Winter’s Rebirth: B1 - 8. Hobgoblins

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Katie worked fast—pressing cloth against the worst wounds, muttering an assessment under her breath. The stranger’s breathing was shallow, skin pale beneath windburn and grime.

Victor held the man steady while Katie cauterized the puncture wound, the smell of burnt flesh mixing with cold air and blood. The stranger didn’t wake. Probably better that way.

“That’ll hold him for the ride,” Katie said, voice tight. “But he needs Lyra within the hour or he’s done.”

Victor scanned the treeline again, amber-enhanced vision picking apart shadows. Still nothing visible. But the tracks of the man were clear, leading into Blackwood’s edge. If there were goblins, they’d leave signs near there.

They never got close enough for me to see… Does that mean they’ve grown accustomed to humans having enhanced amber senses already? What are the Blackwood settlers doing?

Whatever was happening inside the silent woodland, they’d brought it to his fields now.

“I’m strapping him to the reindeer,” Victor said, sheathing his knife as she handed it back. “As you said, he’s probably got internal bleeding. We need to be fast.”

Katie nodded, already moving to get the rope. He sheathed the claymore, lying beside him, and drew his bow in one smooth motion, setting it off to the side. Chest free, he easily lifted the smaller man himself, his young, 6'2" height helping him with leverage. The stranger was lighter than he should’ve been, entering a starved state beneath the muscle.

Victor’s mouth drew into a line as he secured him across the reindeer’s back. The animal stamped, nostrils flaring at the blood scent, but held steady.

“Straight back to the fortress,” Victor ordered, lifting the surprised woman by the waist to set her at the front before retrieving his bow. “I want you to go back the same way we came.”

“You’re not coming, My Lord? Wait…” Her eyes glossed, then darted to the melting river with what lurked beneath its thinning sheets. “The serpent—”

“Will be my problem.” Victor’s tone brightened, giving her a reassuring smile. “Straight line, full speed. Trust me. Tell Kaia I want her to do the same thing. We need to be swift if we’re going to catch them. I need her here in ten minutes—five for you there, five back.”

She swallowed, nodded. “What about you? What do I tell them?”

“I’m hunting goblins.” He stepped back and slapped the reindeer’s flank. “Go!”

Katie kicked the animal into motion. It lurched forward, found its stride, and bolted across the half-frozen field toward the distant fortress.

Victor tugged at the string of his weapon for a moment, watching her go, counting seconds, scanning the ice.

…Three. Four. Five.

Drawing a ruby-dusted arrow, he flicked the feathers at the end and notched it, stilling his breathing. Ruby and amber ignited stronger as he opened his soul further, allowing the jewels blazing against his chest to burn brighter—he entered the hellish siege, the sole combatant against a roaring army.

He drew the string.

The surface cracked.

Not where Katie rode—fifty yards east, directly between her path and the fortress. Water erupted upward in a geyser of steam and spray as something massive broke through ice that should’ve been solid.

The frostmaw serpent.

Forty feet of scaled death, maybe more—hard to tell when half its body stayed submerged. Crystalline spines caught light along its back, glowing faint blue-green. Its head alone was the size of a cart, jaws unhinged, frost bleeding from its throat in waves that turned the air white.

Katie screamed but didn’t stop. The reindeer’s sapphire-heart flared bright, hooves finding purchase on water that should’ve drowned them both, skating across the surface like glass. The serpent turned, tracking movement, preparing to strike.

Victor already had his bow drawn.

He channeled ruby, heat bled through wood and steel until it coiled a dull red. The bowstring creaked under a thousand pounds of pull, and his back, his shoulders, his core—all amber-reinforced, all straining.

The Battle of Tarawa flashed through his mind, threatening to break his concentration, his reflected face grinning as he met himself on the imaginary battlefield—the beach: fire and blood.

He loosed.

