The storm came fast. By the time word reached the keep that a child from the nearby village had gone missing, the snow was already thick enough to swallow footprints. Winds howled against the walls, rattling shutters, filling every gap with a cold that clawed into the bones.
The messenger who arrived was half-frozen himself, snow caked in his beard, words tumbling over each other in panic. He was ushered into the main hall where Orren, Nevara, and the cubs were gathered near the fire. His breath came in sharp clouds as he stammered the tale of a boy gone missing. The room, already cold from drafts, seemed to still further.
"They said he was chasing after a stray goat," Captain Vesh added quickly once the messenger was steadied, his tail lashing as he tried to mask his worry. "Ten years old. Slipped into the forest before the storm rose."
Orren was already reaching for his cloak, his jaw set like iron. "Have the villagers form search parties around the lower paths. Nevara and I will take the northern treeline."
Nevara's heart twisted. The thought of a child lost in a storm like this clawed at memories she had long buried—faces of little ones left alone in the cold. She stood firmly, smoothing Aurelia's hair and brushing Thoren's cheek. "I want to help. My magic can calm the storm enough to find him. I can read the snow better than eyes alone."
Thoren clung to her skirts, his eyes brimming. "You'll find him, right?"
She knelt, brushing frost-dusted hair from his forehead. "Of course. Keep each other warm. We'll bring him back."
"Promise?" Aurelia whispered.
Nevara's smile was soft, though her chest was tight. "Promise."
Orren's presence at her side was steady as the stone walls themselves. The children reluctantly let go, and together Orren and Nevara stepped into the storm.
The forest was a blur of white and black—the skeletal arms of trees clawing at the sky, the ground hidden under relentless drifts. Nevara crouched low, fingertips brushing the crust of snow. Frost leapt beneath her touch, rippling outward in glowing veins, revealing faint depressions: the outline of a boot half-filled by the storm.
"Here," she said, pointing. Her breath misted in the air. "Small prints. Heading downslope."
Orren's eyes narrowed against the snow. "Too close to the ravine." He crouched beside her, pressing a hand against the earth as though he could read the land through touch. "We move fast."
Nevara closed her eyes briefly, focusing her will. The winds that had been tearing at their cloaks seemed to soften, their bite easing slightly as she coaxed calm into the storm. The air shifted, just enough to let them see further. "There. I can quiet the snow for a time—it should help us follow him."
The snow deepened, forcing them to half-stumble, half-plow through drifts. Nevara raised her hands again. Threads of ice spiraled outward from her fingertips, blue light shining against the storm as her magic spread like veins across the ground, tracing hidden prints and broken branches. The air grew sharper with every pulse, crystals hanging in the air like fragile stars.
Her magic peeled back the storm's cover, painting a path of tiny footprints across the whitened world. She could see where the child stumbled, where his little boots dragged in panic. He's tired. Frightened. But still moving. She pushed harder, and for a breath the storm seemed to bend back before her will, the path glowing as though she had coaxed starlight into the snow.
"Nevara," Orren said, voice low but firm. "Pace yourself. You're pushing too hard." He saw the pallor in her cheeks, the stiff tremble in her arms, and calculation sparked in his thoughts—how much could she give before her strength failed, and what hidden depths of magic was she revealing? Yet beneath the worry there was pride, even a flicker of warmth at her determination.
"I can see his trail," she murmured, her voice strained but resolute. "I won't stop until we find him."
Then, a faint cry carried through the storm. "Help!"
Both froze, then turned sharply toward the sound. Orren surged ahead, powerful strides carving a path. Nevara followed, weaving another arc of frost-light to hold the trail. The threads glittered behind them like a path of stars, each one a promise she would not break.
They crested a ridge and saw him: a boy clinging to the root of a tree, dangling above the lip of the ravine where snow had collapsed.
"Hold on!" Nevara shouted, sliding to her knees at the edge. She flung out her hand, frost spiraling outward in a sudden surge, forming a frozen lattice across the crumbling ground. The cracking ice glittered under the gray sky, a fragile bridge holding the earth together. The magic clawed through her arms, burning cold.
"Don't let go!" she called. The boy sobbed but held tight.
Orren braced her shoulders with one hand, anchoring her, and lowered himself enough to seize the boy's wrist. With a single heave, he hauled him up and over, tucking the shivering child against his chest.
