Shiver opened her eyes with a gasp, staring at an unfamiliar wooden roof.

‘Oh my, what a surprise.’

A pause. Shiver continued to lay on the ground, unmoving.

‘Ahem.’

The voice seemed chagrined at Shiver’s lack of response.

The voice could wait for all she cared.

She was dead.

‘Miss… Shiver is it? Do get up. We haven’t much time.’

‘Do popsicles exist in the afterlife?’

‘What a curious preference. Don’t you fear the cold?’

Very few people had asked her about her curious habit of eating popsicles outright, prompting a chuckle from her. Most just brushed it off to her eccentricity. Others believed that it was her impressive appetite that made her impervious to the terror-inducing treats.

‘It’s nice to be tormented on my own terms for a change, you know? Not to mention, I get to choose what flavour of torment I can expect to experience.’

She giggled at the groan her horrible pun elicited.

‘Well in that case, I do in fact have a popsicle for you. The best you might ever try.’

Shiver finally relented, sitting up with a smirk on her face. She opened her eyes.

‘You’re on. I’d like to see you beat Pov’s-‘

As Shiver rose, she came face to face with a gigantic spider behind a tall mahogany desk.

Her eyebrow twitched.

He was at least double the height of Marta, and rested on sleek, black legs. The spider wore a tuxedo and sported four monocles over clusters of eyes that glinted with mischief. He looked dignified, giving Princess Penelope a serious run for her money.

‘Struck speechless by my good looks? I’m hardly surprised.’

It looked like the spider was accustomed to her reaction.

‘Don’t just sit there gaping. You don’t see me making any comments about your pointy ears, do you?’

Shiver continued to gape, the spider could be Feardamned.

Sentient spiders?

She had never heard of such a thing. She shuddered at the thought of Princess Penelope gaining sentience – she would never recover from the sass.

‘Now, to business. I am the Matchmaker.’

Shiver groaned.

‘No please. Just send me to the afterlife. Anything but setting me up with someone. The last boy that liked me carried the crossbow that drove this arrow into me.’

She passed her hand over her abdomen but was surprised when she found no evidence of her injuries.

The spider tapped the desk impatiently with all eight of his feet.

‘I would love to continue this delightful banter but we don’t have much time. You’re dying. But I’m presenting you with an opportunity. One that I haven’t had the pleasure of presenting to any other elves for…’

The spider paused, seemingly frowning.

‘…a very long while. Curious indeed. No matter – on to business.’

The spider crawled over her, grabbing her up in two of its legs. Caught up in the absurdity of the situation, she laid back and enjoyed the ride.

After what seemed like an eternity, the Matchmaker set her down gently against a wall. He had carried her through a veritable maze of rooms, each of a different make. She spotted one that looked like it was made of molten rock. Another with walls of a grey sheen of metal, with blinking green lights throughout. It wasn’t long before she shut her eyes in an attempt to stem the nausea from all of the swaying.

The room they came upon however, made her breath catch. It looked like the heart of a glacier. She was boxed in by walls of dark ice.

‘You have the choice between three guides. Pick with care.’

The word ‘guide’ made her hair stand on edge. The only “guides” she had ever heard of were the ancient creatures that were the companions of Fearshapers.

‘I thought guides were only reserved for Fearshapers. The nobility.’

The spider paused, staring at her. Then he seemed to start convulsing. Shiver frowned.

‘Are you…alright?’

The spider continued to convulse until Shiver detected a soft chittering. Was the spider laughing?

‘Oh my, “reserved for the gentry”? I haven’t heard something so delightfully hilarious in an age!’

Wiping innumerable tears from his multifaceted eyes, the Matchmaker patted her lightly on the shoulder.

‘Guides are not reserved for anyone, my dear Shiver. They guide Fearshapers, and Fearshaping is the right of every elf, my dear. How curious that you would think otherwise, though I fear we do not have any more time to explore this particular mystery in greater detail.’

Laid out in the center of the room of frost were a number of… implements. Shiver supposed they were representative of each of her options for a guide.

The first, to her extreme left was a simple axe. Capable of being wielded in one hand, freeing up the other for a shield.

The second was a long, edged whip that had been curled together neatly, with a thick handle.

The last was a rapier, stabbed vertically into the room of ice. Elegant and minimalistic in its form.

All of them had a single similarity – they all appeared to be cast from frost. Their blades and surfaces taking on hues ranging between the lightest of whites to the darkest of blues.

‘You have a choice. To select a guide with a burden that is [Minimal], [Moderate] or [Severe]. From left to right, naturally. Your decision will inform the difficulty of your descent. You will be more powerful, with a guide of a greater burden. However, your challenges will increase commensurate with the benefits.’