The arrow became a streak of light and heat, crossing fifty yards in a heartbeat. It struck the serpent mid-roar—punched into its open mouth, detonated in a blossom of flames against the back of its throat in a flash of steam and fire.

The creature shrieked, the sound echoing across the valley like breaking ice.

Katie didn’t look back. By the time she was sinking against the saddle with relief, she was halfway to the fortress, reindeer’s hooves throwing up mud and slush.

Victor turned, already on the move, breath slowing, becoming more deliberate. 

Snow crunched underfoot as he sprinted across the churned field, every stride a thunderclap in his chest. The claymore slapped against his back, the bow balanced in his left hand, steam puffing out of his lungs, steady in the burning rhythm of combat focus.

Amber reinforced each muscle, amplifying his strength and speed until the landscape blurred—grass, ice, steam, and shadow folding into motion.

Four hundred meters vanished in under half a minute. He reached the treeline just as the serpent’s bellow faded to a distant rumble, the frost mist closing behind him like a door. Victor turned for half a second to see water boiling where it vanished, steam rising in columns.

His soul wasn’t nearly as strained as it had been when they first entered this valley. He was near his peak now, and it would take that to venture into this deadly zone. The stranger would live or die on Lyra’s table, not out here.

Now for the goblins.

He turned toward Blackwood’s edge, where shadows gathered thick beneath trees that blocked out the sky, vision scanning for traces of the goblins—he found them.

Shit… These aren’t goblins. At least not the ones Mom and Dad taught me about.

Victor pulled his cloak tighter and walked along the tree line, eyes locked on the ground. The twelve minutes he waited for the sixteen-year-old came to a crawl. He stood with bow in hand, rotating his gaze between forest and field.

Behind him, the Blackwood breathed—bark and shadow and a twilight that never quite broke. Ahead, the Iceflow lay still, steam thinning into the cold, the serpent beneath the ice, healing.

These arrows aren’t easy to replace… We need that mine to have magic stones in it. And if we’re dealing with goblins like these…

He knelt and read the tracks properly now that the rush had gone. Five sets led from a distance into the forest, faint depressions as if the walkers weighed nothing—sapphire-aided movement. But the impressions weren’t right.

They’re too wide where they press…too deliberately spaced. No. That bastard had no clue what he was saying… These aren’t goblins. They’re hobgoblins. Frost hobgoblins… Bigger. Stronger. Smarter.

Victor’s vision narrowed, catching every disturbance.

This forest is more dangerous than we thought, and someone was sent to conquer it by themselves… I wouldn’t be confident in sustaining a base in these woods. Elara, please be in the group on the opposite side of this death trap.

His breathing escalated at the thought of his twin sister in this world.

The more he studied them, the worse conclusions he made.

One trail cut at a different angle, scoring bark on a low limb, then higher, then higher—an upward rhythm in the snow. A sixth hobgoblin, likely the archer the man hadn’t seen, was moving among the lower ribs of the trees.

The pattern locked into his head: long-fingered, clawed, practiced at elevation and observation. Movement caught him then—fast, sure.

Kaia.

The teen was a streak across the plain, reindeer hooves throwing steam, amber light haloing her hands where she held the reins. Even from this edge, he could read her posture—resolve tempered with the tight fear of someone who’d been told to trust him and had already done so for weeks.

Victor moved to a black boulder, putting it to his back to remain guarded from the forest, fingers flicking the string of the bow he carried. He drew the second ruby-dusted arrow, notched it, and waited, watching the ice, ready to spike his channeled stones.

The surface shivered.

Four hundred and fifty yards. Predict. Lead the shot…

The frostmaw erupted—closer this time, directly in Kaia’s path. Jaws wide, frost bleeding from its throat, crystalline spines flaring bright as it prepared to flash-freeze everything within twenty feet.

Wind from the east, maybe five knots. Arrow drop at this range with his draw weight—call it six feet, compensate high.

He didn’t think. Just felt the shot the way he’d felt a thousand rifle shots on dozens of battlefields in another life.

