Vicky crept along a narrow ledge beneath the jagged overhang of a cliff. The last few days had blurred into a chaotic symphony of fighting and fleeing. Above her, silhouetted against the dim light, a patrol of wolf-like Veinforged stalked the cliff’s edge, their predatory growls audible even over the howling wind. They had been hounding her relentlessly since she’d left Duskshade, tracking her every step like specters of corruption. Despite her exhaustion, Vicky marveled at how her body seemed to adapt, almost thriving in this alien world. Every exertion sharpened her reflexes, honed her senses, and revealed strength she hadn’t known she possessed—as though she was made for this.
But even as her body adapted, her spirit carried the weight of every life at stake. She could see the faces of the defenders she’d left behind in Duskshade—men and women who had met her gaze with trust, believing she could bring back the help they so desperately needed. She saw the tired but resolute expressions of Brynn and Asher, their figures etched into her memory. Brynn, ever practical and sharp, had stood at the edge of the lantern's light, her presence a steady anchor against the chaos. And Asher—her best friend, her partner in this nightmare—had carried the weight of an entire city on his shoulders with a resolve that seemed unshakable. Vicky knew better. She had seen his vulnerability, the cracks in his armor, and the wounds he refused to let heal. He was strong, yes, but he was also human.
The thought made her stomach churn. She had left him in the middle of what was likely a losing battle, with fewer than a thousand soldiers to hold off an enemy five times their size. What kind of friend did that make her? What kind of partner? Each step along the icy ledge felt like a betrayal, each decision to keep running rather than fighting another wound to her soul. Yet she couldn’t stop. She carried not just a message but the hope of an entire city on her shoulders. If she failed, if she faltered, Duskshade would fall. Asher would fall.
Her chest tightened at the thought, a weight pressing down so hard it felt like she might collapse. She didn’t deserve the strength this world was giving her. It wasn’t hers—not really. The power coursing through her veins felt borrowed, gifted by forces she barely understood. How could she claim to stand beside someone like Asher, who had earned every ounce of his power through pain and sacrifice? Yet here she was, running on a threadbare hope that somehow, her borrowed strength would be enough to save him.
A rock shifted beneath her boot, tumbling down the cliffside in a noisy cascade. The Veinforged wolves above stilled, their glowing, corrupted eyes peering over the edge. Growls deepened into snarls as they spotted her, their movements becoming a frenzied attempt to force her off the precarious ledge. Vicky’s pulse surged.
With a burst of fiery Aether, she sprang into action. Her body felt weightless as she scaled the cliff face with a speed and precision that defied logic, each handhold finding her effortlessly. Time seemed to stretch, her every motion calculated. She planted a boot against the snarling maw of one wolf, shoving off with explosive force. The surge of power launched her forward, blazing trails of crimson Aether in her wake.
Then, she saw it.
Eryndale.
The distant city perched like a jewel among the frost-covered peaks, its spires glittering in the waning light. The sight sent a rush of hope surging through her veins, and she pushed herself harder, the icy wind biting at her cheeks. She had to reach it—there was no other option. But her hope was short-lived.
A pack of Veinforged emerged from the shadows ahead, their numbers swelling to thirty. These were different—larger, faster, and exuding a raw, malignant energy. Wisps of red and green corruption coiled from their gaping maws like venomous smoke, and their glowing eyes burned with pure malice.
They charged.
Vicky’s lungs burned as she forced herself to keep running, her legs trembling with exhaustion. Each stride felt heavier than the last. Her Aether reserves dwindled, her strength waning, but she couldn’t stop. She was so close—just five miles from Eryndale. The wolves were closing in fast, snapping and howling as they surged toward her. She pressed forward, teeth gritted and heart pounding.
Because what else could she do?
The largest and fastest of the wolves closed in with terrifying speed, its claws scraping against the frozen ground as it lunged. Vicky felt the air shift, the shadow of its massive form casting over her, and in an instant, the creature's fangs were snapping toward her thigh. She twisted her body to avoid the deadly bite, but the awkward movement shattered any momentum she had left. She stumbled, her feet slipping on the icy surface, and before she could recover, the ground came rushing up to meet her. She crashed into the snow, sliding helplessly for several yards, a cold wave of panic rushing over her as she struggled to regain her footing.
