CHAPTER ONE: THE LAST MORNING
Elias woke to the smell of burnt fish and the sound of his own breathing.
The sleeping mat beneath him was thin enough that he could feel the grain of the floorboards through it, each plank running perpendicular to his spine. He'd slept on his back again. Always on his back now. Sleeping on his side meant waking up with his arm asleep, and that pins-and-needles feeling made him want to punch something. Sleeping on his stomach meant his face pressed into the mat and he'd wake up with fabric lines across his cheek, visible marks that the other kids would notice and not comment on, which was somehow worse than if they'd just said something.
So. Back it was.
He opened his eyes.
The ceiling of the communal sleeping house was lower than he remembered. Or maybe he'd grown. Probably both. The beams overhead were dark wood, water-stained and warped from decades of humid air rolling in off the Isle. Someone had carved initials into one of them. E.L. + T.M., surrounded by a lopsided heart. Elias didn't know who either of those people were. Didn't know if they were dead now, or living in some other age-zone, fifty miles upriver, their bodies old and their hearts still stupid.
He could hear movement outside. Voices. The shuffle of feet on dirt paths, the creak of cart wheels. The island waking up.
The burnt fish smell was coming from the cookhouse next door. Someone had left the fire too hot again. Probably Merra. She always did that when she was nervous, overcompensated with the flame until the scales blackened and curled and the flesh inside turned to ash. Today she had a reason to be nervous. Today was a migration day.
Elias sat up.
The sleeping house was mostly empty. A few younger kids still curled up on their mats—nines, tens. They had another year, maybe two. They didn't have to think about it yet. Their fear was still abstract, something that lived in the future. Elias's fear was in his stomach, where it had been sitting since he'd turned twelve, getting heavier every day.
He stood, rolled his shoulders, felt the tightness in his lower back. Twelve years and three-hundred-sixty-four days old. Tomorrow he'd be thirteen. Tomorrow he wouldn't be allowed here anymore.
Tomorrow didn't matter, though. Today was the day.
He pulled on his shirt—a ratty, too-small thing that used to be gray but had faded to the color of old snow—and stepped outside.
The island hit him all at once. Light, sound, the smell of salt and rot and too many people living too close together. The sky was the color of sour milk, low clouds pressing down, trapping the heat. The air felt thick. Hard to pull into his lungs. A storm was coming, maybe. Or maybe it always felt like this and he just noticed it more today.
The paths were crowded. People moving with purpose, carrying things. Bundles of cloth, baskets of preserved fruit, canteens. Parents walking with their kids toward the docks, hands on shoulders, murmuring last-minute advice that wouldn't matter. The kids looked scared. Some of them were crying. The parents looked worse.
Elias walked.
He didn't have anyone to walk with. His mother was gone—not dead, just gone, living in Zone Thirty-Three or Thirty-Four by now, a full day's sail upriver, her body in its fifties, her son a memory she maybe thought about when she looked at the water. His father he'd never met. Somewhere in Zone Fifty-something, if he was still alive. Old. Probably didn't even know Elias existed.
That was how it worked. Parents had kids, raised them for a handful of years, then aged out of the zone and left. You got used to it. You had to.
Elias passed the market stalls, most of them empty now. A few vendors still trying to sell things—dried fruit, stitched leather, bone trinkets. One old man, his skin papery and thin, was selling cord bracelets that were supposed to bring luck on the water. Elias didn't look at him.
Luck was a lie people told themselves when they didn't want to admit they had no control.
The docks came into view.
They were built from the same dark, water-warped wood as everything else on the island, stretching out over the river like skeletal fingers. Three of them. One for fishing boats, one for cargo, one for the migration ships. That last one was crowded.
The ship was already there.
It was bigger than Elias had expected. Two-masted, wide-hulled, built to carry weight. The sails were furled, the deck busy with movement. Water-Evolved, mostly. You could tell from the way they moved—fluid, efficient, like they were weightless. Their skin had that faint sheen to it, a slickness that caught the light. Gills visible on some of them, just shadows along the neck. Others had webbing between their fingers, or eyes that sat a little too far apart, or legs that bent in ways that didn't look quite right until you saw them dive.
They were beautiful in a way that made Elias's throat tight.
He hated them.
"Elias."
He turned. Merra was standing behind him, her hands clasped in front of her stomach. She looked like she'd been crying, or was about to. Her eyes were red-rimmed, her mouth pressed into a thin line.
"You didn't eat," she said.
"Wasn't hungry."
"You should eat."
"Yeah."
She looked at him, and he could see her deciding whether to push it. She didn't. Just nodded, swallowed, looked past him toward the ship.
"I'm sorry," she said.