"You're safe," Orren rumbled. The boy buried his face against his cloak, trembling. "We've got you."
Nevara's breath came fast, frost lingering at her lashes. She pushed herself up and looked at the storm-choked woods around them. "We'll never find the path back like this. I'll mark the way."
She staggered to her feet and raised her hands. The air turned sharp and still, the wind itself seeming to pause. Magic coiled from her fingers, brighter and colder than before, building into a column of crystalline frost that erupted skyward. The beacon shone like a frozen flame, piercing through the storm. The sound of crackling ice filled the air, and the trees groaned under its chill.
"They'll see it from the village," she whispered. Her lips trembled, her skin pale. The power tore through her like knives of ice. Her knees buckled, the world tilting.
"Enough," Orren snapped, catching her as she sagged. He pulled her close, feeling the unnatural chill radiating from her skin. His golden eyes flicked to the beacon—brilliant, unyielding—and then down to the fragile figure in his arms. Pride swelled in his chest, tangled with sharp fear. She had risked everything. For a child not her own.
The boy whimpered, still shivering. Nevara reached out weakly, pressing her palm to his cheek. A wave of soothing cold spread into him—not biting, but steady, wrapping him like a cocoon. His trembling slowed, his breath eased. For a moment, he no longer felt the storm's teeth.
Orren saw it, his mind sharpening. That isn't just frost… she's drawing the cold away from him. Suspicion stirred beneath his relief, yet so did awe. She was more than an ice mage—her power touched life itself.
Without another word, he shifted her weight into his arms, the boy still clinging to his cloak. Orren carried both as though the storm itself weighed less.
Nevara's head fell against his shoulder. "I… can walk…"
"You've done enough," Orren said, his tone unyielding, though gratitude roughened the edges. "Rest."
The snow clawed at them, but Orren's stride did not falter. The beacon burned bright behind them, a frozen star leading the way. By the time they reached the village, lanterns already bobbed through the storm, drawn to the signal.
Villagers surged forward, crying the boy's name. Hands reached, pulling him into an embrace of warmth and relief. The child's mother sobbed, pressing her face into his hair. "Thank you—thank you both—"
Nevara stirred weakly, but Orren tightened his hold. "Later," he said. "She needs heat and rest."
The villagers parted as he carried her through, awe mingling with gratitude. Whispers followed them—about the beacon, about the frost, about the lord who carried an ice witch as though she were the most precious thing in the world.
Back at the keep, Orren laid her gently on the bed before the fire. The cubs scrambled up beside her, pressing close, sharing warmth. Aurelia's voice trembled. "Mama Neva, are you okay?"
Nevara managed a faint smile, brushing their cheeks. "I will be. You're all so warm." She still felt nervous, the bite of her own magic lingering in her bones, but she was warm enough now to hug them close and cuddle them, pressing her face to their hair. Yet even as she held them, a pang of worry tugged in her chest—what if her frost had harmed them? What if one day her touch burned instead of soothed?
Thoren puffed up his little chest. "We'll protect you now!"
She laughed weakly, the sound easing some of the tension in the room. "I think I can count on that. But promise me you'll always be careful near me when I'm too cold. I'd never want to hurt you."
Both cubs nodded solemnly, then hugged her tighter once her warmth returned. She pressed her cheek to their soft hair, breathing in their small, wild scent, letting their trust settle the ache of doubt in her heart.
Orren stood watch, silent, golden eyes lingering on the woman who had frozen a council chamber one day and lit the sky with a beacon the next. His hand tightened on the back of the chair, nails dimpling the wood as his thoughts ran sharper than any blade. He would not forget the sight of her against the storm—fragile and unyielding all at once, light blazing from a figure who feared her own touch. Inwardly, he marveled at her strength, but also at the tenderness she feared might wound. To him, it only bound her closer to the children—and, though he did not yet admit it aloud, to himself.
Pride pressed heavy in his chest, tangled with unease: her power reached further than any ice mage he had ever known, brushing against life itself. Yet alongside his questions came a warmth he had not felt in years, rising like the first crack of sunlight after a long winter. For the first time in a long while, the predator's patience in his chest softened into something more human—something he could not yet name, but which stirred dangerously close to hope.
And outside, the storm began to break.