The arrow left the string with a crack, like breaking bone.

Less than two seconds of flight. Two heartbeats.

It struck the serpent’s eye, punching through the organ and detonating in a burst of fire and steam that sent the creature thrashing backward into the water.

Bullseye.

Kaia thundered past the impact point, reindeer never slowing.

The serpent’s tail lashed once—a rage spasm—then it sank beneath the ice and didn’t resurface. He’d need more than arrows to kill something that big and with that much of a healing factor. It wouldn’t forget the pain of attacking a human, though.

Kaia reached him thirty seconds later, reindeer stamping and snorting, breath pluming in the cold. She jumped off in one smooth motion—hours of practice showing—and faced him with eyes that were trying very hard not to look terrified, battle ax at the ready.

“The man?” Victor asked.

“Katie got him back. Lyra’s working on him now.” The teen’s voice was steadier than her hands. “Pardon my language, but General Caldren said to tell you he’s holding the fort and you’re an idiot for going without him. He says to look out for an ambush.”

“Sounds like him.” Victor gestured to the treeline. “What do you know about goblins?”

Kaia’s throat worked, a shiver cascading through her frame. “Umm. Just what I heard as a little girl—little monsters, half the size of humans, who have magic stone powers. They gather where there are many bad children…”

“Right,” he muttered, kneeling and bringing her attention to the various skid marks along the snow. “There’s some truth in most children’s tales. They do have magic stone powers. Typically very weak, and only sapphire for normal frost goblins that make their approach in the snow. But…”

“These are northern frontier variants,” Kaia finished, taking a steadying breath and scanning the silent, snowy forest beyond. “We’re going in. You want me to have your back?”

“It’s not that simple.” Victor directed her toward the upper branch of the snowfall and the very faint skid marks. “These aren’t just northborn variants. These are mutant frost goblins…hobgoblins. Six of them.”

He let it sink in, the girl not fully understanding, but he let the new name settle in before explaining, scanning the light veil of powder drifting throughout the woodland interior.

“It’s been well-documented that creatures mutate the further north you go. But the frontier has reached a point that we’re seeing something more than just that. You need to be aware of what we might find in the worst case with these mutations.”

“More than just hobgoblins?” she whispered, tightening her fur coat and shifting her weapon’s weight. “Do they also have stronger magic?”

“Yes, and more variety than just their origin.” Victor motioned for her to join him on the back of the reindeer, scanning the drifting powder. “My mother obtained information just before I was sent out from another baroness whose daughter managed to hold for a year to the far east of the continent.”

He climbed up first and helped her onto the back of the beast, pushing the mount into the cold, dark forest. “Frost hobgoblins can mutate further: goblin champions, commanders, and she believed there was something more leading them in the northern mountains.”

Kaia’s arms around his waist pulled tighter. “So, six hobgoblins. Unknown magic. Back you up and take them out before they inform the stronger ones ’bout the fortress?”

Victor’s smile lifted as the forest swallowed them.

“Now you’re learning. And the most important objective…don’t die. That’s the priority.”

One step out of the open field into the shadow, and the world changed.

Light died. Sound died. Even the wind seemed to stop at the threshold, as if the Blackwood refused to let anything from outside disturb its stillness.

And the snow—

“Keep your voice low… Do you see the snow?” Victor said quietly, going slowly to get a better grasp of the surroundings before the sprint. “Look up.”

Kaia tilted her head back, squinting into the darkness.

The canopy was far above—three hundred feet, maybe more. Trees so massive their trunks were wider than cottages, bark black as char, branches interlocking so tightly that only tiny fragments of sky showed through.

And from those branches, powder drifted down in endless curtains—knocked loose by wind, by shifting weight, by the forest’s own breathing. It looked like a blizzard. Felt like one. But it was just dust, falling forever through darkness.

“I can’t see,” Kaia whispered. “The snow and shade are too thick.”