The Matchmaker adjusted his monocle delicately.

‘Put more bluntly, you will be at greater risk of falling to Insanity. Choose with care.’

‘Only three? What about these, Mr Spider?’

‘How reductive, Miss Shiver, to reduce me to my speci-‘

The Matchmaker stared at the two implements next to three before her. The spider, who had been idly shifting his weight from leg to leg, froze.

Then the room began to shake. The enormous spider before her…

Was trembling, in fear.

He backed away rapidly from the two other implements he had initially overlooked.

A towering greatsword wrought from ice, its handle up to her chest.

Beside it, on the far right, was a sleek, beautiful spear with a white hue.

‘What are they?’

The Matchmaker mumbled under his breath.

‘She has been silent for so long, and now this.’

His innumerable eyes hardened, and he fixed his gaze on Shiver – the monotony of routine, shattered.

‘Shiver, your world is in peril-’

‘I don’t particularly care.’

‘I’m glad you understand, now these- wait what?’

Shiver idly picked at her nose. Demonstrating an impressive nonchalance, in the face of his grave proclamation of doom.

‘If you’re going to tell me to take on a significant burden to save the world – I’m not interested. Elucidor can burn for all that I care. This world isn’t kind to orphans. I don’t owe it anything. As were you saying?’

She stretched lazily, the matchmaker gazing at her silently in response. He inclined his legs towards the greatsword and daggers.

‘Those are [legendary] and [mythic] guides. Usually inaccessible to awakening Fearshapers. They carry the greatest power, and the greatest risk. If you do not have the ambition to save your world, I would highly recommend-‘

‘I pick this one.’

The Matchmaker stumbled as he watched Shiver pick up the spear.

‘Think it’ll do for some thugs and an arrogant noble? They’re a pain in my arse.’

She had chosen the [Mythic] guide.

Silence hung in the air between them, and the spider began shaking once more. A shadow of concern flickered across Shiver’s face. In the short time meeting him, she had come to be fond of the Matchmaker.

‘Are you alright?’

As she leaned in, she detected a soft sound originating from his mouth.

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A chittering noise.

‘You really should stop doing that. I get worried, you know?’

‘You remind me of the older days, Shiver. Some of the greatest Fearshapers were born of the simplest of motivations. But I cannot emphasise the peril this choice will expose you to. You will dance at the edge of Insanity, delving deeper than you can imagine into your Fear of ice-‘

‘Mr Spider, if that’s all it takes, sign me up.’

It was strange. From anyone else, the statement would have come off as arrogant. Shiver only levelly met his gaze.

He let out a deep sigh, as Shvier made her decision.

‘Ah… a delightful match. It goes without saying, your guide is a master of ice. Unparalleled in his ability. To weave your bond, a promise will suffice.

The spider drew itself up, placing the spear delicately before her.

‘Do you vow to face your Fear, Shiver?’

Shiver couldn’t help but snort in the face of the enormous Matchmaker, even at the risk of drawing its ire. To her surprise, she heard a familiar chittering in the form of what must have been a chuckle. He seemed to know how she would answer.

‘That is the only way I know how to live, Mr Spider. Facing my Fear is all I have ever done. I promise. Were those the words you wanted to hear?’

The spider sat back, satisfied, its thin mouth sporting long mandibles drawing into a terrifying smile.

‘Then I wish you the best of luck. I should hope to meet you again soon. Embrace your Fear, young elf.’

‘Wait but you promised me a popsicle-‘

---

The Weaver began to create the bond between elf and guide. It had been years since he had last encountered a [Mythic] guide – the brave elf had chosen the most perilous of journeys.

Reserve system message-

A notification blinked into existence in the Matchmaker’s vision. He brightened at the sight of it.

‘There you are! It’s been so long since I’ve heard your voice. What’s this about authorising [Legendary] and [Mythic] guides? Is everything alright?’

He continued to weave his beautiful web, gratified by the company. A web that would link Fearshaper and guide as they descended into the depths of Fear.

Then, the Matchmaker watched in horror as the web that he had begun to weave fell to pieces.

SYSTEM OVERRIDE

Selecting substitute guide… Guide selected.

Guide burden: [unquantifiable]

‘What is the meaning of this! You deprive her of her autonomy and choice. This is an outrage!’

His eyes widening, as frost began to build, within the room, more than he ever thought possible.

‘No. This is…’

The Weaver, fell silent.

He was tasked with weaving a familiar bond, the likes of which he had weaved before.

