The blizzard descended upon the hill, its icy tendrils wrapping around Zyryxa, obscuring her sight until she wasn’t able to see past her axe. She crept up the hill, each step a battle as the snow rose above her knees. Though she couldn’t see the white palisades of the hilltop homestead claimed by the Fire Tribe, the faint strains of music guided her forward. She drew a deep breath, tasting the ice, and sensed Qoryxa’s divine presence. Tonight, she was Ice’s Judgment, and the axe she wielded would deliver the raiders’ sentence.

Zyryxa reached the palisade, the snow and darkness shielding her from view. The men’s voices were a muffle chorus beneath the master bard’s lute. Ten men, four heatscales, one Matyxal, she counted, chills running down her spine as she crawled toward the twin saplings marking the homestead’s smokehouse.

Her ungloved hands latched onto the spiked top of the palisade logs. Pain shot through her palms, but it was insignificant compared to the suffering of the three blue-haired within, and what Bax and Anniqa and little Xana endured. With her blue blood slicking the spikes, she hauled herself up, peeking over the wall. The bonfire’s glow was a dim orange haze through the snow, drunken voices barely audible above the storm. Matyxal’s lute cut through the chaos, as beautiful as ever, playing a somber tune: “The Warrior’s Pride.”

Zyryxa vaulted over the palisade and landed silently in the snow. Matyxal’s voice pierced the night, carrying emotion that transcended the storm:

In the shadow of the battle, where the cold winds do sigh,

I stood tall, unyielding, with fire in my eye.

I held fast to my pride, with a heart made of stone,

But now in the silence, I find myself alone.

The melody resonated within Zyryxa, each note a haunting reminder of lost love and shattered pride. She hoped Lexyn was right about Matyxal’s intentions. If not, she and Natazia would have to rely on their skills to overcome the greatest living warrior unbonded to a dragon. Qoryxa is with us. I am Ice’s Judgment. Her resolve hardened as she peered into the smokehouse, and what she saw only strengthened her determination.

Natazia’s deep blue eyes stared blankly, unseeing, even as they pointed toward Zyryxa. Her lean body was a map of scars, the brand of Coryza, the darkest Ice Tribe dragon, marring her breasts. Ice Tribe tattoos adorned her pale skin, but they couldn’t fully conceal the wounds. She was a figure of beauty and tragedy, like the Qione ghosts that haunted the ice plains of Nyx Tezyk.

Three men with bronzed skin and red hair crowded around Natazia, her torso and arms bound to a meat rack. Two of the men spread a leg while the third raped her. Yet, Natazia’s gaze was distant, her expression unreadable, as if she had retreated into a place where pain couldn’t reach her. Matyxal’s voice rose again, blending her final words together for a poignant effect:

I was wrong. I stood strong,

when I wish I let you in.

Zyryxa’s last shard of innocence shattered. She no longer carried any regret for what she did to their scout earlier; these raiders deserved every fragment of punishment she could deliver. Her mind seethed with visions of beating these creatures within an inch of Zamael’s grasp every day until the end of eternity. They should be castrated and have daggers rammed up their asses. Yet, she knew she had to temper her rage, to remain ice amidst the flames of her fury.

Matyxal’s voice, beautiful yet incongruent with the horror inside the smokehouse, cut through the storm:

Now I fall. Yes, I fall,

but I give you my all!

The rapist stumbled backward, boasting obscenely as he pulled up his breeches. He stumbled out into the blizzard, wrapping his arms around himself and moaning, “Fucking tonic must be wearing off.”

Zyryxa seized the moment, her mother’s axe silencing him forever. She dragged his gasping form into the snow, his life ending in a strangled whisper buried beneath the blizzard and Matyxal’s crescendo:

Will we rise? Rise again? Or is this the end?

I was loud, I was proud, when I should have been your friend!

Exhilaration mingled with rage as she dispatched him, a swift end too kind for a creature with his crimes. Zyryxa tore his head off, and crushed it between her hands, hot orange blood scalding her face as the skull burst. She buried her face in the snow, soothing the burns and reminding herself to be Ice’s Judgment, not fire’s wrath.

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Zyryxa loomed near the smokehouse’s edge. One rapist violated Natazia while the other punched her chest, seeking a reaction. Natazia remained unyielding, her face a void of indifference. The puncher taunted, “Wench has gone cold! Make sure your cock don’t freeze off in that cunny!” Their laughter mingled with Matyxal’s lament:

The echoes of our laughter, they haunt me in the night,

We were bound by the battle, by the glory of the fight.

Zyryxa burst into the warmth of the smokehouse, her axe slicing through the neck of the man who struck Natazia. She had to pull her blow, careful not to harm Natazia. The axe caught in the man’s dense muscle, but before she could free it, the rapist seized a spear.

Natazia sprang into action, her legs coiling around the rapist’s head. With a swift twist, she snapped his neck, sending him crumpling to the floor.