“Not with normal eyes.” Victor maintained their course. “Channel amber. Low stream, barely a trickle. Don’t force it—let it find the light for you. You’ve been practicing sustained channels for running, but this is only for senses.”

He didn’t need to look back to envision what she was doing, eyes closed, brow furrowing. The alpha wolf’s amber shard hung around her throat, wrapped in a leather cord, glowing faintly. Light should now bleed from Kaia’s eyes as she opened them. Not bright. Not blazing. Just a soft, steady radiance that turned the darkness breathable.

“See?”

“A little… It’s adjusting.”

“Good.” Victor picked up the pace a little, feeling the tight muscle of the reindeer move beneath him, gliding across the foot-deep snow just as easily as the hobgoblins. “Now hold it. Don’t spike, don’t surge. Just…breathe with it—a steady climb, slow, purposeful. One of the hobgoblins is their archer. I need you to keep their attention until I take it out.”

“Understood, Lord Victor. I won’t let you down.”

He opened his own amber flow—brighter, steadier—until the forest became a landscape of heat and shadow. Unlike Kaia, he could fuse a thread of ruby into it, revealing body heat. Every trunk, every root, every drift of falling powder glowed in shades of white and gold.

They advanced into the Blackwood, powder drifting around them like false snow, their sight feeding on the faint leaks of light through the canopy. The silence was wrong—too absolute for a forest this vast.

Victor quickened the reindeer’s pace. He needed to adjust it to the tangle of roots that coiled and merged beneath the snow, the arching branches that bridged above as if the trees were a single organism.

A thought crawled through him: if they shared sustenance, could they share warning as well? Could cutting one tree summon the forest’s wrath?

Ten minutes later, they reached a clearing—not natural but carved by age and rot. Massive roots crisscrossed the ground like a web, each as thick as a man’s torso, forming platforms, gaps, and killing ground. Powder had settled deep in the low spaces, hiding footing, hiding depth.

Perfect terrain for something that could glide across snow.

He raised a fist, halting the reindeer as flakes drifted and clung to fur and skin. Then he caught it—a faint, rhythmic pulse of heat on wood. A light whistle, as if a bird. A signal. The rear scout.

“They’re here,” Victor whispered. He scanned the clearing through amber sight, tracking heat signatures. Five shapes, barely visible, scattered across the root web. “Root to root, one or two using wind to reposition. They’ll try to circle us and let their archer pick us off. You need to take the initiative and draw their attention.”

Kaia’s eyes widened. “Wait, you meant alone? You want me to fight them in the open? I-I’ve never fought anyone but in practice.”

“I’ll be in the background… Trust me. Once I handle the archer, I’ll take care of the rest. Just survive.” He pulled the reindeer’s reins and slid them behind a massive trunk, tying them to a smaller offshoot. “We hide here. When I signal, step into the clearing. They know they’re being followed, but not by how many yet. Kill one if you can. Wound another. I’ll handle the rest.”

“And if I can’t?”

Victor met her gaze, reading the question in the set of her jaw and the way her fingers tightened on her axe. “You can. You’re focused enough to hold amber while training. Fighting is the same—find your flow state. I don’t think I made a mistake bringing you. Did I?”

He didn’t wait for an answer. He moved into position, climbing twenty yards up a sloped root for elevation to the line of sight where the canopy archer would position for a clean shot at Kaia. Then he whistled—sharp, piercing.

Kaia was shaking, but she stepped into the clearing nonetheless—morning light framing her copper fur coat.

The hobgoblins emerged from the shadows.

They came from three directions at once—coordinated, practiced, fast.

The first Goblin was what he called a gale-dancer. It burst from cover on a wind-propelled leap, frost-edged blade already swinging. Seven feet tall, lean muscle wrapped in pale skin that glowed faint blue in Kaia’s amber light.

The much smaller girl met it head-on. Her axe came up in a block that would rattle her teeth as she automatically adjusted her amber feed. The impact sent powder exploding outward, her boots skidding back across frost-coated root bark from the momentum.

