The temperature dropped without warning.
Not gradually.
Not subtly.
It fell, like the world had suddenly remembered winter existed and decided to overcorrect.
My breath caught in my throat as the air bit at my lungs, sharp and clean and wrong. Frost raced across the bark beneath my boots, spiderwebbing outward in an instant.
The warmth of the forest, thick, heavy, alive, was torn away, replaced by a brittle cold that set my nerves screaming.
My guard snapped up on instinct.
Fire erupted around my right fist, hot and furious, a coiling mass of crimson-orange flame that hissed angrily as it fought the cold.
My left hand bloomed with moonlight, pale and sharp, silvery radiance spilling between my fingers like liquid starlight. The two energies stabilized me, anchored me, kept my muscles from stiffening as the temperature continued to plummet.
I pivoted slowly, eyes scanning, senses flaring.
"What did you just wake up…" I whispered.