The sharp sting of a jagged ice crystal scraped her palm as she pushed herself up, her breath coming in ragged gasps. She turned just in time to see the pack bearing down on her, the wolves’ eyes glowing with sickening hunger. The fight, which she had desperately hoped to avoid, was now inevitable. Her heart hammered in her chest, but there was no more time for doubt.
Vicky waded in, her sword raised. The Aether that had once surged so effortlessly within her now felt faint and distant, like a flickering candle in a storm. Her movements, though fueled by desperation, lacked the grace and precision she had seen in Asher. She was clumsy, her strikes lacking the certainty that came from training, but she fought with every shred of strength she had. Her short sword cleaved through the first wolf’s throat, the creature’s grotesque body crumpling to the snow. But as her blade withdrew, another wolf lunged from the side, sinking its teeth into her thigh with a sickening crunch. She gasped, the pain sharp and blinding, but she forced herself to push through it, striking again, taking down another.
But with each strike, more wolves came, and the wounds on her body began to mount. Another bite tore into her calf, the hot blood mixing with the snow beneath her. She barely had time to register the pain before she was thrust into motion again, hacking and slashing, but her strength was fading. The wolves were relentless, and she was becoming slower, her limbs heavy with exhaustion and blood loss.
She knew it. She was going to lose. The words echoed in her mind as her vision blurred, the Aether now all but drained from her body. The ground felt colder beneath her feet, and the howls of the wolves seemed to grow louder, more triumphant. She was outnumbered, outmatched, and out of time.
Hope, a fragile and fleeting thing, began to stir as a distant trumpet’s cry rang out over the icy expanse. The sound was sharp and clear, resonating like a beacon in the frozen wasteland. Along with it came a chilling wind, cutting through the battlefield with unnatural precision. The cold wasn’t cruel—it was restorative. Frost crept over Vicky’s wounds, sealing them with a crystalline sheen and halting the worst of the bleeding. The pain ebbed, leaving behind an eerie stillness as if the wind itself carried a promise of reprieve.
Forcing her head up, Vicky’s blurry vision caught sight of them. Towering figures moved with a measured, deliberate grace, their forms unmistakably humanoid yet otherworldly in stature. Even from this distance, she could sense their presence—a commanding aura that froze the very air around them. Their skin glowed with an ethereal blue light, a cold luminescence that seemed to pulse with each step they took. The frost they brought with them was not merely a product of the cold but an extension of their essence, a force as ancient as it was powerful.
The wolves turned toward the newcomers, their snarls faltering into uneasy growls. The pack seemed to hesitate, their predatory confidence fracturing under the weight of this new threat. But hesitation was fleeting, and hunger remained. One wolf stepped forward, its malice renewed as it lunged for Vicky, claws outstretched to grab her by the ankle. Two others joined, circling like vultures, hoping to drag her away before the approaching contingent could intervene.
The first wolf didn’t live long enough to bite. An icy arrow, its shaft nearly a foot long and glowing faintly with frost, struck true between the creature’s eyes. The impact was silent yet absolute, the beast collapsing mid-leap, its body hitting the snow with a lifeless thud. The other wolves, blind in their greed and desperation to feast on Vicky’s Aether, failed to notice their fallen companion. They pressed closer, jaws snapping, but one by one, they too fell to the silent precision of the icy arrows.
The humanoid figures advanced steadily, their bowstrings drawn and loosed in fluid, unhurried motions. Each arrow found its mark with merciless efficiency, the wolves crumpling into the snow like withered shadows before they could so much as yelp in pain. The battlefield grew quieter with every death, the wolves’ snarls fading into the icy wind.
Vicky’s strength was spent. She tried to push herself up, but her body refused to obey. Her limbs were leaden, her breaths shallow. The frost on her wounds numbed her, yet exhaustion sapped the last of her will to move. As her vision began to dim, she caught a final glimpse of the towering figures drawing closer, their glowing forms cutting through the swirling snow like sentinels of winter.