She maintained her low stance.

Victor could see the hobgoblins evaluating her, long tongues sliding out to glaze their shark-like teeth. They made hisses, snapping fingers, and pointing between beats, communicating in their unique way.

Just hold on a little longer… The archer is being cautious. There’s no reason for them to come out yet.

The next hobgoblin’s sapphire frost coated its arms like armor, amber-enhanced strength letting it swing a bone club that could crack stone; it moved more slowly than the dancer. The faster hobgoblin retreated, allowing the other to advance in a heavy flurry. Each slow, but powerful strike forced Kaia to give ground; she was pacing herself, not trying to win but buy time.

The next flickered from the darkness like oil, onyx magic blurring its outline even in the overhead light breaking through the foliage. It didn’t attack. Just circled as the other two snickered and snapped their fingers, creating an odd tempo Victor made careful note of. Their breath came out in mist that collected around Kaia, the temperature dropping rapidly.

Three on one. Slow, non-reckless, and wearing her down by coating her in frost-laced mist… These things don’t act like normal goblins at all. Shit. She’s losing track of the other two.

“Left root!” Victor’s voice cut through her panic from behind the tree. “Wind burst incoming! Force your way to the right!”

She dove without thinking, using her enhanced strength to shove the club goblin into the air—it simply used its sapphire magic to slide to a stop with a snicker. The wind-based hobgoblin landed where she’d been standing, gust-propelled jump carrying it fifteen feet vertically before it crashed down in an explosion of powder.

Kaia rolled, came up swinging, and caught the leaper in its advance across its leg with her edge. Not deep. Not crippling. But it felt the hit, stumbled, and gave her space.

“Good!” Victor’s shout echoed. “Now pressure that one—it’s overextended! The others will defend it. Use that!”

She moved—three long amber-driven strides closing the distance. The Dancer tried to leap again, but she anticipated, angling her strike where it would land. The axe bit deep between frost plates.

Blue blood sprayed. The hobgoblin shrieked, slammed into a root, and thrashed. Kaia tore her knife free, panting. Instead of retreating, she lunged, driving the blade into its exposed throat. Steam rose as blood spilled hot over her hands.

A club grazed her cheek. She yanked her axe free, stumbling back as they advanced.

Her first kill.

“Don’t stop!” Victor’s voice cut through the fog of adrenaline. “Move! Don’t let them surround you again!”

She spun as the club whistled past her head once more, close enough for the thorns along its shaft to tear her cap away—shoulder-length chestnut hair spilling free.

Above, in the canopy, Victor caught the faint heat signature edging into position.

Got you.

He drew and loosed in a single motion—no amber needed. The arrow punched through the dark, through the drifting powder, and pierced the hidden archer’s throat.

The creature tumbled from its perch, bone flute clattering against the roots as it hit in a burst of blue blood and shattered frost. The last hidden hobgoblin burst from the shadows, tackling Kaia before she could recover. The sixteen-year-old screamed as the seven-foot brute drove her down, axe and dagger flying from her hands.

Victor moved before thought.

The remaining hobgoblins froze as Victor vaulted from cover, hands a blur as he loosed arrow after arrow—the world slowing to a crawl in his enhanced vision.

One arrow. Two.

Both found skulls in the blur of motion—blue blood spraying across roots as he vaulted down from the slope.

The third hobgoblin had Kaia pinned. Claws raked her fur coat, shredding it in strips, sparks of amber light bursting as the charmwork tried to hold. She screamed, twisting, but the creature outweighed her twice over, and she’d lost all focus—her channel failed.

Victor hit the ground running. He threw the bow aside mid-stride, grabbed the monster by the throat, and wrenched it back as amber roared through his veins. The snap of its spine was louder than her cry. It went limp in his grip, steam rising from the fire igniting in his palm to curl along its skin.

