The winter’s cold embraced Rane again, its frigid touch reaching deep between his pelts and coat. His white breath got carried away by the blizzard, and his palms clenched around the handle of his ice axe. He let the winds and hail rock his body as he dangled there, on the side of the mountain, too high to even see the ground, and counted heartbeats. A thundering boom overhead gave the signal. All wind faded and Rane kicked against the mountain and dislodged his axe, letting his body slide down across the smooth, eternal ice. The ground came rushing up at him, the slopes curving outward to the base of other mountains. A burst of wind born from his own magic helped his axe cut through the ice, abruptly stopping his fall. Moments later, the blizzard continued its assault. Seven seconds at a time. That was all he had. There was no warning when the lulls would come other than the sound of thunder. Sometimes it’d take minutes, others hours. But they always lasted seven seconds. Rane was past questioning it. It was just the way of these mountains. To attempt to descend during the storm would be suicide. He simply endured the pelleting and the cold.

The whispers of a voice echoed in his head, imagination giving memories form. “Find me.”

Rane couldn’t remember how long he’d been looking. It felt like ages. The thunder and the lulls that followed guided him ever downward, and the fire of borrowed origins formed a thin layer over his body. It was the only way to endure the freezing temperatures here. He scoured the base of the mountains and breathed in deep. The next window of calm would be difficult. Most times he’d have a crack in the ice to hide between, or a piece of a broken mountaintop to latch onto. This time, there was nothing, and down between the peaks the real air currents raged, where his axe alone would not save him. The thunder overhead cut his scouting short. He’d have to do it the hard way. The lull descended and Rane pushed against the ice, using both wind and legs to propel forward as he counted the seconds in his mind.

Seven.

Rane aimed for the base of the next steep spire that rose from the ground. The force of his own magic crushed against his back, flinging him forward like a puppet without strings. The dark ice came rushing from beneath and he tumbled, rolling into a run. Cold like this made moving limbs tortuous, and the sudden strain burned through every muscle.

Six.

Up above, the storm clouds twisted once more, reaching down to touch the tallest peak in the distance. Rane grunted, putting more force behind each stride. The opposing mountainside drew close, but something moved on the edges of his vision.

Five.

“Blights.” Rane saw the dori as it turned its head in his direction. The beast rushed him as he ran, its curved claws and long teeth as frightening as the first time he’d seen them. Rane reached both hands under his cloak and pulled out his swords. With a slow, calm breath, the fire around him vanished and the wind that blew on his back faded into nothing.

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Four.

The frost bit deep. His fingers turned rigid and clasped around the hilts, desperate for what little warmth still lingered on them. With a twist of his body, he found himself making for the dori, just as it made for him. Its claws screeched against the ice as its form grew closer.

Three.

The dori's jaw opened unnaturally wide above him. Rane let it get close. Close enough for him to smell the rancid breath of the beast. He welcomed its warmth. The teeth snapped shut as Rane slid underneath, carving the underside of the creature with his blade.

Two.

Rane righted himself and fought off the dizziness. The cold didn’t feel like cold anymore — it was pure, unadulterated pain; a sharp, burning sensation. But he couldn’t maintain his magic. He needed to focus. The dori turned in a fury, lifting one claw to strike.

One

The wind picked up and brushed against Rane’s hair, followed by the monster’s talons. Rane fell forward with unnatural speed, thrusting sharp blightsteel through fur, hide and flesh. He let go of his sword and bent his back to dodge, grabbing onto the fur of the muscular arm and letting it carry him. Using the beast’s own power, he pushed the sword’s hilt through its chest with his boot, puncturing the heart.

The storm descended. Rane thrust his axe through the dori’s ribcage as the creature’s lifeless body toppled. Wind flung him aside but the axe saved him. The dori’s weight dropped onto his leg. He winced, but heaved a sigh of relief. Better bruised than whisked away by the storm. Rane caught his breath and brought forth his fire once more, shielding his upper body. There was a reason these damned beasts could roam the area. Their bodies were bulky, far too much for even the strongest wind to lift. And there was another hidden blessing to them. It was easy to spot the creature’s nest, a dark hole dug into the side of the mountain. At least he’d found a place to sleep tonight.

Rane let the warm blood of the dori seep onto his clothes and warm him. He used one pause of the chaotic maelstrom to get out from underneath the creature, and the next to rush inside its nest in the ground. The blizzard swallowed the world outside behind his back, obscuring his hiding spot with snow and a thin, glass like layer of ice.

The dori nest was little more than an indent in the mountainside; not even the beast’s claws could carve the eternal ice of the Tonginth peaks. Rane set his back against the wall and let his head hang back, trying to ignore the pain coming from deep within his bones. The frost must have gotten deep with that fight. He lay on his side and covered up in the thick fur. With the nest cut off from the frightening temperatures outside, his body’s natural heat permeated the small space a little. Tomorrow, he’d go harvest some of the beast’s organs before pressing on. He had to reach the aspect before Leylin. The man’s threat was palpable and always looming over Rane’s head. Back in that cavern, the soul hidden in the gem had said that Leylin was hunting the other aspects too. With how powerful they were… Maybe one of them had already killed him or left him near death. Rane let his eyes close to that thought, and surrendered to a peaceful slumber.