The sky was inked in red, blood drizzling down like rain. The cold, snow-filled ruins of New York were now more red than white.
All around me the world was screaming, sword clashing against sword, bodies falling to the ground, and men crying in dying agony.
A few soldiers rallied together, trying their best to form a desperate shield wall. A monstrous beast of snow smashed into them like they were made of paper, swords and men sent flying.
Just above, a massive dragon fell from the sky, its body covered in flames.
But I ignored the heat, I ignored the death.
I knelt upon what had once been the Statue of Liberty; its upraised wrist was all that was visible, the rest buried in snow.
In my arms lay a woman I knew nothing about, her hair matted with blood, her armour a disgusting mess.
And I wept.
You shall feel my wrath son of storm. You shall know true winter.
At the horizon, a massive tsunami of frost and blood advanced towards the battleground, enveloping men, horse and beast. It raced towards the statue. Towards the woman in my hands. Towards me.
SEVENTEEN DAYS, THREE HOURS, AND NINETEEN SECONDS.
***
The clouds were threatening once again, A dark mirror to the truth down here.
"You're not saying anything, Magnus," Father said. He was trying to bury his annoyance. But I could read him like a book.
I ran my hand through my hair. "I'm sorry. I wasn't really paying attention."
We sat on opposite ends of his favourite working desk. An obsidian-grade mahogany that probably cost as much as a New York apartment.
The table bled for an instant, a flash of red on the polished wood. I closed my eyes, counting the seconds until the blood faded back into the nightmare where it belonged.
Every time I closed my eyes, I saw that countdown. Snow etched with blood. And that woman… Who was she?
I looked up to see Father studying me, his eyes calculating and suspecting. He didn't see the blood, just an annoying son who refused to play his part for the family.
"So, let me get this straight," I said, spinning the chair in a slow circle. "You want me to play-act the doting boyfriend for a girl I do not know?"
"Yes," he snapped, his fingers pinching the bridge of his nose.
A frustrated sigh escaped my lips. "And why does that matter? How is this so important? I told you about my dreams."
Father finally looked up, his eyes cold as snow.
"I said it once, and I shall say it again." He rose to his feet, his presence expanding to fill the room. "You worry yourself over nothing. We have word from Askarion. The world could never end to frost. Not while we control it."
I looked outside at the New York skyline, the image of all of it covered in snow burned in my mind. "It called me son of storm." My throat felt like it was lined with ice. "It said it would show me true winter."
"What if…" I straightened myself on the chair, the words sticking in my throat. "What if it's waking up…"
"We do not speak of it…" he hissed. For a second, his composure , a part of him I hardly ever saw him without ,was gone. For a second all I could see in his eyes was terror.
He walked towards the reinforced glass wall to brood over the skyline. Outside, the clouds continued to darken. It was just my luck, getting caught in a storm, both inside and out.
The temperature in the room plummeted. A chill swept through the office, forcing my jaw to rattle.
"Stop it," I whispered tensely.
"We need this, son." His voice was dreadfully low, vibrating with a terrifying sense of defeat.
"Stop it!"
The air turned into mist the moment it left my lungs. Outside, a monstrous crack of thunder shook the skyscraper to its foundations.
"You know the story, boy," he whispered, finally turning to face me. His brown eyes had bleached into an icy, electric blue; his salt and pepper hair was now the colour of fresh snow.
"I rule a corporate world, one I cannot bear to see fall. You are my key once more, son. This company needs Magnus."
"You're worrying over the wrong thing, Father." It wasn't easy coating words in sarcasm when my throat felt like it was lined with crushed glass, but I'd just seen the world end in snow. My father's capitalist ambitions were the least of my worries.
"Why do you fight it?" He looked at my shaking hands with pure disgust. "You are a God of frost, yet you shiver like a whipped dog. It is pathetic."
"Maybe it's my way of protesting your bullshit," I spat back.
Despite the bravado, I felt the shift, that sickening, familiar surge of power. My vision sharpened; the blues of the room became vibrant. I knew my hair was already turning white, my skin the colour of moonlight. I watched in disgust as a smile returned to my father's face.
I was his masterpiece.
"I made you an immortal," he said, stepping toward me. "I gave my soul to make you a God."
"I'm sorry I didn't say thank you enough," I replied. The entire office looked like the heart of a blizzard. I forced my body to relax, fighting the urge to scream as the cold burned in my veins.
Father stared at me one final time, his eyes a mix of pride and loathing. "You will marry her. That is final."
He turned back to his desk. In the blink of an eye, the frost vanished. The air warmed, the ice evaporated, and the office returned to its ten-million-dollar perfection. Even my body felt human again, though the memory of the cold remained.
The elevator ride down was thirty floors of silence, ears popping with the pressure. By the time the door slid open I felt more ghost than man.
The receptionist nodded politely but I saw her flinch, probably felt the air drop to minus zero as I walked past.
I stepped onto the sidewalk and the sudden contact with sunlight was shocking. The old man had sent the storm away. That was new, and terrifying. The humidity hit me like a wet blanket, but I embraced it, trying to drown out the memory of the meeting.
"What did he say to you?"
My eyes snapped open to see Joshua leaning against my car.
He was my younger brother ...technically, with blonde hair that was a constant tousled mess and brown eyes filled with mischief.
A frustrated groan escaped my lips. "Why do I have the feeling you already know?"
Joshua just smiled and nodded. You wouldn't believe the idiot was over a thousand years old just by looking at him. Then again, you wouldn't believe anything about my family.
"He wants you to follow me," he said, his grin widening.
I groaned again. I couldn't get angry at my brother; that would just be wasted effort. He was the only thing in this family that didn't feel like it was made of ice.
"Follow you where, Josh? To another basement? Another 'mission' for THE GREAT WINTER."
"Not quite," he said, pushing off the car and tossing me a crumpled piece of paper.
"We're going to a party. Apparently, that's where the 'Spark' hangs out."
I looked at the address. It was a club in the Meatpacking District. The last place I wanted to be was a crowded, sweaty room full of people while my blood was still trying to decide if it was liquid or slush.
"Let's go, Mags," Joshua said, already heading for the driver's side.
Seventeen days. And then what?