He hurled the body at the last charging hobgoblin. The corpse slammed into it like a battering ram, knocking it sprawling amid the powder. Victor landed beside Kaia, breathing hard, blood burned off his hands, the smell of iron, flesh, and frost thick in the air.

Then the world convulsed.

Hail exploded from the sky—instantaneous, violent, hammering down in shards that split bark and dented armor. One warning story from his mother brought the predator’s image to his frantic mind.

Frostfeather owls! I didn’t even think about them!

The temperature plunged.

Victor dove, dragging Kaia with him. They hit the ground together, his arms closing around her as he rolled, taking the brunt of the storm. Ice slammed into his back, tearing into his cloak before an aura of fire ignited around them, beating back the howling storm.

Kaia sobbed into his chest, her hair loose, arms wrapped around herself. Her sleeveless jerkin was scored and torn, scratches running down her forearms where claws had grazed skin, but she was alive.

Victor tightened his hold, channeling ruby until heat bled through both of them, wrapping her in warmth. Steam hissed where hail met the air around his shoulders.

And then—

Whoom. Whoom. Whoom.

Wings. Soft as snow inside the gale, deliberate as the downed hobgoblin screamed.

The sound rolled over them like thunder.

Predatory hoots followed, deep and resonant, shaking the frozen canopy. Talons struck meat somewhere in the clearing; bone cracked, something was lifted, carried away. More wingbeats—half a dozen at least—retreated into the storm.

Then silence returned, thick and total, leaving only the hiss of melting ice and Kaia’s ragged breathing in his arms.

Victor didn’t move for another thirty seconds. Just held Kaia against the tree inlet, channeling ruby, listening for vibrations in the root beneath them.

Nothing.

Ice shards stuck into the back of his exposed neck; he’d need to pluck them out later.

Kaia didn’t speak. Her body did.

Every muscle trembled against him; the shivering wasn’t from cold anymore. Her breaths came short and fast, half sob, half gasp, like she’d forgotten how to pull air all the way in. The whites of her eyes showed wide in the dim glow, pupils huge from adrenaline.

Victor crouched beside her, hand hovering near her shoulder but not touching yet. He’d seen it before—the battlefield crash that came when the body realized it had survived. He remembered men twice her age doing the same thing after their first kill.

Her fingers wouldn’t unclench. They were locked around her chest, knuckles bloodless, as if letting go would mean her last piece of protection would be stripped, thighs trembling.

“Kaia,” he said quietly. “It’s over.”

No response. Just a shudder that ran through her whole frame.

He shifted closer, voice steady, firm as he kept the warmth flowing into her. “Look at me.”

Her eyes flicked up, unfocused at first, then narrowed on his face like she was fighting through fog. Tears had cut tracks down cheeks caked with frost and hobgoblin blood.

“I—I couldn’t breathe,” she whispered. “I thought it was going to crush me. Its claws—its icy breath on my face. I thought—” Her words broke off in a jagged exhale.

Victor finally drew her into a more gentle embrace, stroking her hair and letting her melt into his arms as she broke down crying.

“Yeah. You’re alive. It’s okay… Just let it out. You did everything right. Listen to my voice through my chest—hear the rumble? Slow breaths. In through your nose, out through your mouth. It’s okay. Everything’s going to be okay…”

He breathed with her teary hiccups until the rhythm steadied a little.

Her hands slowly loosened around herself. When she looked down, she saw her own blood mixed with blue on her scratched arms. Her shoulders began to shake again, smaller now, the tremor of exhaustion.

“It doesn’t stop shaking,” she murmured, staring at her hands. “I can’t make it stop.”

“It will,” Victor promised. “That’s your body trying to spend the rest of the fight. Let it work through you. You did well, Kaia. You’re the first person in our settlement to kill a frost hobgoblin… You did well.”

She nodded, though tears kept coming, silent and unguarded. The firelight from his ruby aura made them shimmer like molten glass on her cheeks.

