The retreat across the glacier was a nightmare symphony of screaming wind, slick ice, and burning lungs. Eryndor felt like a sack of wet stones slung over Lunrik's shoulder, his dead weight constantly threatening to pull Lunrik off balance on the treacherous surface. Each step was a gamble, a slide waiting to happen. Kaelith moved just ahead, her form a low, swift shadow, somehow finding purchase where Lunrik slipped, guiding him with urgent hand gestures and sharp, hissed warnings about unseen fissures or patches of rotten ice.
Behind them, the dragon let out another frustrated, grief-laden roar. Lunrik risked a glance over his shoulder. The colossal beast was lumbering slowly towards the center of the ice field, its massive head swinging back and forth, surveying the scene of carnage – the vaporized remains of the Ashfang, the spot where the hunter leader had fallen, the rapidly disappearing specks of the two fleeing hunters. It seemed confused, enraged, its ancient mind perhaps struggling to reconcile the sudden intrusion and technological strangeness with its overwhelming sorrow. It hadn't yet decided to pursue Lunrik and Kaelith specifically, but its mere presence radiated lethal menace across the glacier.
"Faster, Lunrik!" Kaelith urged, her voice strained, grabbing his arm to steady him after a particularly bad slip that nearly sent both him and Eryndor crashing down. "The caves! Almost there!"
The dark openings at the glacier's edge, which had seemed impossibly distant moments before, were now drawing closer. They looked like jagged maws torn into the ancient ice and rock at the base of Shadow Peak, promising shelter but also hinting at unknown depths. Freezing air poured out from them, carrying the scent of deep ice and something else… something old and still.
They stumbled the last fifty yards, adrenaline the only thing keeping Lunrik moving under Eryndor's crushing weight. He could feel the ice vibrating faintly underfoot – whether from the dragon's distant movements or the glacier's own slow, internal shifting, he didn't know. Both possibilities were terrifying.
Kaelith reached the nearest cave mouth first – a tall, narrow fissure partly choked with snowdrifts. She quickly assessed it, then waved Lunrik frantically towards it. "This one! Looks clear!"
With a final, lung-bursting effort, Lunrik half-stumbled, half-slid into the opening, collapsing onto the relative stability of the snow-covered rock floor just inside. Kaelith slipped in right behind him, immediately turning, peering cautiously back out at the glacier.
The relative silence within the cave, broken only by the howl of the wind outside and their own ragged gasping, was both a relief and deeply unsettling. The air inside was frigid, colder even than the wind-swept glacier, smelling intensely of ancient ice and damp stone. Darkness pressed in immediately beyond the entrance.
"Is it… following?" Lunrik panted, carefully lowering Eryndor's limp form onto the cold floor.
Kaelith watched the glacier intently for several long moments. "No," she breathed finally, relief evident in her voice. "It's… confused. Pacing near the center. Looking towards where the hunters fled." She paused. "Then… it lifted off. Heading higher, towards the peaks. Its cry…" she shivered despite her furs. "So much pain."
The immediate threat had passed. The dragon, at least for now, had abandoned the glacier floor. Lunrik slumped against the icy cave wall, the adrenaline crashing, leaving him trembling with exhaustion and reaction. He looked down at Eryndor. The Frostmane heir was pale as the surrounding ice, his breathing shallow but steady. He hadn't stirred.
"How are you?" Lunrik asked Kaelith, concern cutting through his fatigue. "That energy dome…?"
Kaelith flexed her hand, grimacing slightly. "Felt like being squeezed and shocked at the same time. Disorienting. Left a… buzzing. But it faded quickly once the field dropped." She knelt beside Eryndor, checking his pulse, his pupils. "He's just unconscious. Deep shock, terror. Probably better off this way for now." She gently adjusted Eryndor's position, trying to shield him from the worst of the drafts whistling through the entrance.
Lunrik leaned back, catching his breath. They were alive. They had Eryndor. They had escaped the dragon and the hunters, albeit temporarily. But they were stranded in an unknown ice cave deep in the most dangerous part of the Skyrend Peaks, miles from any recognizable path, with dwindling supplies and enemies potentially regrouping outside.
He looked down at the energy rifle still slung awkwardly over his shoulder. He slid it off, examining it more closely in the dim light filtering into the cave entrance. It was made of a smooth, dark grey material that felt neither metal nor wood, cool to the touch. There were no obvious seams, no markings, no visible power source. A series of small, recessed glyphs near the grip seemed to be the only controls, but their function was utterly alien. He tried pressing one tentatively. Nothing happened. It was inert, useless to him without understanding its mechanism. Yet, leaving behind such advanced, potentially dangerous technology felt wrong. He propped it carefully against the cave wall.
Kaelith, finished tending to Eryndor, began exploring the immediate confines of the cave with her hunter's caution. It was deeper than it looked, extending back into darkness beyond the reach of the entrance light. The floor was uneven rock covered in packed snow and ice. Water dripped steadily from icicles hanging like fangs from the ceiling, echoing eerily in the stillness.
"Doesn't feel like a dragon lair," she murmured, sniffing the air. "Smells old, but… empty. Just ice and stone." She moved further back, disappearing into the shadows.
Lunrik listened, every nerve still on high alert. The silence felt heavy, oppressive. Had the fleeing hunters seen where they took shelter? Would they return? And what about Ashfang reinforcements Magdra might send? He felt utterly exposed, despite the cave walls.
Kaelith returned a few minutes later, her expression troubled. "It goes back quite a way. Seems stable. But Lunrik…" she hesitated. "There are markings back there. Deep in. Not natural."
Lunrik frowned, pushing himself wearily to his feet. "Markings? What kind?"
"Old," she said, her voice low. "Very old. Carved into the rock beneath the ice glaze. Geometric patterns. Sharp angles. Nothing like Dravenwolf or any clan symbols I know. Not like the Ashfang sigil either." She met his eyes, a new unease flickering in her gaze. "They feel… Dwarven."
Dwarven markings? Here? In an ice cave at the edge of a glacier, far from any known entrance to Grimfang Deep? The trapper's words echoed again: Old dwarf-holes sealed tighter than a miser's fist. Had they stumbled into one? Or near one? Could this be connected to the entrance Magdra was seeking?
The fragile sense of safety evaporated instantly, replaced by a fresh wave of dread. They hadn't found sanctuary; they might have blundered straight into the heart of the conflict, into the very territory Magdra sought, potentially drawing the attention of powers even older and more hostile than grieving dragons or mysterious hunters. The dragon's shadow outside might be receding, but the shadows within this cave suddenly felt infinitely deeper, colder, and more dangerous.