their resolve hardening with each breath. Elara stood, her legs shaky and weak, the effort making her dizzy, and took the blade from Ethan's hands, her grip firm despite the tremble that ran through her arms. We do the Rite here, she said, her voice carrying a desperate hope that trembled on the edge of breaking. Tonight. Kael nodded, his jaw tight, his ember red eyes meeting hers with a silent promise. The others gathered close, their faces a mix of fear and trust, the stakes clear as day: if they failed, Ethan would die, his life slipping away, and the blade would fall into the generals' hands, a disaster they couldn't face. Ethan's breath grew weaker, his chest rising and falling with shallow gasps, his amber eyes meeting Elara's, a flicker of faith shining through the pain. Do it, he said, his voice a faint whisper, barely holding on, each word a plea. Bind it before I'm gone. His words hit her like a blow to the heart, and she nodded, tears burning her eyes as she clutched the blade tighter, her resolve hardening.
They set up near the cave mouth, the ice reflecting their flickering torchlight in sharp glints that danced across the walls, the Veil's hum growing loud in Elara's ears, a vibration that shook her bones and filled her with a strange energy. Helena drew runes in the frost with careful hands, her fingers stiff from the cold, the lines glowing faintly as she worked, her breath visible in the air. Kael and Rufik stood guard, their eyes fixed on the shadows where the mist curled and twisted, hinting at a presence but showing no man, the traitor's form a fleeting wisp that vanished when looked at directly. Elara held the blade high, its light flaring bright against the dark, and began the chant, her voice raw and shaky at first, cracking with emotion as she struggled to find her strength. The vial's fire warmed her blood, spreading through her veins like a lifeline, and she forced the words out, each one a battle against her exhaustion. The air thickened, the runes glowing with a soft blue light that pulsed in time with her heartbeat, the ritual taking hold with a slow, steady power. But the ground shook, a deep rumble that made the ice crack, a warning of danger that sent a shiver down her spine.
Malrion struck again, his frost cloak shimmering like broken glass, catching the torchlight in a thousand icy shards, ice wraiths rising from the frozen ground with a hiss, their claws slashing through the mist. Kael roared, a sound that echoed off the cave walls and rallied his Nightbound, their hands moving fast as they fired arrows with quick, precise shots, the shafts splintering against the wraiths' icy forms, the sound sharp and urgent like a battle cry. Rufik swung his blunt blade with all his might, the heavy thuds shattering wraiths into fragments that scattered across the ice, his leg trembling with the effort but his will strong, his face set with grim determination. Elara stumbled, the chant faltering as a wraith lunged at her with claws outstretched, its icy breath cold against her skin, but Helena steadied her, their hands joining to hold the ritual, their power weaving together into a fragile shield against the growing threat. A shadow flickered near the blade, mist swirling in a sudden rush, and Rufik swung at it with a furious yell, the blade cutting through empty air as the presence vanished, the traitor's tease leaving a chill in its wake. Ethan cried out, his voice a pained gasp, the wound spreading as a black vein crept up his neck, the sight tearing at Elara's heart, and she poured her strength into the chant, her voice rising above the chaos, the Veil surging with a blinding light that lit the pass like daylight.
The wraiths pressed harder, their claws scraping the ice with a screeching sound, and one slashed at Kael, tearing his arm open with a spray of blood that stained the snow red as he staggered but held his ground, his ember red eyes blazing with defiance. Elara's vision blurred, Malrion's laugh echoing like a cold wind that cut through her, his pale blue eyes gleaming with cold triumph as he watched from the mist, but the runes flared brighter, their glow intensifying. Then, a sudden crack split the air, a shard of ice from a fallen wraith struck the ground near Ethan with a sharp ping, its magic sparking like a burst of lightning. His wound stopped spreading, his skin tingling as a fast heal kicked in, the vampire blood in his veins awakening with a rush, closing cuts and bruises in moments, his pale face regaining color. The pack felt it too, their bodies reacting as bruises faded, gashes sealed, and strength returned, their movements quickening like vampires reborn. The blade bound to Ethan with a shockwave, a pulse of power that threw the wraiths back, their forms dissolving into mist, their icy remnants melting into the ground. Malrion retreated, his cloak fading into the shadows, the mist thickening to hide the traitor's escape, a silent promise of return.
Ethan breathed deep, the blade's light steady now, its pulse strong against his chest, his face still pale but healing fast, the black veins receding as his body mended. Helena smiled, her voice soft and warm with relief. The ice triggered it, she said, her hands pausing on her herbs. You're mending, all of you. Elara sank to her knees, tears mixing with the frost on her cheeks, relief flooding her like a wave, her chest tight with gratitude as she watched Ethan sit up, his strength returning. Kael stood tall, his arm knitting shut with visible speed, the blood drying as the wound closed, his voice rough but steady. We track that shadow next, he said, his eyes narrowing at the mist. It can't hide forever. The others nodded, their faces hard with new resolve, the alliance stronger now, their bodies healed and ready. The howl came closer, a deep, mournful sound that chilled them to the bone, vibrating through the ice, a promise that more generals were near, their war creeping closer with every heartbeat, the mist whispering secrets they couldn't yet grasp.