When she finally sniffed back her tears and peered out from around him, she looked around the clearing. Victor stayed quiet, waiting, moving his fingers to close around hers to allow her trembling to meet his stable grip.

There was nothing but powder and tiny ice crystals embedded in everything, like diamond needles—no bodies, no blood left—only powdered snow left drifting in the overhead spotlight of the clearing.

There was nothing to say that didn’t sound hollow.

When she finally straightened, wiping her mouth and nose with a trembling hand, she whispered, “Is it always like this?”

“Sometimes worse,” he admitted, giving her more room to examine where hobgoblins had nearly killed her, now left a pristine art piece by unseen blizzard-wrapped predators. “Sometimes better. But you get used to surviving it.”

Kaia swallowed, eyes wet but steady now. “Should…I get used to it?”

Victor was quiet for a time, squeezing her hand. “…There’s no right answer to that. We do what we must to survive… Now, let me get a better look at you before we find our gear.”

Kaia wouldn’t meet his eyes. Tears had dried in tracks across cheeks dusted white with ice. Her hair hung in loose, wet strands; her cap was gone. The fur coat lay in rags a few feet away, pinned by the owl’s needles. The hobgoblin’s claws having worn it into ribbons.

Without it, the sleeveless jerkin was all that kept the cold from her skin—and it was scored and split. Thin scratches marched down both forearms; some bled sluggishly where the cold couldn’t clamp them shut fast enough. Her lips were losing color. Hands clenched against her ribs, shoulders knotted high.

“Don’t move,” Victor said, gentle but firm, spotting his bow half-buried a few yards away. He slid closer on one knee and checked her quickly, methodically.

Two fingers to the carotid—fast but strong.

“Keep breathing with me,” he murmured, counting.

He checked her pupils in the amber glow—blown wide, reactive. He pressed his thumb to the nail of her right hand—capillary refill slow from the cold. He rubbed warmth into the fingers anyway, then lifted each wrist, turning the forearms to map the claw lines.

No deep tearing. No deformity.

He tugged at the jerkin’s seam—stiff but intact—and ran the back of his hand along ribs for a wince; none.

Boots: sound, laces tight, no wet seeping at the toes.

Ears and nose, pale at the tips—he cupped them briefly, feeding heat.

“You’re hurt, not broken,” he said. “Frostnip starting on the ears and arms from the frost magic attack, but I can fix that. We’ll head it off.”

She tried to square her shoulders and failed; the motion turned into a tremor. He unclasped his dire wolf cloak and swung it around her, pinning it with one of the belts of her jerkin. Ruby’s warmth pulsed through her from his touch. Steam feathered off her shoulders.

“Hands,” he said. When she hesitated, he took them, pried them gently from her palms, and wrapped them in his. “Squeeze.”

She did. He kept the ruby trickle steady, let heat bleed skin to skin. Then he tore a strip from his inner shirt and bound the longest forearm scratch—more to keep the wind off than for blood. He pulled the hood up over her head as he tightened it under her chin, touching her cheek once to anchor her gaze.

“Listen. You’re cold, tired, and rattled—and you did everything right. Tell me you’re not good.”

“My L-Lord?” She cleared her throat, blinking rapidly again. “Why…are you being so gentle with me. I’m… I’m slowing you down. You could have done t-that without me… I’m useless—”

He flicked her nose, making the girl recoil a little and rub it with her free hand.

“Hey. Don’t say that when you’re the third most competent member in the settlement so far… I need you. Remember, we’re a team. Everyone does their part. So, stay inside my heat, and we keep moving. The women will love crafting a new coat for you when we get back. I need you sharp. Are you not doing well?”

She showed a teary-eyed, perfect smile, teeth chattering. “No, My Lord…but I will be with you here.”

“Good. Then I know I’ll be safe with you at my back.”

Only then did he stand and do a full scan of the trees.

The clearing was unrecognizable.