Elias didn't answer. What was there to say? Sorry didn't mean anything. Sorry didn't keep you from aging. Sorry didn't make the river less dangerous or the predators less hungry or the migration less inevitable. Sorry was just a sound people made when they wanted to feel better about things they couldn't change.
"Did you pack?" she asked.
"Yeah."
"Let me see."
He sighed, shrugged the satchel off his shoulder and handed it to her. She opened it, looked inside. One change of clothes. A canteen. A fire-striker wrapped in oilcloth. A knife with a handle that was too small for his hand now.
"That's it?" she asked.
"That's it."
She looked at him. He looked back. Neither of them said the obvious thing, which was that it didn't matter what he packed because he probably wouldn't make it to the other side anyway. Most didn't. The river saw to that.
She handed the satchel back.
"I put something in the front pocket," she said. "For after."
Elias opened the pocket. Inside was a small bundle of cloth, tied with string. He didn't open it. Didn't need to. He could feel the weight of it. Bread, probably. Maybe some dried fruit. Something she'd saved from her own rations.
"Merra—"
"Just take it."
He closed the pocket. "Thanks."
She nodded. Her eyes were wet now. She wiped at them with the heel of her hand, hard, like she was angry at herself for it.
"You're going to be fine," she said.
"Yeah."
"I mean it."
"Okay."
She stepped forward and hugged him. Fast, tight, her arms around his ribs, her face pressed into his shoulder. He stood there, stiff, hands at his sides, not sure where to put them. By the time he thought to hug her back, she was already pulling away.
"Go," she said. "Don't be late."
She turned and walked off before he could say anything else.
Elias stood there, watching her disappear into the crowd. Then he slung the satchel over his shoulder and headed toward the dock.
The line was long. Maybe fifty kids, all of them between twelve and thirteen. Some younger-looking, some older. All of them quiet. A few parents still lingering at the edges, but most had already said their goodbyes and left. It was easier that way.
At the front of the line was a Water-Evolved woman with a ledger. Tall, narrow-shouldered, gills visible along her neck every time she turned her head. Her skin was pale, almost translucent, and her eyes were too large. She was checking names, marking them off.
Elias waited.
The kid in front of him was shaking. A boy, maybe twelve and a half, his hands gripping the straps of his pack so hard his knuckles were white. He kept looking at the ship, then looking away, then looking back. Like if he stared at it long enough it might disappear.
"Name," the woman said.
The boy stammered something. The woman checked her ledger, nodded, waved him forward. He stumbled up the gangplank.
"Name," the woman said again.
Elias stepped forward. "Elias."
She looked at him. Her eyes were the color of river water, greenish-gray, unreadable.
"Family name?"
"Don't have one."
She made a mark in the ledger. "Zone Eight-Twelve transfer. Bound for Zone Thirteen-Seventeen."
"Yeah."
"You've been informed of the risks."
It wasn't a question, but Elias answered anyway. "Yeah."
"Any health conditions that would prevent you from traveling?"
"No."
"Possessions declared?"
"Nothing worth declaring."
She looked at him for another second, then nodded toward the gangplank. "Board."
Elias walked up.
The deck was crowded. Kids everywhere, huddled in groups or sitting alone, backs against the railings. Some of them were talking in low voices. Most weren't. A few Water-Evolved crew members moved among them, checking ropes, adjusting cargo. One of them—a man with webbed fingers and a jaw that jutted forward slightly—was hauling a barrel across the deck. He moved like it weighed nothing.
Elias found a spot near the stern, away from the others. He dropped his satchel, sat down with his back against the railing. The wood was damp. He could feel it seeping through his shirt.
The ship rocked gently. The water beneath it was dark, opaque. You couldn't see more than a few inches down. Anything could be under there.
Probably was.
Elias pulled his knees up, rested his arms on them. Waited.
More kids boarded. The deck filled. A bell rang somewhere, sharp and metallic. The crew started moving faster. Ropes were untied. The gangplank was pulled up.
A Water-Evolved woman climbed up onto a raised platform near the mast. She was older than the one with the ledger, her skin darker, her gills more pronounced. She wore a long coat that looked like it was made from woven kelp, and her hair was slicked back, tied at the base of her skull.
She looked at them—all of them, the whole deck of frightened kids—and her expression was something close to pity.
"Listen," she said.
Her voice carried easily. Everyone went quiet.
"You're crossing the Isle of Obol," she said. "The river will not care if you're afraid. It will not care if you're young. It does not distinguish between the worthy and the unworthy. It simply is."
She paused, let that settle.
"Stay on the ship," she continued. "Do not lean over the railings. Do not put your hands in the water. Do not do anything stupid. If you fall, we will not stop for you."