Zyryxa wrenched her axe free, then cut Natazia’s restraints. The scarred warrior dropped to the ground, her body swaying. She steadied herself, snatching the spear from the ground. “Report, warrior,” Natazia commanded, her voice a raspy echo of authority.

Zyryxa balked at her audacity. Matyxal’s verse echoed in her mind, soothing her pride:

But I turned from your tears, let my pride lead the way,

And now, my dear friend, there’s a price I must pay.

Zyryxa took a breath, and suppressed her wounded pride. “Seven more men and four heatscales stand between us and Matyxal. My brood waits beyond the gate, ready to create a diversion. We are to clear the watch posts and secure the other prisoners in the lodge while my brood dispatches those that investigate the diversion.”

Natazia’s lips curved into a fierce grin. “Then we take Matyxal together.” She extended her hand. “I’m Natazia.”

Zyryxa accepted the hand, feeling bonded by their shared purpose. “Zyryxa.”

Natazia nodded, her voice carrying the weight of command. “Follow my lead, Zyryxa.”

Zyryxa bristled at being ordered, her pride flaring as the older warrior stalked into the blizzard wearing only her spear and the scars on her flesh. Still, the scarred warrior’s presence brought Zyryxa a strange comfort as the next verse of “The Warrior’s Pride” rang out:

These mistakes, these bad breaks, they tear us apart,

We fought our war, we kept the score, now I bear a heavy heart.

I was proud … Oh, so proud, when I should have been true,

We were one, we should have won, now I’m lost without you.

Natazia’s spear plunged through the back of the first sentry, Zyryxa’s axe cleaving through his neck. Zyryxa caught the body before it crashed into the scaffold, tossing it over the palisade.

Natazia hurled the severed head into the night. “Try to burn that.”

Now the battles are over, and all have bled,

But the war inside me lingers, the words left unsaid.

Zyryxa and Natazia exchanged a nod and skulked toward the next watch post. Drunken men attempted to sing beside the fire, only to be deafened by Matyxal’s beautiful, shrill cries:

I’ll fight until my final breath leaves my chest,

For the chance to put our bond above the rest.

Zyryxa felt overcome with grief, the song striking something vulnerable within her icy core like a dragonbone sword enchanted with Seraxa’s flames. She followed Natazia up the next scaffold, poised to fight until her last breath. The post was abandoned, a large orange haze gleaming down the hill.

We were one. We were one!

And you know we should have won!

“Your allies?” Natazia whispered.

“Yes. They will lure some of the raiders into their trap while we free the other prisoners and finish whatever is left inside the palisade.”

“Good,” Natazia said, staring toward the music and the flickering flames of the bonfire.

Fury resonated through Matyxal’s overpowering vibrato as she climbed toward the climax:

I will try! I will cry!

But, my darling, I won’t die!

Not until I give my all to mend!

A love that should never end!

Natazia leapt off the scaffold and darted around the inner edge of the palisade. Zyryxa raced after her, frustrated with her insistence on leading.

The spear struck sentry’s fiery eye. Zyryxa clamped her hand over his mouth, suffocating his screams as the spear plunged into him again. She gently lowered him to the rickety scaffold. He had been a handsome man, and her heart ached for the loss of something beautiful.

“Freeze forever in Qoryxa’s ice,” she whispered, killing the trace of warmth where she could only afford cold justice.

“Five more,” Natazia counted, her determination untouched. “Let’s get in position by the lodge and wait for the diversion to catch their attention.”

Zyryxa nodded, and they crept along the edge of the lodge. Matyxal’s tearful song slowed to a somber crawl that brought a rare silence to her raucous companions.

These mistakes … these bad breaks,

We fought our war … we kept the score.

The snow eased, and the homestead’s campfire emerged from the white veil. Zyryxa noticed dozens of scars on Natazia’s back. Her heart swelled with empathy as she recognized the resilience etched into every line of Natazia’s body.

I was proud… Oh, so proud

We were one, we should have won.

Zyryxa felt a powerful urge to offer love and compassion where there had been only pain and hatred. But she remained focused on Ice’s Judgment, waiting for the final notes of “The Warrior’s Pride.”

Now we’re two … now we’re through,

And I am nothing without you.

The music faded, leaving them in profound stillness. Zyryxa breathed in the ice, sorrow gripping her as she considered the tragedy of extinguishing such beauty. She put her faith in Lexyn’s judgment and hoped that her arrows would soon sing their own tune right into the throats of the other raiders.

As the snowfall dwindled, Lexyn’s fire flared beyond the palisade, painting the black sky with its gleam. Three raiders, roused from their solemn stupor, stumbled toward the diversion with a pair of heatscales in tow. Alone at the bonfire, Matyxal kept her back to the lodge, Dryxl at her side. The traitor whimpered softly, and Matyxal patted his head while Zyryxa shook hers.

“Ready?” Natazia asked, her hand hovering over the lodge’s door handle.

Zyryxa nodded, Ice’s Judgment coursing through her as she heard the whimpers within. Together, they burst into the lodge, as shouts from outside echoed up the hill.