Kaelith ran like the winter wind itself given form. Her boots, claws partially extended for traction, barely seemed to touch the treacherous glacial ice. She moved in a low crouch, a fleeting grey shadow against the vast expanse of white, covering the distance towards the prone form of Eryndor Frostmane with astonishing speed. Every line of her body screamed focus, urgency, the Dravenwolf huntress fully unleashed, not in pursuit of prey, but in a desperate bid for rescue.
Lunrik watched, his heart hammering against his ribs, forgetting to breathe. He remained hidden behind the ridge of blue ice, resonator held ready, his gaze flicking frantically between Kaelith's sprinting form, the distracted dragon still focused on the groaning serac, the scattered, stunned Ashfang warriors, and the silent, dark-clad hunters who remained pinned down on their own ridge. The glacier felt like a stage set for tragedy, bathed in the cold, impartial moonlight and the faint, eerie glow from the disturbed ice pillar.
The dragon let out another low rumble, shifting its immense weight as it contemplated the cracking serac. Its massive head turned slightly, as if listening to the stress sounds within the ice. It seemed, for now, more concerned with the potential geological instability than the insignificant scurrying figures further down the glacier. Kaelith had perhaps thirty more yards to cover.
Eryndor hadn't moved. He lay curled on the ice, a pale lump of terror, likely oblivious even to the potential rescue attempt happening scant yards away. He was dead weight, both literally and figuratively.
Suddenly, one of the Ashfang warriors near Vorlag seemed to recover his senses. He spotted Kaelith's desperate dash across the open ice. "There! Another one! Get her!" he roared, raising his own weapon – a heavy, crudely made war axe. Vorlag, also snapping out of his stupor, bellowed orders for his men to intercept.
But they were too far, too disorganized, their initial scatter putting Kaelith closer to Eryndor than they were. More importantly, their sudden shouts and aggressive movements drew the dragon's attention back from the serac with terrifying speed.
Its head whipped around, eyes like molten gold fixing on the shouting Ashfang. The mournful grief was instantly replaced by incandescent rage. A low growl built in its chest, a sound that resonated deep within the ice, promising imminent destruction. It lowered its head, massive jaws parting slightly, revealing rows of teeth like obsidian daggers. Lunrik saw the tell-tale flicker of intense heat building deep within its throat.
Fire, Alaric's ghost screamed in his mind. Area denial! Incoming!
"Kaelith! Incoming!" Lunrik yelled instinctively, forgetting caution, forgetting subtlety.
Kaelith didn't need the warning. She'd likely heard the shift in the dragon's growl, sensed the build-up of power. She reached Eryndor just as the dragon unleashed its fury. It wasn't a focused jet of flame, but a wide, sweeping wave of superheated air and incandescent particles that roared across the glacier surface, aimed generally at the cluster of Ashfang warriors but wide enough to encompass Eryndor's position.
Kaelith reacted with pure Dravenwolf reflex. She didn't try to run further. She grabbed Eryndor by the scruff of his tunic, hauled his limp form partially upright, and threw both of them bodily behind a low, broad outcrop of jagged ice barely ten yards away, hitting the ground hard just as the wave of heat washed over the spot where they had been.
Lunrik watched in horror as the ice around the outcrop sizzled and steamed, instantly turning slushy. The air shimmered with heat haze. The shouts of the Ashfang cut off abruptly, replaced by horrific screams that quickly died, consumed by the inferno. When the heat wave dissipated seconds later, three of the Ashfang, including the one who had first spotted Kaelith and Captain Vorlag himself, were simply… gone. Not burned, but seemingly vaporized, leaving only blackened scorch marks on the melting ice. The remaining Ashfang warrior stood frozen for a moment, armour glowing cherry red, before collapsing into a heap of molten slag and cooked meat.
The wave hadn't quite reached the silent hunters on their ridge, though they pressed themselves even flatter, clearly shaken. It also hadn't reached Lunrik's position, though the wave of radiant heat was intense even from a distance.
Kaelith slowly pushed herself up from behind the ice outcrop, dragging Eryndor with her. Her cloak was singed, her face flushed from the near-miss heat, but she appeared otherwise unharmed. Eryndor, however, seemed to have finally succumbed entirely to terror, his body limp, eyes rolled back in his head – fainted or catatonic. He was now completely dead weight.
The dragon surveyed the results of its fiery breath, the scent of ozone and cooked flesh thick in the air. It let out another low rumble, less grief-stricken now, more territorial, warning off any remaining threats. It turned its massive head, scanning the glacier again. Its gaze swept past the silent hunters, dismissed the inert Eryndor, and then… locked directly onto the ice ridge where Lunrik hid.
Had it seen him yell? Sensed his use of the resonator earlier? Or did the lingering scent of Banehallow blood, the echo of the curse, draw its attention like a beacon? Lunrik didn't know. He only knew that those ancient, intelligent eyes were fixed on him, holding not just grief or rage now, but a cold, calculating assessment.
There was nowhere to run, nowhere to hide on this exposed ridge. Kaelith was trapped on the glacier floor with the unconscious Eryndor, separated from Lunrik by open ice under the dragon's direct scrutiny. The silent hunters remained pinned down, their presence an unknown variable.
Alaric's ghost was strangely quiet now, perhaps overwhelmed by the sheer scale of the draconic power, recognizing the futility of mere tactics. Lunrik felt a cold, stark certainty settle over him. This was it. Cornered by a god-like beast, responsible for Kaelith being trapped below, burdened by the unconscious weight of the Frostmane heir whose rescue attempt had led them here.
The dragon took a step towards his ridge, the ice groaning beneath its weight. Its nostrils flared, tasting his scent. It lowered its head slightly, its glowing eyes never leaving his. Was it recognizing the lineage? The curse? Or just identifying him as the source of the unnatural vibration that had disturbed its domain?
He gripped the pickaxe head tighter, a useless gesture against such power. He braced himself for the inevitable fiery end.
Then, from behind him, further back along the ridge he and Kaelith had used, came a sharp, metallic click, followed by a low, powerful hum distinctly different from the dragon's growl or the resonator's pulse.
The dragon paused its advance, its head tilting slightly towards the new sound, momentarily distracted again.
Lunrik risked a backward glance. Standing on the ridge, having approached with impossible silence, was one of the dark-clad hunters – the leader, the one with the scanner. He held one of their sleek energy rifles, but it wasn't aimed at Lunrik or the dragon. It was aimed downwards, towards the glacier near Kaelith and Eryndor. The rifle hummed louder, the energy building… not for a killing shot, but perhaps for something else? A capture field? A stunning pulse?
The dragon turned its massive head back towards Lunrik, seemingly dismissing the new sound as less immediately interesting than the anomaly before it. It opened its jaws slightly, readying another blast.
Lunrik was trapped between the dragon's imminent fire and the unknown intentions of the hunter behind him aiming a strange energy weapon near his trapped friend. The desperate crossing had failed, leading only to a deadlier predicament.