Kaelin froze. The name was like a distant bell tolling in his mind. He had heard it before, long ago, in the slums when old drunkards whispered stories to the children. The Aeryns had been kings and queens, masters of storms and frost. But those were just tales, meant to warm cold nights.
"They're dead," Kaelin said, almost to himself. "They've been dead for centuries."
The man's eyes seemed to sharpen. "So the Guilds would have you believe. Yet here you stand, frost scars hidden under rags, breathing the wind like it belongs to you. Do you think the Guilds would chase a street thief with flame guards if you were just another pickpocket?"
The frost scars. The pale lines that curved across Kaelin's left shoulder and collarbone, faint but always colder than the skin around them. He had never known where they came from. He had stopped asking.
The man took a slow step closer. "My name is Sova. I keep to the edges of this city, where the Guilds' eyes grow tired. And I know what you are. If you wish to live past the night, you will come with me."
Kaelin's instincts screamed to run. Trust was a luxury in the slums. But something in the old man's voice felt heavier than a threat, heavier even than fear. It felt like the truth had just been set before him, wrapped in frost and silence.
A shout echoed far off. The Guild was sweeping the streets. Sova turned and began moving deeper into the alley's shadows without looking back.
Kaelin hesitated only a heartbeat before following.
...
The slums of Branthollow were never quiet for long. Even in the dead of night, there was the shuffle of feet, the cough of sickness, the mutter of those who lived by whispers instead of coins. But tonight, the air felt different… tight, like a drumskin stretched too far. Kaelin could taste smoke before he saw it.
Sova moved ahead of him through the twisting alleys, his patched cloak brushing the wet walls. "Keep your head down, boy," he murmured. "And your feet light. The Guilds won't give up just because you've run once."
They turned into a narrow street lined with sagging huts. Lanterns burned low behind shuttered windows. Then, from the far end, the sharp clang of metal rang out. Shapes stepped into the lamplight… five figures in boiled leather and chain, each with a short blade at the hip and a Guild-marked pauldron on the shoulder.
Bounty hunters.
Kaelin froze. He'd seen their kind before… freelancers who didn't wear the full armor of the Guilds but worked for their coin. They were faster than soldiers, crueler than guards, and they liked to bring their prey in alive. Alive paid more.
The lead hunter spotted them and grinned. "The frost brat," he said, voice carrying in the damp air. "Five gold for the boy, two if the old man breathes when we hand him over."
Kaelin's muscles tensed. "We can't… "
"Run!" Sova said, already moving.
The hunters surged forward. Kaelin sprinted after the old man, heart pounding. Behind them, boots hammered the stones, gaining ground. The alleys twisted, but the hunters knew these streets too… every turn they took, the sound of pursuit stayed close.
A figure dropped from a low roof ahead, blocking the path. Kaelin skidded to a stop, breath catching. The hunter lunged, blade flashing in the lantern glow. Kaelin stumbled back, but Sova moved with sudden speed, his cane striking the man's wrist with a crack. The blade clattered to the stones. In the same motion, Sova hooked the man's ankle and sent him sprawling.
"Go!" Sova barked.
They cut down another alley, but a second group of hunters appeared from the side, driving them toward the waterfront. The scent of salt and rotting nets filled Kaelin's nose. His chest ached. The path ahead ended in a half-collapsed pier.
"We're trapped," Kaelin said, panic rising.
Sova's eyes flicked toward the water. "Not yet."
The hunters slowed, spreading to surround them. Their leader stepped forward, a grin under his scarred cheek. "The Guilds want you alive, boy. But they didn't say anything about keeping you whole."
Heat crawled up Kaelin's neck. His hands tingled the way they had in the market, the air pressing in tight around him.
Sova leaned close, voice low. "Feel it. Don't fight the cold. Shape it."
The hunters closed in. One raised his sword then… the air around Kaelin split with a rush of wind. Frost whipped outward in a spiral, slicking the pier with ice. The nearest hunter's feet shot out from under him, and two more staggered back, arms raised to shield their faces from the shards of frozen spray.
Sova didn't waste the opening. With surprising strength, he shoved Kaelin toward the water. "Now!"
They dove together, the shock of the freezing harbor stealing Kaelin's breath. Above, the hunters shouted, but none dared follow into the black, icy depths.
When they surfaced under the shadow of a rotting hull, Sova's breath was ragged, but his eyes held a fierce glint. "You learn quickly," he said. "That will keep you alive."
Kaelin shivered, clutching the pouch still in his hand. For the first time, the cold in his veins didn't feel like an accident. It felt like something waiting to be claimed.