Every time he forged it anew; it was the greatest bond he had ever forged.

As he wept, this time, he hoped it would be the last.

---

Shiver woke abruptly, struggling to pry open her eyelids.

Finally succeeding, she realised that she was not, in fact, dead. Looking down to inspect her wound, she found that the bolt that had pierced her abdomen laid shattered on the ground beside her. Her wound had seemingly frozen shut.

‘Well would you look at th-‘

She sputtered, coughing up blood.

Ok, maybe now wasn’t the best time for witty quips. She was in bad shape. She shivered as she put a hand on the icy lake surface beside her to push herself up.

‘Avalkin’s ballsack.’

The frozen surface of the lake was cold. She had trained herself to grow accustomed to the sensation of the cold but it had never been this intense.

She started to shiver.

‘Wh-what happened.’

Shaking her head, she steadied herself. She didn’t have the time to worry about a little chill.

Marta, Pov and Blaze were in danger.

‘That’s right, it was your fault we got involved, eh?’.

Shiver froze. She whipped her head around, who had said that?

Marta?

‘W-who’s there?’

All she could see was the snowstorm around her. The wind howling in her ears, forcing her to blink rapidly as she searched the darkness before her. She winced as it buffeted her, her eyes becoming teary.

Only the empty dark stood before her.

Then, she noticed a figure emerge, walking towards her.

‘M-Marta?’

She recognized the enormous silhouette.

‘What’s wrong Shiv? Afraid you wouldn’t see me again?’

As “Marta” melted out of the darkness, Shiver’s eyes passed over hollow and bloodied eye sockets that stared back at her. She felt the dread set in, her heart beating itself out of her chest.

That isn’t Marta. It’s only a hallucination. She’s a product of your mind, your fear. She can’t hurt you.

Yet her hallucinations had never spoken before.

Sharp, bluish nails raked lines across her forearms, drawing blood. Shiver collapsed to the ground, and the figure held her neck.

Shiver could only stare ahead, paralysed in shock.

She was met with a silent, bloody grin as the figure tilted its head, as if awaiting her response. She was pinned, what could she do? She hardly had the energy to stand.

Unbidden, she suddenly felt her palms burn with the cold. The sensation of ice pressing up against an open wound. It was electrifying. By instinct, she plunged her hands forward into the shade’s chest.

Shade-Marta’s body exploded into tiny shards of ice, her head falling to the ground.

In place of the beautiful white spear she expected, was a humble dagger of ice. She held another in her off-hand.

‘So much for my choice.’

It would have to do.

Still… I’m a Fearshaper. Impossible… Unless we were lied to. Or I’m of noble blood.

The thought provoked a weak chuckle. Mustering what little strength she had left, she wrenched her right arm free, plunging an dagger straight into shade’s head. Frost spread outwards from the entry wound, gradually encompassing the shade.

“Marta” only continued to smile at her.

Shiver fell back from the ice-shade, frozen with a rictus of a grin on her face. Its eyes continued to track her as she caught her breath.

She didn’t have time for this, Marta and Pov were in danger. Collecting herself, she started towards the city.

She winced when felt a tinge of pain on her arm. She frowned. It was from the arm scratched by the shade.

The wounds the shade had dealt had disappeared.

Yet a shadow of the pain they inflicted remained with her.

---

Shiver returned to find the Trobid home in flames.

An inferno raged in the heart of the lower circle. It consumed even the dark, blue-black bricks that comprised the home. No ordinary flame could burn stone. Shiver’s knuckles turned white as she gripped the edge of a roof on a building from across the street.

A man stood before the house, an immense greatsword across his back. The air around him shimmered with heat, and a vortex of flame blurred through the center of his blade.

Highlord Berevan Brimstone.

Something laid at his feet.

Every fiber in her body was telling her to rush in, but she knew she would just be outnumbered and torn apart if she did. Especially with the Highlord present.

She forced herself to observe her surroundings, noticing a small group of onlookers amassing below her. Lord Semille limped while Dag’s men jogged towards the house from down the street to meet the Lord.

Flipping up the hood of her cloak, Shiver forced her rising nausea down as she leapt down from her perch and drew closer, weaving through the crowd.

‘Why thank you, Berevan. How considerate of you to so promptly resolve the matter for me. I was afraid I would have to take care of them myself. I made all the necessary preparations.’

Lord Semille smirked but faltered as Berevan turned to meet him with cold eyes that burned red. The Highlord turned, ignoring the lord from House Flora, casting his vision to the skies.

[Flight of the Eternal Phoenix]

Two wings of flame sprouted from the Lord’s back, extending outwards rapidly and making Semille recoil in shock, falling onto the cobblestone beneath him.

