The first light of morning spilled across the ruins of the glacier, turning steam into drifting banners of gold. The world had been remade overnight—rivers diverted, cliffs shattered, and the once-frozen basin now a lake of mist. Corren stood at its edge, cloaked in the scent of ash and snow. The frost on his beard melted as he exhaled, and his breath trembled with exhaustion.
He had not slept. He could not. Every time he closed his eyes, he saw the moment Liora vanished beneath the ice—the flash of blue, the scream that seemed to come from both her throat and the world's.
Now she was gone. Or worse—she had become something else.
The wind carried strange sounds from the forest. Not the calls of birds, but deeper notes, resonant and wild, as though the trees themselves were murmuring. When Corren touched the earth, he felt a faint vibration pulsing beneath it, rhythmic as a heartbeat.
He rose and looked to the treeline. Beyond the mist, something vast was moving. The branches swayed though no wind touched them, and the smell of frost returned, sharp and unnatural.
"She's there," he muttered. "She has to be."
Behind him, the rest of the survivors gathered—ten villagers, a handful of hunters, and one trembling elder who clutched a bundle of burnt charms. None dared step closer to the lake.
"Corren," the elder croaked. "You saw what happened. The sky burned, the mountain cracked open. This is not something we can follow."
He turned, eyes bloodshot from sleeplessness. "If we don't, she'll vanish forever. You don't understand—Liora isn't gone. The Beast didn't kill her."
The elder drew a shaking breath. "Then it claimed her."
He ignored the words. "Gather what's left of the supplies. We move at dawn."
The others exchanged fearful glances, but none spoke against him. They'd seen what he had—the light, the transformation. Some feared it. Some called it divine. But Corren had known Liora too long to mistake her for either. She was human—fragile, fierce, and stubbornly alive. Whatever she had become, he refused to believe she was lost.
By sunrise, the mist had thickened. The hunters set out, spears wrapped in cloth, arrows dipped in the last of the resin oil. Every step into the forest was a descent into another world.
The air grew colder the deeper they went. Frost bloomed on the trunks of trees though it was midsummer, and shards of ice hung like ornaments from the branches. The light turned pale, diffused through a ceiling of frozen leaves.
Then they found the first sign.
A stag lay split open near the roots of a pine, its body untouched by decay. Around it were prints—bare human feet beside clawed impressions too large for any known creature. The snow beneath them shimmered faintly blue, as though echoing the same glow that had burst from the lake.
Corren crouched, brushing his fingers across one of the prints. "Still warm," he murmured. "She passed here not long ago."
A young hunter named Rhel swallowed audibly. "If that's true, then what was she hunting?"
"Or who," another muttered.
Corren straightened. "We keep moving."
As they pressed on, the forest began to sing. It was faint at first, a low hum, but soon it filled the air like the voice of distant bells. The sound stirred something deep in Corren's chest—a mix of wonder and dread.
When the wind shifted, he smelled her. Not the Liora he'd known, who always carried the scent of herbs and ash, but something colder, sharper. Like lightning on snow.
They came upon a clearing bathed in pale light. At its center, kneeling beside a pool of mirrored water, was a figure.
Her hair was longer now, streaked with white as though winter had woven itself into it. Her skin glowed faintly beneath the surface, veins of frost tracing up her neck. When she turned, her eyes caught the light—ice-blue, bright as stars reflected in water.
"Liora," Corren breathed.
For a heartbeat, he thought she smiled. Then the air shimmered around her, and he saw it—the shadow that stretched from her body, shaped like a creature crouched behind her. Antlers, claws, wings. The Shape was not gone. It lived within her now, coiled like a second soul.
"Corren," she said, her voice layered with an echo that wasn't hers. "You shouldn't have come."
He stepped forward cautiously. "You vanished. The mountain—"
"I remember." Her gaze flicked past him to the hunters. "You brought others."
"They came to help."
"No." Her tone hardened. "They came to kill what they don't understand."
The forest answered her words with a deep rumble. Frost crept across the ground, freezing the grass in an instant. One of the hunters raised his bow instinctively, but Corren barked, "Hold!"
"Liora, listen to me. Whatever this thing is—it's using you."
Her eyes flashed. "It is me."
She rose slowly, and the light around her dimmed. "You don't understand, Corren. The Shape isn't a curse. It's the truth of what was stolen from us. The first women—the binders—they severed themselves from the wild to make the world safe. But safety isn't life. The Beast was never our enemy. It was our other half."
He took a step closer, heart pounding. "Then why is everything dying where you walk?"
Her expression faltered. For the briefest instant, Liora—the real Liora—looked out from behind the frost. "Because balance demands a price."
The wind rose, swirling the mist around them. Her shadow flared again, vast and monstrous, wings spanning the clearing.
Corren's hand went to the hilt of his axe. "If you're still you, then fight it. Don't let it take you."
Liora's voice dropped to a whisper. "And if I don't want to fight?"
Before he could answer, a sharp cry rang out. One of the hunters loosed an arrow. It sliced through the mist, striking Liora in the shoulder.
Her scream shook the trees. Ice burst outward in a wave, impaling the hunter before he could draw breath. The others scattered, shouting, but Corren stood frozen as shards whirled past him like glass rain.
When the storm cleared, Liora was gone. Only the echo of her roar lingered, rolling through the valley like thunder.
Corren fell to his knees beside the frozen corpse, gripping his head. "Damn it," he whispered. "Damn all of this."
The elder's voice echoed faintly from behind him. "You can't save her, boy. You can only end it."
He rose slowly, the grief in his eyes hardening into resolve. "If she's the Shape," he said, "then I'll be the hand that finds its heart."
He looked toward the horizon, where a faint trail of frost cut through the forest, leading toward the distant mountains. He shouldered his axe and began to walk.
For three days, he followed the trail. Each night, he dreamed of her standing at the edge of a frozen mirror, half human, half shadow, calling his name in voices that weren't hers.
By the fourth day, the land had changed entirely. The trees were blackened by cold, rivers frozen midflow. In the distance, the ruins of an old temple jutted from the ice. Its spires glowed faintly blue—the same hue as the cracks beneath the lake.
He stepped through the shattered doors and found her there.
Liora knelt before an altar of crystal, her hand pressed to its surface. The Beast's reflection shimmered within it, its antlers rising behind her like a crown.
"You shouldn't have followed me," she said without turning.
"I told you I'd find you."
She looked back at him, eyes luminous with both grief and power. "Then witness the end of what they began. The binders thought they could chain the wild forever. But I will unmake those chains."
"By destroying everything?"
"By freeing it."
The temple began to tremble. The walls split with lines of light, and from beneath the floor, the same song that had haunted the glacier rose again—low and beautiful, like mourning turned into melody.
Corren drew his axe, not in anger, but in sorrow. "Liora," he said softly, "if there's anything of you left—please. Don't let it end like this."
She hesitated, eyes flickering. For a heartbeat, he saw tears frozen on her lashes. Then she whispered, "You always were too kind."
The Beast's shadow surged forward, and the chamber exploded into stormlight.
When the blizzard cleared, Corren stood alone amid the ruins, the altar shattered. In the distance, through the collapsing snow, he thought he saw her—walking toward the mountains, her body half-light, half-beast, wings unfurling in the dawn.
He whispered her name once more, but the wind carried it away.
Above, the sun rose through a sky streaked with silver and flame. The hunt was not over. It had only just begun.