Snow had piled waist-deep where moments ago there’d been bare root. Powder had been hammered into ice by wind and hail. And the bodies—

Gone.

All of them.

Six frost hobgoblins—vanished.

Not dragged. Lifted.

Victor rose fully, amber sight sweeping the canopy. His back throbbed under torn leather from bruising, but pain meant working parts; he’d deal with it later. The ice had melted off his neck, as well, leaving tiny, bleeding trails leaking down his spine.

“What…was that?” Kaia’s voice shook.

“Frostfeather owls,” he said, grim. “Apex predators of the air in northern woodlands. Six to seven feet tall. Fifteen-foot wingspan…normally. But they’re supposed to be solitary hunters. Not these. And that makes their blizzards even worse… This forest really is a nightmare. Just know, if you feel that hail-like blizzard, hide as best you can.”

He trudged to his bow—half-buried, blue blood frozen along the edge from a goblin that the owls had eviscerated. He wiped it on her ruined cloak and slung it around his claymore at his back. He was down five arrows now since dawn. If he kept going like this, they’d need to start looking at black rock arrowheads…if they knew how to cut them.

“There were at least three,” he added, eyeing the gouges in the roots: four toes, each talon as thick as his wrist. “Maybe four. They’re probably larger. And if they feel like they need to flock when they’re apex predators in the south…then I’d wager they’re only mid-tier here.”

Kaia gulped, keeping close as he carefully scanned the zone, spotting the slightest glint of her weapons before burning through the snow to retrieve them.

“That’s a terrifying thought… We killed the hobgoblins, though. So that means we return to the keep? Wait…” She paused, staring to the west. “Where’s the reindeer? No…”

He glanced toward the massive trunk where they’d sheltered the reindeer.

Empty. Talon marks. Scuffed snow.

“Yeah. Unfortunate, but better it than us,” Victor said quietly. “Anything the blizzard reveals, they harvest. You can imagine how the elk do when they come in here…”

Kaia’s jaw worked. She was still shaking; not just cold now—aftershock. Without protest, she cinched his cloak tighter. “We should go back,” she whispered. “We should—”

“We can’t.”

“No?” She pulled it closer, no doubt feeling exposed. “Why? Didn’t we complete our objective?”

Victor gave her a compassionate smile, but one that demanded strength.

“I know you’re struggling. You’re doing better than I did on my first day in field combat… But we’re closer to the other expedition than to our walls. We’re down a mount and half our gear, but we still have a reason to be here. Tracks won’t last.”

He looked at the wind-polished snow, already smoothing from the residual gusts that were settling. “Could be allies. Could be nothing…and could be enemies. I don’t want to risk another trip into these woods when we can knock out both objectives in one mission.”

He held out his hand, ruby warmth pooling in his palm. “Can you walk?”

She looked at the hand—blood-stained, steady, warm—and her determination retook root before her nod came. “I can walk. Did…I really prove useful? Even if I lost my weapons and let one tackle me to the ground?”

“Good. And more than useful, Kaia.” He closed on her fingers, firm and careful. “You were able to channel your amber in live combat… You fought two battles at once, literally. And you came out on top. You’re strong.”

“I’m strong…” Green irises igniting from those words, she nodded again. “I’m strong! Thank you, Lord Victor…but I’ll get stronger. Stronger than even you!”

Victor’s smile grew. “I can’t wait. Stay close. We move slow… This is a lord or lady’s settlement we’ll be spying on, which means they’ll have scouts and lookouts. Do you have my back?”

“Always.”

“Then, we’re off…”

Retrieving what they could find, they set off together after she slid them back into her melt strap, step by step. Victor kept the ruby current at a low, steady tide through the cloak, and her hands gripping his belt between claymore and bow.

Behind them, powder began to fall again, soft and silent, erasing blood and prints until the clearing was only shadow and drifting white. High above, imaginary or not, the snow-laced wingbeats thinned into distance, carrying their kills to roosts they couldn’t see.

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