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And then, darkness claimed her.
Vicky bolted upright, her breath catching as her surroundings came into focus. The unfamiliar room was spare yet sturdy, the kind of place built to withstand harsh winters and harsh times. A soft, fur-lined blanket slipped from her shoulders as she instinctively checked her body. Her wounds were bandaged with precision, her bruises less tender than they had been, but the bloodstains on her tunic and pants sent a shiver through her frame, a visceral reminder of how close she’d come to death. Her armor, battered and scarred from countless skirmishes, was neatly folded and resting on a chair by the wall. It bore every mark of her struggle, its condition mirroring her own.
Her voice broke the silence as she muttered, half to herself, “Where the hell am I?”
A deep voice answered, steady and resonant, with a tone that carried both authority and curiosity. “Shouldn’t that be obvious? You’re in Eryndale, home of the Eryndar—what you might call the Frostborn. My people.”
Startled, Vicky turned her gaze to the source of the voice. A towering figure stood at the doorway, his blue skin glowing faintly in the room’s dim light. His presence was commanding yet calm, his massive frame easily filling the space. With a measured movement, he brushed a strand of black hair from his face, his dark eyes studying her with quiet intensity.
“The better question,” he continued, his deep voice carrying an edge of intrigue, “is why you are here. Why would Veinforged beasts hunt you with such relentless fervor? I’ve never seen them act so single-mindedly. They rarely dare to test the boundaries of our fortifications, let alone chase someone so far into our lands.”
He paused, his gaze narrowing slightly as he examined her. “What is it about you, human, that makes them so... determined?”
Vicky felt a prickle of unease as she took in the figure before her. The Frostborn man was an imposing presence, standing easily 6’5”, his broad shoulders and muscled frame suggesting a strength that could crush a normal man as effortlessly as crumpling paper. His every movement radiated power tempered by control, and Vicky couldn’t shake the sensation of being utterly dwarfed by him—not just in size, but in presence.
Her thoughts flashed to Brynn’s words about the Frostborn. A people forged in the unyielding cold of the northern reaches, their lands bordered the treacherous Shattered Spires, an inhospitable expanse that stretched across the northernmost to eastern regions. Brynn had described them as a society built on war and honor, their values reminiscent of the Spartans from Earth’s history. A shiver ran down her spine—not from fear, but from the weight of standing in the company of a people who embodied such brutal discipline and strength.
Gathering her composure, Vicky met the Frostborn’s gaze and spoke, her voice steady despite her nerves. “May I have your name, sir? I bring a vital message from Duskshade, and I must speak to your leader, Jorven Icetide, immediately.”
The Frostborn man’s lips quirked into a smile, equal parts amused and curious. His voice was deep and steady as he responded, “Well, you’re in luck, miss.” He stepped closer, his presence filling the room with quiet authority. “I am Jorven Icetide. Now, tell me—what is this vital message you speak of?”
Vicky was shocked for a moment and thought inwardly , why woud there leader greet me ? Isnt that a bit much?
The man regarded her carefully, his sharp eyes glinting with a mixture of curiosity and admiration. He seemed to sense her unease, and his voice, though deep and resonant, softened slightly as he spoke. “The reason I’m greeting you personally,” he began, “is driven purely by my own curiosity. It’s been years since I’ve seen a human fend off so many Veinforged—and survive. You killed fifteen of those beasts before your strength finally gave out.”
He paused, stepping closer, his towering frame exuding a quiet but undeniable authority. “And before that, you ran—no, sprinted—at a speed I have never witnessed in my four centuries of life. Not from a human. It was as though you were carved from the storms themselves. You interest me, human. Few would have lasted even half as long against such odds.”
Jorven’s expression shifted, a faint smile tugging at the corner of his lips as he continued, his tone tinged with genuine respect. “So, please—share your message. I will humor you, warrior to warrior. Whatever brought you here must be of great importance, or you wouldn’t have fought so fiercely to see it through.”
