The metal carrier groaned under its own weight, tilted precariously on its side, half-buried in the snow. Raven picked his way through the wreckage, his breath shallow, every step aching. His fingers, wrapped in half-frozen bandages, fumbled as he pried open storage compartments, overturning debris in search of anything edible.
Shadebinder’s voice echoed in his mind, sharper than usual.
You need to find something. Anything. Even a little food will help you keep moving.
He knew that. But knowing didn’t make the search any easier.
After an exhausting hour, his only prize was a vacuum-sealed container of dried jerky, ancient beyond reckoning. He pried it open with numb fingers, pulling out a strip of meat. It was tough as leather and tasted worse, but it was food. He forced himself to chew, each bite a battle.
The water situation wasn’t any better. The crash’s emergency heater had become his lifeline, melting snow for drinking water in short, stolen rests. It wasn’t enough, but it was all he had.
When nothing else could be scavenged, he turned away from the wreckage and trudged forward—toward Mornhollow. If it even existed.
The journey became a blur of white, hunger, and exhaustion.
Raven marched forward, nauseous, shivering, barely able to think. His ribs ached, his legs felt hollow, and his vision blurred at the edges. The wind had no mercy, gnawing at his exposed skin. Every breath stung.
Time stretched and lost meaning. He wasn’t sure how many days had passed. Two? Three? Maybe more? Shadebinder’s voice was the only thing keeping him tethered to reality.
One step at a time, Raven.
Don’t stop. We’re close—I know we are.
You survived worse. Keep moving.
She sounded desperate now.
Raven wanted to believe her. But belief didn’t put strength back in his body.
By the time he left the thick woods behind, his legs felt like stone, dragging through knee-deep snow. The storm had worsened, a swirling white veil that made it impossible to see more than a few feet ahead. His limbs barely obeyed him.
And then—his fingers slipped on the heater.
He barely had time to react before it snapped in half.
For a moment, he just stared at the broken remains in his hands. His thoughts were slow, sluggish. Shadebinder’s voice rang in his head, shocked, then furious.
No. No, no, no—DAMN IT!
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He couldn’t even flinch at the anger in her voice. He just sank to his knees, his body finally giving up.
The snow swallowed him.
Raven, GET UP!
The wind howled, and Shadebinder’s voice became frantic.
Please, move. We’re close! Just a little further—
A shadow loomed over him.
Raven forced himself to look up.
Towering above him was a massive beast, its thick fur blending with the snow, its eyes glowing with cruel hunger. A Bearwolf. The monster exhaled, its breath misting in the freezing air.
Raven’s fingers twitched around Shadebinder’s hilt. He lifted the blade weakly, pathetically.
Don’t just sit there!
Shadebinder’s voice was raw.
STAB IT! RUN! SOMETHING!
The Bearwolf snarled—and lunged.
And then it was gone.
Something collided with it, a massive force slamming into its side and sending it rolling through the snow. The impact was so strong that the chimera tumbled out of Raven’s vision.
In the monster’s place, three dark forms emerged—massive wolves with eerie, glowing eyes. But they didn’t stay; in a heartbeat, they lunged after their prey.
And then—more figures burst through the snowstorm.
They were wolves. Massive, white-furred dire wolves, their riders clad in white armor and thick pelts. They moved with precision, ignoring Raven entirely as they surged after the chimera.
Raven barely processed it. He could hear the battle now, distant snarls and clashing impacts.
Then, from the swirling white, a lone rider approached.
Now that Raven saw the mount, he recognized it as the same one that had crashed into the beast—a shadowy, unnatural-looking wolf with golden eyes and a flaming golden mane around its neck.
The tall figure dismounted and stepped foward.
The figure was, clad in fur-lined white armor, their face hidden behind a featureless silver helm. Dark braid spilled from beneath it, and their movements were controlled, deliberate.
Suddenly, more wolves appeared around them, moving in a circle to form a protective barrier around Raven and the stranger.
The rider removed their helmet.
A woman. Dark braided hair. Golden eyes, like the wolves.
She knelt in front of him, smiling softly. She spoke—a calm, foreign language.
Raven couldn’t understand a word of it. But the tone was gentle, reassuring.
Shadebinder’s voice cut through the haze.
"Try handing me over. Pommel first. I’ll talk to her."
Raven gathered the last of his strength and raised the sword.
The woman took it carefully, studying it—then her eyes widened in recognition.
She pressed the pommel to her cheek, then set Shadebinder in the snow before pulling two small wooden containers from her satchel.
Raven blinked as she set them before him.
Then, she raised her hands. A small flame appeared between them—real fire this time, warm and comforting.
His fingers trembled as he opened the first container. Inside was cut meat, cheese, and some sort of pastry. He hesitated, nausea clawing at him—but hunger won. The food was shockingly not frozen.
The second container was a small wooden cylinder. A flask.
When he took a sip, warm liquid filled his mouth—fruity, herbal, spiced. Warmth spread through his chest.
He barely noticed when the woman doused the flames.
Shadebinder’s voice whispered.
Don’t worry, Raven. I talked to Aira. She’ll help us. Trust me.
He didn’t have a choice.
A sleigh was pulled beside him. Strong hands secured him with thick furs, strapping him in place.
His vision flickered.
The last things he saw:
Aira, carefully wrapping Shadebinder in a makeshift pelt.
And another knight skinning the dead Bearwolf, carving its meat to load onto another sleigh.
Shadebinder’s voice, softer now.
Everything will be alright. Just hold on a little longer. Please.
Darkness took him.
