Air turned solid—like diving into cold silk—then broke.
They crashed onto powdery ground that gave, then held. White puffed up, sparkling.
Lily rolled, arms around the twins, snow crusting her bare skin. Kade landed beside her, knees buckling, phone flashlight spinning away.
No stars above. No sky. Only pale blue mist glowing from nowhere and everywhere.
Finn sneezed snow from his lashes. Daisy clutched his sleeve, eyes silver saucers.
Lily's breath plumed, heart still falling. She pushed upright, scanning.
They sat in a shallow crater of snow. Footprints—clawed, enormous—ringed the edge, already filling with fresh flakes.
Kade found the flashlight, brushed frost from the lens. The beam cut a tunnel through mist, revealing black tree trunks without leaves, without life.
"Cold," Finn whispered.
Kade stripped the blanket from his shoulders, wrapped both pups. "Stay close."
Lily tested her ankle—tender, not broken. She took a step. Snow squeaked like glass beads.
Behind them, the arch they'd fallen through had vanished; only swirling fog remained.
No going back.
She studied the claw prints again—three toes, wide pads, deeper than any wolf she knew.
A low rumble vibrated through the soles of her feet.
Daisy pressed palms to her ears. "Thunder?"
The mist ahead swirled, parting like theater curtains.
Something moved—tall, antlered, walking upright.
Kade raised the flashlight.
The beam caught a silhouette: elk skull for a head, antlers draped in frost, ribs showing through tattered hide. It carried a staff of knotted bone.
It stopped, skull tilting.
Lily's pulse drummed.
The creature tapped the staff once.
Snowflakes froze mid-air—hundreds of tiny stars suspended.
Silence became a pressure behind her eyes.
Kade stepped in front of the twins.
The skull tilted the other way, jaws opening with a sound like splintering wood.
Words spilled, hollow and cold: "Trespassers pay in memories."
Lily found her voice. "We're passing through, not staying."
The creature extended a hand—bones tied with sinew. "Payment."
Behind Lily, snow cracked. She glanced back—more silhouettes emerged from trees, identical, antlers brushing low mist.
Surrounded.
Kade's claws slid out. "We don't barter hearts."
The first creature raised the staff higher.
Suspended snowflakes began to spin, forming a glittering cyclone.
Wind yanked at Lily's hair, exposed skin stinging.
The twins huddled into the blanket.
Kade lunged, aiming for the staff.
Bone met claw—sparks flashed white.
The cyclone collapsed inward, coating Kade in instant frost. He froze, statue-still, breath locked mid-snarl.
Lily cried out, grabbed his arm. Ice cracked beneath her nails but held.
The skull turned to her. "Payment."
Her choices narrowed to one.
She lifted her bare wrist, pressed it against the staff's sharpened end.
Skin split. Blood beaded—black against white bone.
The creature lowered the staff, touched the blood.
Snowflakes resumed falling, gentle now.
Kade's ice shell shattered; he dropped to one knee, gasping steam.
The skull nodded once, satisfied. It stepped aside, clearing a path into the trees.
Others followed, forming a silent corridor.
Lily pressed her bleeding wrist to her thigh, staunching flow.
Kade rose, touched her cheek—question, gratitude, fear.
She leaned into the warmth, then straightened. "Move."
They walked the corridor, snow hushing underfoot.
Either side, antlered figures watched without eyes.
The mist thickened ahead, swallowing trees.
A new sound drifted—water lapping, steady, close.
The corridor ended at a frozen lake. Surface glass-clear, showing depths of jagged blue ice.
In the center, a small island rose—bare earth, no snow. On it stood a single object: a cradle of woven twigs.
Lily's steps faltered.
The lake ice bore claw-gouges—fresh, bleeding water that refroze in seconds.
Kade tested the edge with his weight. It held.
"We cross together," he said.
They stepped onto the glass. Cracks spidered but didn't give.
Halfway, the twins' reflections shimmered—revealing wolf pups beneath human faces, silver eyes glowing.
Daisy gasped. "Momma, look."
The cradle on the island rocked—alone, windless.
Lily's stomach twisted.
They reached the island, boots crunching frost-coated mud.
Up close, the cradle held not a child but a heart—beating, crimson, tethered by vines that burrowed into earth.
Each pulse sent a tremor through the ground.
Kade's hand found hers. "Don't touch."
A voice sighed from everywhere: "Trade, and the path opens."
Lily swallowed. "Trade what?"
The vines lifted the heart higher, offering.
Beat-beat-beat.
Images flashed across the lake surface—memories: her laughing with Kade beneath summer leaves; Daisy taking first steps; Finn learning to howl; her father teaching her to track deer.
Each vision peeled away like photographs burning, edges curling into ash that drifted onto the ice.
Lily's knees buckled. "Stop."
The voice softened. "One memory for each life. Fair."
Kade stepped forward. "Take mine instead."
The vines swung toward him.
"No," Lily snapped. "We share."
She pulled Kade close, pressed their foreheads together.
"Together," she whispered.
He closed his eyes. "Together."
They extended their joined hands toward the heart.
Vines wrapped their wrists—thorns pricking, drawing blood that dripped onto the beating muscle.
Pain flared—sharp, cold—then numbness.
Images slowed, freezing like frames of ice.
The heart's beat faltered.
Cracks raced across the lake surface, splitting with thunder.
The island shook.
Lily yanked free; vines snapped, spraying sap that hissed on contact with ice.
The heart stilled—one last tremble—then burst into a cloud of crimson snow that swept across the lake.
Where it touched, ice melted, revealing black water that swallowed light.
A narrow bridge of land rose from the depths, leading into mist—path glowing faint blue.
Kade pulled her back. "Now."
They ran.
Behind, the island crumbled, vines withering to dust.
Chunks of ice flipped, vanishing into churning dark.
They reached the bridge as the last piece of island sank.
The mist ahead parted, revealing a round stone doorway cut into nothing—beyond it, pine scent and real moonlight.
Home-side.
They stepped through.
Cold snapped into summer warmth.
They stood in forest clearing, crickets singing, fireflies drifting.
Truck headlights flickered between trunks—search party, maybe pack.
Lily exhaled, knees weak.
Kade brushed ash from her hair. "You okay?"
She touched her temple—no wound, no blood. Only cold ache where memory had been.
She couldn't recall what she'd lost.
Before she could answer, a twig cracked behind them.
They turned.
Victor stepped from shadow—throat healed, eyes glowing red.
Rocket launcher gone, replaced by a silver collar dangling from his fingers.
He smiled. "Thanks for opening the door."
Behind him, more figures emerged—dozens, eyes same red fire.
The clearing shrank.
Kade pushed Lily and the twins behind him.
Victor snapped the collar open. "Who wants to heel first?"