The night was a cathedral of frost. Stars burned cold and sharp above the valley as the moon rose behind the Glacier Peaks. Liora stood at the edge of the frozen lake, breath pluming silver, the wind whispering like a living thing. The surface of the ice was marred by cracks that glowed faintly blue beneath her boots, veins of light pulsing with an eerie rhythm—like a heartbeat deep within the mountain.
Corren stood beside her, his axe strapped to his back, eyes reflecting the glacial shimmer. He had not spoken since they crossed the ravine and entered the ancient basin. The silence between them was heavy, thick with the unspoken dread that had followed since the last of the hunters disappeared in the marsh.
"They said it was only a myth," he murmured finally, his voice low. "That the Beast was born of the winter's grief. That it could not walk where the ice sings."
Liora glanced at him, her gaze distant. "Then we'll see whether grief can freeze," she said. Her fingers traced the edge of the talisman around her neck—Maren's last gift, carved from antler and bone. Its surface was marked with runes that glowed faintly now, reacting to something beneath the ice.
A sound drifted up from below: a faint hum, like a thousand voices whispering from under glass. The surface of the lake rippled without water, bending the reflection of the stars. Liora crouched, pressing her palm flat to the ice. A jolt of cold fire raced up her arm, and in that instant she heard it clearly—the song beneath the ice.
It was a mourning sound, ancient and endless. And beneath it, she felt the pulse of something vast and coiled, like a creature asleep in the dark.
"The heart of the mountain," she whispered. "It's not dead—it's dreaming."
Corren knelt beside her, wary. "If that's true, Liora, then waking it could end everything. The song might be the only thing keeping the beast from breaking free."
But she shook her head, eyes fierce. "The Beast was bound, not slain. It's what Maren warned me about. The old hunters didn't kill it—they buried it beneath the glacier. But the bindings are cracking, Corren. The lake is its cage."
As if in answer, a fissure split the ice near the center of the lake. A column of pale mist burst upward, spiraling toward the moon. From within the mist came the faintest echo of a growl—low, primal, resonant enough to vibrate the ground beneath their feet.
The glow from the cracks spread like fire through veins, illuminating the entire lake from below. Shapes began to move in the frozen depths—antlers, claws, wings—and one colossal eye that blinked once, reflecting the moonlight like a mirror.
Corren stepped back instinctively. "By the old gods…"
Liora rose, her face caught between awe and terror. "It remembers me."
"What do you mean it remembers you?"
But she didn't answer. The glow from the talisman brightened until it was almost blinding. The runes pulsed in harmony with the heartbeat beneath the ice, and her mind flooded with images—snow-covered altars, firelit hunts, the faces of the first binders chanting in the dark.
And then she saw the truth: the woman and the beast had been one. The shape that was sealed beneath the ice wasn't merely a monster—it was the reflection of her line, the echo of the curse she carried in her blood.
The wind howled suddenly, lifting her cloak. Her skin burned with marks like frostbite tracing symbols down her arms. The ice groaned louder, the song shifting into a keening wail that seemed to call her name.
"Liora!" Corren shouted, reaching for her arm as the surface cracked beneath her boots. She turned toward him just as the ice gave way, plunging her into the freezing abyss.
The world became a storm of light and darkness. She fell through layers of ice that shimmered like glass, faces trapped within each one—some human, some not. The deeper she sank, the warmer it became, until the cold melted into molten glow.
She landed on something solid. A massive chamber of crystal stretched before her, the walls alive with shifting color. At its center lay the Beast.
It was magnificent and terrible. Antlers like frozen trees curved upward from its skull. Its body was fur and stone, wings folded tight against its back. Chains of light held it bound, each one carved with the same runes that marked her skin.
Its eyes opened—twin voids of molten ice—and when it spoke, the sound was inside her mind.
You wear my mark, child of frost.
Liora staggered backward, breath ragged. "Who—what are you?"
The Shape. The First Bound. The part of you your kind tried to kill.
Visions flickered again—women burning at the stake, men turned to beasts, snow turning red with blood. The curse had been no punishment from gods, but a seal made by humans to imprison something they feared could never die.
"I'm not your vessel," she whispered.
You already are.
The Beast strained against its chains, and each movement made the air quake. "Your world forgets," it said, its voice both thunder and whisper. "They call me monster, but I was once the guardian of balance. When the hunters bound me, they severed the harmony between woman and beast. You are the last tether."
Liora's pulse raced. "Then what happens if the tether breaks?"
The creature's grin was a rift of light and shadow. Then the world becomes as it was meant to be—untamed, unbound.
The runes on her arms flared. Pain seared her veins as a thread of light connected her to the creature's heart. The chain between them pulsed like a heartbeat.
"Stop," she gasped, fighting to sever it, but the harder she resisted, the brighter the bond became.
You cannot deny your own shape, the Beast growled. You can only choose which one you wear when the ice melts.
A thunderous crack shook the chamber. The bindings shattered one by one. Shards of crystal fell like burning snow. Liora's scream echoed through both worlds—the mortal above, and the one below.
On the surface, Corren fell to his knees as the lake exploded outward in a blinding surge of mist and light. He raised his arm to shield his eyes as a column of silver fire rose to the sky, splitting the mountain in two.
When the glow faded, the lake was gone. Only a vast crater remained, steam curling upward from its depths.
Corren stumbled forward, shouting her name into the darkness.
At the edge of the crater, he found footprints—bare, human—but beside them ran the deep, clawed tracks of something immense. Both led into the forest.
He knelt there for a long time, staring into the distance. Then he whispered, "Liora… or whatever you've become… I'll find you."
And somewhere far away, in the heart of the silver woods, a howl rose to meet the dawn. It was neither woman nor beast—but something beautifully, terrifyingly between.
The Shape had awakened. And it was no longer bound by ice.