“You are right, Jorven,” Vicky said, her voice steady but laced with fierce determination. She met his piercing gaze without wavering, her expression a blend of urgency and unshakable resolve. “I was tasked by Asher, the Champion of Aetheros—my closest friend and most trusted partner. Right now, he and Brynn of Duskshade are fighting against an overwhelming tide of darkness pouring from the Gloamfields. When I left, they were facing an army of at least five thousand Veinforged, with more arriving by the hour.”
Her words grew heavier, each syllable carrying the weight of desperation and resolve. “They have barely a thousand soldiers to stand against that horde, and of those, only three hundred are veterans. Their defenses are stretched thin, and their odds grow bleaker by the second. They were ordered to hold the city, to stand as a shield for their people against impossible odds, while I and another set out to seek aid.”
Vicky’s voice broke momentarily, but she recovered quickly, the fire in her eyes undimmed. “It has been three days already, Jorven. Every moment we delay could cost lives, could cost Duskshade itself. I implore you—we must act now. Their survival, and possibly the survival of this land, depends on it.”
Jorven smirked, his expression tinged with a mix of curiosity and nostalgia. “A Champion of Aetheros, you say? I assumed she had long since retreated into obscurity, clutching at whatever scraps of power she had left. And now you tell me she has returned—and not only returned but chosen a champion? Fighting a battle, no less?” He chuckled, a low, rumbling sound that carried a hint of disbelief. “I haven’t seen Aetheros take up arms in over two centuries. I wonder what could have changed.”
Vicky straightened, her gaze steady as she answered with unwavering confidence. “That change is my partner, Asher. When you meet him, you’ll understand. His will is unshakable, forged by trials most would never survive. His sense of justice burns brighter than any fire, but it is his rage—his pure, unrelenting fury against evil—that sets him apart. It drives him, compels him to fight for those who cannot fight for themselves. And that, Jorven, is why Aetheros chose him.”
Jorven’s expression grew solemn, his smirk fading into a look of measured intensity. His towering form seemed to command the very air around him as he spoke, his voice deep and unwavering. “I will aid you,” he said, each word deliberate, “but on one condition. It is non-negotiable.”
Vicky squared her shoulders, her resolve shining through despite her fatigue. She locked eyes with the Frostborn leader, her voice steady and without hesitation. “Name it,” she said, her tone sharp with determination, ready to face whatever challenge he might present.
Jorven’s smirk deepened, a glint of challenge flickering in his piercing eyes. “You,” he said, his voice resonant with authority, “will become my apprentice. I will train you in the ways of a Frostborn warrior—the discipline, the strength, the resilience of my people. In return, I will lend my army to your cause. We will march to battle, side by side with your people, and together we will face whatever darkness threatens your champion and his city.”
His tone sharpened, carrying the weight of centuries of leadership. “But I will accept nothing else. No excuses, no compromises. If you want my aid, Vicky, you will embrace this path fully. It’s all or nothing.”
Vicky responded , "I cant comprehend why you would want me as an apprentice. my power isnt even mine, it was just given to me." orven chuckled deeply, his sharp eyes scanning Vicky with an almost appraising look. “It’s not just your skill with a blade that interests me, though that was impressive enough. I’ve rarely seen a human fight with such determination, especially against Veinforged of that caliber. You took blow after blow, yet you stood your ground—most warriors would have turned and run long before.”
He paused, his tone softening as his gaze flicked to the faint glow of the runes on her skin. “And then there’s you. You’re not like the others who’ve come through these lands. Those runes… I’ve only ever seen their like on the Sylvari, yet you are unquestionably human. There’s something about you—an enigma I’ve never encountered before. And I’ve lived through centuries of enigmas.”
Jorven smiled, a faint, self-aware glint of humor in his expression, though his voice remained steady. “I’ll admit, humans don’t typically catch my eye. You’re a bit... unusual in that regard.” His smirk deepened, but he tempered it with a slight incline of his head, acknowledging the seriousness of their exchange. “Perhaps it’s your resilience—or maybe the Aether that clings to you like a second skin. Whatever the reason, it’s clear you were not meant for an ordinary life.”
Vicky’s lips quirked into a nervous smile, unsure how to respond to his mixture of respect and jest. Jorven’s laugh was deep and genuine, cutting through the tension with ease. “Regardless, I’m not one to let a warrior’s spirit like yours go to waste. It would be a shame to see you lost to this fight because you lack the skills to match your heart.”
