The hoverjet's engines wound down to a whisper as it descended on the Borealis docking platforms. Around it, the world was carved from winter itself—glacier-white towers thrust skyward like spears of frozen glass, while bridges coiled between them in arcs as pale as bone. From high above, the streets of Vyrnheim glimmered in steady lines of cold light, lanterns burning blue where snow-dusted citizens drifted like shadows through the frost.
The jet locked into its berth with a hiss. Silence fell inside the cabin, broken only by the metallic click of Valeria Kessner's arm sealing into place. She slid the last segment of her steel fingers home and flexed, the engraved number 9 flashing in the aurora light spilling through the canopy.
Selene Virell had not moved during the descent. She leaned against the bulkhead near the window, head tilted, watching the city expand below like a frozen sea. Her eyes reflected faint green where the aurora poured its shifting glow over the glass.
Valeria: "Touchdown complete."
Her voice was flat and automatic. She unbuckled, pulled her coat around her shoulders, and stood. Selene followed at an easier pace, stepping into the corridor as frost coiled faintly from her boots.
Selene (dryly): "Still breathing. That's always a good sign."
Valeria shot her a sidelong look but didn't rise to the bait. Together they descended the ramp, breath frosting in the glacial air. The dock officials bowed stiffly, more wary than welcoming. Their uniforms were white-on-silver, their faces pale from years in the Borealis wind.
Selene: "Friendly."
Valeria: "Suspicious."
Neither lingered. The two Soul Reapers crossed into Vyrnheim proper, boots clicking against stone streets carved into the glacier itself. The city smelled faintly of pine smoke and salt, the nearby fjord heaving darkly under cliffs of ice. Wind bells rang from the archways, low tones bending with the gale.
It was colder here than Selene remembered. The last time she had walked these streets, she'd been a shadow in the court, silent at a dinner she hadn't been invited to but left her mark upon anyway. That had been years ago. Still, she felt eyes.
Valeria kept her chin up, but her ears flicked restlessly atop her head. The stares of Borealis soldiers followed her fur, her tail. A Felidran in Crown City was a novelty at best and a threat at worst.
Selene: "They stare."
Valeria: "Let them. They're not the mission."
Selene let the words pass. She took in the avenues: clean, ordered, almost too pristine. Vyrnheim had a way of polishing itself to a shine so bright it hid the cracks.
They wound through a narrow market street. Merchants hawked in clipped tones, their wares frozen fish strung like banners, carved ivory, and jagged shards of frost glass. Music hummed from somewhere deeper in the quarter, played on Borealis instruments shaped from hollowed ice.
Valeria walked ahead, metal arm tucked in her cloak. Selene fell into step beside her, lips barely moving.
Selene (quietly): "Remind me of the target."
Valeria: "A logistics node. Underground. Reports point to the lower quarter, near the bridgeworks. Null wants us to confirm."
Selene: "Confirm what?"
Valeria didn't answer immediately. Her jaw flexed.
Valeria: "That there's movement. And if there is—burn it out."
Selene: "Efficient."
Valeria: "Necessary."
They pressed deeper into the city. The night thickened, though the sky never fully darkened—aurora light and Borealis lanterns mingled, painting the snow in sickly shades of turquoise. The citizens kept to themselves, faces half-hidden by heavy fur.
Selene paused near an alley, eyes narrowing. A mark was carved low into the ice wall, shallow but deliberate—a circle broken by three jagged lines. It was old, the edges blurred by frost.
Selene (softly): "Curious."
Valeria: "Ignore it. The city is full of old scars."
Selene: "This one looks new."
Her fingers brushed the ice. Frost flared under her skin, tracing the grooves, and for a moment she felt a pulse—a residue of intent. Not aura, not awakening, something else. She released it before it drew attention.
Valeria was watching her closely.
Valeria: "Null didn't send us for graffiti."
Selene: "No. But graffiti leaves trails."
They moved on.
Hours later, they reached the shadow of the Great Glacial Bridge—a massive span of translucent ice arcing across the fjord, lit from within by veins of pale blue fire. Beneath it, the underquarter spread like a cavern: narrow walkways, stacked dwellings, and shanties pressed against frozen walls. The air was colder here, the people leaner.
Selene drew her cloak tighter. Valeria adjusted the strap of the rifle slung across her back—steel formed from her own arm moments before, now resting easy on her shoulder.
Selene: "You're expecting trouble."
Valeria: "I expect reality."
They threaded through the underquarter, eyes low, footsteps quiet. Children darted between huts of carved ice, their laughter brittle against the wind. Men and women lingered in doorways, faces unreadable. And beneath it all, Selene felt it: a hum. A vibration in the cold, faint but insistent, like a wire pulled taut.
She slowed, hand brushing the wall. Ice cracked under her palm, revealing the faint shimmer of movement beneath. Something was here, beneath the bridge.
Valeria: "You found it."
Selene: "Or it found us."
Before she could say more, a sharp whistle cut the air. Both women froze. On the far end of the street, a figure stood—a man cloaked in Borealis gray, face obscured by a hood. His stance was casual, but Selene noticed the weight in his hand and the angle of his shoulders.
Valeria's tail lashed once. Her metal arm clicked, shifting, reshaping with a fluid scrape of gears. In seconds it was no longer an arm but a long, lean sniper, barrel gleaming under lantern light.
Valeria: "Target acquired."
Selene (calmly): "Wait."
The man raised a hand—not in greeting, but as if signaling someone else.
And then the bells rang—dozens at once, shuddering through the underquarter as shadows spilled from the alleys. Figures emerged, too many to count, faces hidden behind frost scarves and visors.
Valeria raised the rifle, the sight locking on the hooded man.
Selene (flatly): "Not locals."
Valeria: "Then who?"
The question hung unanswered. The crowd surged.
Selene's breath frosted into mist, her hands rising, cold bleeding into the air. The snow underfoot hardened into jagged shards, the street glazing into a killing ground.
Valeria dropped to one knee, arm-rifle braced, scope glowing faint gold. She exhaled, steady, the reticle tightening.
Valeria: "Doesn't matter who. They're in the way."
Selene glanced once at her, the faintest curve of a smile touching her lips.
Selene (mockingly): "Spoken like someone who doesn't miss a thing."
The first figure that ran towards Selene from the shadows was impaled instantly by a large ice shard shot by Selene.
Selene smiled wickedly: "Who's next?" She knew that they were no match for her.
And then the first wave came crashing forward, blades glinting in the aurora light, boots pounding against frozen stone.
The Ice Crown City had welcomed them. Now it would test them.