Pyrehold, Day Seventeen
The tension in the mountain had shifted.
Since the Warden's visit, Toy could feel eyes where there shouldn't be any. The guards walking the corridors outside the Vault took longer pauses near the sealed door. Footsteps echoed just a bit too long.
Something was coming.
But he didn't expect it to come early.
Fenra didn't arrive with the rations that day.
Instead, the door creaked open in the middle of Lara's quiet humming — soft, barely audible, the kind she did when she thought no one noticed.
Toy stood up instantly, hand already near his blade.
The man who entered was young. Taller than Toy. Shaved head. A long scar down the left side of his jaw. Not familiar — which was the first bad sign.
The second was his expression.
He wasn't nervous. He wasn't scared.
He was grinning.
"Orders," he said, holding a metal tray. "Deliver and inspect. Straight from Warden Vyle."
"Where's Fenra?" Toy asked.
The man ignored the question. "You're getting too close. That's the word, isn't it? The cursed knight and the frozen queen, whispering in the dark."
Toy's fingers twitched.
The man took another step inside, setting the tray down — but not leaving.
He looked at Lara.
Toy saw it. That flicker of hunger. Not admiration. Not awe.
Cruelty.
"You're a pretty thing, under all that silence," the man said. "Bet the Witch bleeds like anyone else."
Lara didn't flinch. But her fingers curled slightly in her lap.
Toy moved between them in one step.
"Leave," he said.
The man didn't. He reached down toward his hip — not for a sword. For a shock spike. A small meteoritum shard, carved into a cruel point.
"Orders," the guard said. "They want to know if the binding holds when she screams."
Toy didn't think.
He moved.
Steel sang.
His blade was out before the guard even raised his hand. One clean stroke knocked the spike from his grip, clattering to the floor.
The second stroke stopped a breath from the man's throat.
The young guard froze.
Toy's eyes, once calm, now burned like embers beneath snow.
"This is your only warning," he said. "Get out."
"You wouldn't kill me."
"Try me."
The man hesitated, then slowly backed toward the door. He spat on the stone before leaving.
Toy didn't sheath the sword until the vault sealed again.
Then he turned.
Lara was still in place, but something had shifted.
Her eyes were wider. Not in fear — in something much rarer.
Shock.
"You drew your blade," she said.
"For you," he replied.
A pause.
Then her voice, soft: "Why?"
"Because I've seen monsters," Toy said, sliding the sword back into its sheath. "And you're not one of them."
Lara looked down at her hands.
"They think I am."
"I don't care what they think."
Another silence. But this one wasn't brittle.
It was shared.
Toy crossed the cell again, this time not sitting across the room. He sat beside her.
"Next time," he said, "I won't warn them."
She didn't smile. But her fingers uncurled, resting loosely on her lap.
Then she whispered, "You're warming me, Toy."
He blinked. "What?"
"The cold," she murmured. "It hasn't touched me in two days."
He hadn't noticed.
But now that she said it — the frost had receded from the walls. The torches burned steadier. The chill in the floor was softer.
"Kaelith," she whispered, barely audible. "He approves."
A shadow flickered behind her — not physical, not visible to most.
But Toy felt it.
A presence. Massive. Coiled. Protective.
The serpent watched.
And Toy did not look away.