The wind carried Nia's laughter.
It was faint, but it cut through the Glass Tundra like a bell in the fog.
Malik's grip tightened on his spear. "She's close."
Zyren puffed lazily on his bone pipe. "She's watchin' us like we're a pair of penguins on sale. You know her?"
"Yeah," Malik muttered. "We… crossed paths in the first hours of the Trials. Didn't end well for the guy she was with."
"And you're still alive," Zyren grinned. "That makes her curious. Dangerous combo."
They trudged over the ridge and into a shallow basin of jagged ice and hard-packed snow. The air felt heavier here—every sound muted, every breath slow. Malik's instincts prickled.
That's when the first icicle spear slammed into the snow in front of him.
From the shadows of an ice archway, Nia stepped forward. Her hair, black with a streak of platinum, whipped in the wind. The fur cloak over her shoulders framed her tall, athletic build. She held a curved blade of froststeel, its edge dripping with cold mist.
"Two birds, one snowball," she said, her eyes flicking between Malik and Zyren. "Lucky me."
"You want somethin', Icefang?" Malik asked.
"A game."
Her voice was calm, but there was a gleam of mischief—almost flirtation—in her tone.
"I've got ten hunters in the snow around us," she continued. "Some mine. Some… volunteers. They want your tokens. I want to see if you can keep them."
She tapped her blade against the ice, and shadows began to move—figures emerging from the white: leather and fur armor, scavenged weapons, cold eyes.
Zyren let out a low whistle. "Ten, huh? And here I was hopin' for a warm-up." He took a long pull from his pipe. "Guess I'll make this quick."
Malik's breath came steady. He didn't need Zyren's smoke to know what this was—Nia's way of measuring him. She wasn't after the tokens. She was after the proof that he was worth noticing.
"Malik," she said, tilting her head, "if you make it through this, maybe I'll tell you what's beyond the next wall."
She winked, and for a second her gaze lingered just a bit too long—like she was sizing him up in ways that weren't just combat-related.
The first wave came fast—three fighters charging straight in. Malik's spear danced in the tight space, parrying a hammer swing, sweeping a leg, and driving the butt-end into a gut. Zyren's smoke rolled low across the ice, turning the second attacker's footing into an endless drop. The man screamed as his balance broke.
The third swung wild, but Zyren stepped past him, his smoke curling into the man's nostrils—moments later, the fighter dropped his weapon and stared into the distance, laughing like a man who'd just seen paradise.
Another four came in from the left. Nia stayed on her perch, watching like a queen enjoying her favorite sport.
Malik blocked a double slash, reversed his grip, and drove the spearpoint up into an opponent's thigh. The man went down screaming. Another came from behind, but Malik ducked under his blade—only for Zyren's smoke to blind the man completely.
By the time the last fighter dropped to his knees, gasping in the cold air, only two remained. They didn't charge—they simply faded back into the snow.
Malik stood over the quiet battlefield, his breath misting in the frozen air.
Nia clapped slowly, her smile sly. "Not bad. You fight like someone who knows he's being graded."
"Am I passing?" Malik asked.
"Passing?" She stepped closer, brushing a lock of hair from her cheek. "We'll see. You're… interesting, Malik Carter. I like interesting." Her eyes flicked toward Zyren. "And your friend smells like trouble."
"That's just the smoke, baby," Zyren said with a lazy grin.
Nia laughed, and as she walked away, she tossed something toward Malik—a shard of froststeel etched with runes. "For later. You'll know when to use it."
She disappeared into the white.
Zyren glanced at Malik. "You sure she's not tryna kill you?"
"Oh, she's definitely trying," Malik said, tucking the shard away. "The question is… why not yet?"