The forest never slept, but that night it held its breath.
The air still shimmered faintly where Ryn's frost had cut through living vines. Every petal he passed bowed beneath invisible chill. The elves kept their distance — whispering prayers to spirits, afraid that even their words might freeze.
Lysandra walked beside him, silent at first. Her usual sharp remarks died against the echo of what she had seen.
"Ryn," she said finally, voice low. "That wasn't… you."
He didn't answer. His mask hid his expression, but the quiet between them said enough.
"Ilyndra was wrong to push you," she continued carefully, "but what you did… I've never seen power like that. You could've—"
"I didn't," he said. His tone wasn't cold; it was tired.
They walked through the corridor of glowing roots, moonlight flickering between branches. Every step left faint frost prints that faded just as quickly — as if even his power wanted to disappear.
When they reached the outer hall, two elven guards blocked the path. Their bows were lowered but their eyes were wary.
"Her Highness has ordered the Ice Fox to remain confined until further notice," one said.
"Yeah," Ryn replied, rolling his shoulders. "She's going to be disappointed."
The guard frowned. "Meaning—"
He never finished. Ryn's hand flicked once, quick as breath, and frost leapt across the floor, climbing the guards' boots and freezing them to the spot. They yelped, struggling.
"Meaning we're leaving," Ryn said.
Lysandra stared. "You're serious?"
"Deadly."
"Ryn, the whole palace will chase us!"
He shrugged. "Then we'll run faster."
They sprinted through the halls, shadows stretching under moonlight. Behind them, the palace began to stir — alarms blooming like songbirds, echoing through every branch.
Lysandra's cloak fluttered behind her, blending into the pale shimmer of the vines. "You don't even have a plan, do you?"
"Of course I do!" Ryn said, ducking under a hanging root. "Step one: run. Step two: hope step one works."
"That's not a plan!"
"It's tradition."
They burst through a side archway and into the courtyard. The horses were penned at the far side — but Ryn didn't slow down. He vaulted the fence with practiced ease and landed beside a familiar white horse munching lazily on hay.
"Hey there, Snowmuncher," he whispered. "Miss me?"
The horse flicked its ears.
"I'll take that as yes."
Lysandra climbed up behind him just as shouts rang out from the gate. Elven guards emerged with glowing spears, vines snaking forward like serpents.
Ryn grabbed the reins. "Hold tight."
"Ryn—"
He slammed his palm against the saddle. Frost raced across the wood, up the horse's legs, and along the ground — freezing the vines that reached for them. The guards stumbled, weapons encased in ice.
"Go!"
The horse leapt forward, hooves striking sparks from frozen stone. They crashed through the gate in a flurry of snow and shattered magic, moonlight painting their escape in silver.
The forest howled behind them, vines reaching, branches clawing, but Ryn's frost burned through everything in its path. He didn't look back.
Only when the palace was a distant glow did Lysandra finally speak. "You didn't have to save me too, you know."
He grinned beneath the mask, though his voice was weary. "What, and miss the chance to ruin my reputation as a terrible influence?"
She let out a laugh — soft, tired, but real.
The road curved ahead, moonlight glinting on the frost that marked their path. Ryn slowed the horse to a trot. "We'll need supplies, maybe a map, and definitely a less cursed mode of travel."
"Meaning?"
He tilted his head toward the distant lights of a small trading post. "Meaning we borrow something bigger. Something with wheels."
Lysandra groaned. "You're going to steal a carriage again, aren't you?"
He patted the horse's neck. "Borrow. Professionally. Temporarily."
The trees thinned as they neared the road. Dawn began to edge over the horizon — faint, cold light spilling between the leaves.
By the time the sun fully rose, the elves had discovered two things:
One — Princess Lysandra of Lumeria and the masked fugitive known as the Ice Fox were gone.
Two — so was the royal carriage of Eldara.