The weight of his words hung in the air for a moment before his expression softened, his tone becoming almost apologetic. “Forgive me, miss. I don’t believe I ever caught your name—or perhaps I’ve simply forgotten it in the midst of all this chaos.”
Vicky straightened slightly, drawing strength from the conviction that had carried her this far. “I’m Vicky,” she said, her voice steady and clear, as if reclaiming her identity in this strange, frozen world. “And I accept your offer. I will be your apprentice. But…” Her gaze locked onto his, firm and unwavering. “I have one condition.”
Jorven raised a dark brow, his curiosity evident as he gestured for her to continue.
“I cannot leave Asher’s side,” she said resolutely. “If you wish to train me, then you must join our camp—join our future campaign to cleanse this world of the corruption that threatens it.”
Her words were laced with determination, the fire of her purpose shining through despite the exhaustion still weighing on her frame. The room seemed to grow still as the Frostborn leader considered her declaration, his sharp eyes narrowing slightly, not in anger but in appraisal, as though weighing her conviction against his own sense of honor and duty.
Jorven’s smile widened, a glint of anticipation flickering in his icy eyes like the reflection of sunlight on a frozen lake. His towering frame seemed to radiate both strength and a quiet sense of purpose as he spoke, his voice resonant and unwavering. “Then it is decided, Vicky,” he said, the weight of his words carrying the promise of action. “I will train you, mold you into a warrior worthy of the Frostborn name. And more than that…” His expression grew sharper, his gaze alight with a steely resolve. “I will march with your Champion, Asher. Together, we will bring the full might of my people to bear against this corruption.”
Vicky nodded at Jorven, her smile weak but sincere enough to mask the turbulence brewing inside. Outwardly, she showed resolve, a readiness to take on whatever came next, but inwardly, her heart twisted with an inexplicable guilt. The Frostborn leader’s piercing gaze lingered on her just a little too long, his admiration more than evident. She wasn’t blind—she could see it in his eyes, hear it in his voice. Jorven wasn’t just impressed by her fighting spirit; he was intrigued by her, in a way that went beyond curiosity. And that unsettled her more than she cared to admit.
Why did it bother her? Jorven was a great leader, an ally, someone who could teach her to wield the power she barely understood. This partnership made sense. Yet, something deep in her heart scolded her, accusing her of a betrayal she couldn’t name. The pang was sharp and unrelenting, and her thoughts strayed, unbidden, to Asher.
Was that why? Because of Asher? The realization hit her like a blow. She had no right to feel this way—not about him, not now. But the guilt remained, burrowing deeper as her mind raced. Asher could never see her that way, especially in the chaos of this world. He was burdened by so much—his past, his grief, his mission. There was no space for anything else. And even if there were, hadn’t she buried those feelings long ago? Hadn’t she let go when Rachel entered his life, when she saw how deeply he loved her? She thought she had.
Yet, standing here under Jorven’s intense gaze, pledging herself as his apprentice, she couldn’t help but feel the weight of what she had done. She told herself it was foolish—Asher wasn’t hers, and she wasn’t his. They were partners, comrades-in-arms, fighting for the same cause. That was all. But still, her heart whispered lies she didn’t have the strength to confront, and her stomach churned with emotions she had no time to unravel.
She forced herself to focus, clinging to the practical reasons for her decision. Jorven’s training would make her stronger, better equipped to fight alongside Asher and protect the people they both cared about. Whatever doubts or guilt lingered, she pushed them aside, locking them away with everything else she couldn’t afford to feel. There wasn’t time to dwell on emotions she didn’t understand—not when the fate of an entire city depended on her next steps.
He straightened, his presence filling the room like a rising tide. “This war is not just for survival—it is a battle to reclaim what has been stolen, to drive back the darkness that dares to consume us. With you at my side and Asher leading the charge, we will carve a future from the ice and fire of our will. A future worth fighting for—a future worth dying for.”
His words hung in the air, heavy with conviction, as though the very walls of Eryndale seemed to echo his vow.