Fearshaping.

Shiver’s eyes widened as she was introduced to an unfamiliar Fear, this one of fire. Yet flames were not all she felt. For a split second, she felt as if she was burning alive, and her skin was reforming as it was reduced to ash.

Eternal immolation. The Highlord of Brimstone’s Fear.

The crowd around Shiver gasped as they were met by a wave of heat generated as he shot into the sky with a beat of the wings.

In a blink, Highlord Berevan Brimstone was gone.

Shiver stared at the corpses that had laid on the ground in his wake.

No, please.

With the heel of his good foot, the other still healing from Shiver’s assault, Lord Semille shoved the larger corpse onto its back, revealing her face.

Marta’s body was incinerated. Blackened, rivulets of dried blood lined her forearms. Her face was untouched, as if to give Shiver no doubt as to her identity. It provoked a visceral sensation of horror to see Marta’s beautiful face, paired with an immolated body.

Pov looked so small and fragile. His face serene, similarly unblemished. Yet his body was charred and deprived of some of its limbs, that lay burning in the ashes of the garden.

Lord Semille grinned as he stepped on Marta’s body, walking across it to lift up the final, smaller corpse by its pigtails. Just as Shiver had done to tease the younger orphan, whenever she was up to mischief.

The little firefly. Blaze. His mouth broke out into a sickening grin as he whipped around to look at Dag and his men, brandishing her like an elven boy’s first catch.

The fact that their bodies were burned through, and their faces left untouched was a cruelty that words could not encompass.

Unblinking eyes stared back at her, just as beautiful as they were in life.

‘A job well done men.’

He turned to Dag and his men, as they reflexively backed away.

‘Looks like that Lord of yours did us a favour. And I didn’t even have to a-‘

Lord Semile frowned, as he suddenly encountered a strange difficulty in finishing his sentence.

He noticed that Dag and his crew were staring at him with wide eyes. Not at his eyes, the uncultured fools barely knew how to maintain proper eye contact.

No, they were staring at the dagger of ice which protruded from his neck.

Shiver had never wondered how difficult it was to take a man’s life.There were bigger questions to worry about – when would she get her next popsicle? How could she make Mother Ventra’s life even more miserable than it already was?

Lord Semille so graciously volunteered an answer to that question.

Shiver shot out of the crowd, leaping towards Dag with unnatural agility. He barely reacted as Shiver plunged her remaining dagger straight into his right eye socket before ripping it through fragile orbital bone.

Flowing around him, Shiver faced one of Semille’s knights garbed in his armour of writhing vines. Instinctually sensing the water which flowed within them, a million needles of ice erupted through the vines, impaling the knight trapped within.

Shiver screamed, flecks of blood flying from her throat at the effort.

Before the knight hit the ground, she had already thrown herself at her net target.

The sound of her scream of despair sent a chill through the blood of the knight of the Dreadwood.

For a second, they felt as if they had been lit on fire. The blood beneath their impenetrable armour ceased in their veins for just a moment. As if freezing in its path.

The second knight discarded his armour immediately, recognizing the threat it posed. The vines fell to the floor, still writhing. Shiver felt the dagger that she had thrown at Semile reform in her hand, bringing with it the welcome burn of ice.

She wished it were more intense.

‘Guards! Guards!’

The crowd was in a state of panic. Greld looked at her with horror and sadness, simply bowing his head. Yet he charged into her all the same, smashing her into the pavement below. He held her throat in his hands, but he didn’t constrict his hands. The forlorn look in his eyes betrayed his useless guilt at the loss of their lives.

Marta, Pov and Blaze were dead, and for what? To sate the petty ego of a lord?

His guilt would not bring them back.

She stabbed him in the abdomen with one of her daggers, as if in wordless reply to his forlorn expression. Her vision began to fade as her burst of exertion caught up to her, the adrenaline barely holding it back.

‘Shiver!’

A voice echoed in the distance. It sounded vaguely familiar. She barely registered as a skeletal horse barreled into Greld, knocking him sprawling.

Undead? In the city?

The horse knelt, letting its rider haul her body onto its back before the knight could recover. It rose, and shot towards the city gates.

Shiver stared at the bodies of Marta, Pov and Blaze with hollow eyes as they grew distant. Three figures stood behind their dead bodies.

Ice shades bearing their resemblance. Frostbitten, their bodies riddled with shards of ice.

Their only sin being the kindness they had afforded her.

Her shades sported no provoking grin. Uttered no words of accusation.

None were needed.

She agreed with her demons.

It was all her fault.

---