Someone near the front made a choked sound. The woman didn't acknowledge it.
"The crossing will take six hours," she said. "Maybe less. We'll arrive at Zone Thirteen before nightfall. You will disembark in an orderly fashion. You will follow the instructions of the zone administrators. You will integrate."
She looked at them for another long moment.
"The river provides," she said. "And the river takes. Remember that."
Then she stepped down.
The crew began working the sails. Canvas unfurled, snapped taut in the wind. The ship lurched, started to move.
Elias watched the dock slide away. Watched the island shrink. Watched the people on the shore get smaller and smaller until they were just shapes, and then just shadows, and then nothing.
The river opened up around them.
Wide. Empty. The color of old iron.
Elias sat there, his back against the railing, his hands resting on his knees, and he tried very hard not to think about what was beneath the water.
The first hour was uneventful.
The ship moved steadily, cutting through the water with a low, rhythmic creak. The wind was mild. The sky stayed the same sour-milk color, low and oppressive. Some of the kids started to relax. A few even talked. Nervous laughter. Tentative relief.
Elias didn't relax.
He kept his eyes on the water. Looking for movement. Shadows. Anything that broke the surface. There was nothing. Just the wake of the ship, spreading out behind them in a pale V.
One of the Water-Evolved crew—a young man, maybe in his twenties, with smooth blue-gray skin and gills that fluttered when he breathed—walked past. He had a coil of rope over his shoulder, and he moved with that weightless grace they all had.
He glanced at Elias, then away. Didn't say anything.
Elias watched him go.
When two people capable of killing each other disagree, they argue the law.
He didn't know where he'd heard that. Someone had said it once. An administrator, maybe. Or one of the older kids. It didn't matter. He'd remembered it.
Two people, one overwhelmingly stronger than the other—their word becomes the law.
That was the world. That was how it worked.
The Water-Evolved had the gun. The Earth-dwellers had the knife.
Elias had nothing.
He looked down at his hands. Thin. Bony. The knuckles too pronounced, the skin rough from scrubbing fish scales and hauling nets. He flexed his fingers, felt the tendons move under the skin.
What could these hands do?
Not much.
Not enough.
He closed them into fists.
Two hours in, the girl sitting near him started crying.
She was young—twelve, maybe just barely. Small for her age. She'd been sitting with her arms wrapped around her knees, rocking slightly, and then the rocking turned into shaking, and then the shaking turned into sobs.
No one said anything. A few kids looked over, then looked away. One of the Water-Evolved crew glanced in her direction, frowned, then went back to adjusting a sail line.
Elias watched her.
She wasn't loud. The crying was quiet, choked, like she was trying to keep it inside and failing. Her shoulders hitched with each breath.
He should say something.
He didn't know what.
It's going to be okay was a lie. Don't worry was a lie. We'll make it was a lie.
So he said nothing.
After a while, she stopped. Just ran out of tears, maybe. She wiped her face with her sleeve, pulled her knees in tighter, and stared at the deck.
Elias looked away.
Three hours in, one of the crew shouted.
"LINES SECURE! HOLD FAST!"
The ship lurched. Not violently, but enough that a few kids stumbled. Elias grabbed the railing, held on.
The crew was moving fast now. Three of them at the sails, two at the stern. The woman in the kelp coat was standing at the bow, looking down into the water.
Elias followed her gaze.
There.
Just beneath the surface. A shadow. Long, sinuous, moving parallel to the ship. It was hard to tell how big it was. Big enough.
"What is that?" someone whispered.
No one answered.
The shadow kept pace with them for maybe two minutes. Then it dove, disappeared into the dark.
The crew relaxed. Not all the way. Just enough.
The woman in the kelp coat turned, looked back at the deck full of kids.
"That," she said, "is why you stay on the ship."
No one spoke.
The ship kept moving.
Four hours in, Elias opened the front pocket of his satchel and looked at what Merra had given him.
It wasn't bread.
It was a carving. Small, no bigger than his thumb. Smooth, polished wood. A fish. Simple, stylized, the kind of thing you'd make with a whittling knife and too much time.
He turned it over in his hand.
On the underside, carved in tiny letters: You're stronger than you think.
Elias stared at it.
Then he put it back in the pocket and closed the flap.
He wasn't stronger than he thought. He knew exactly how strong he was. Weak. Mortal. Soft.
But he appreciated the thought.
Five hours in, the wind changed.
It came from the north now, colder, sharper. The temperature dropped fast. A few kids pulled their jackets tighter. One of the crew members frowned, looked at the sky.
"Storm?" another crew member asked.
"Maybe."
"In summer?"
"River does what it wants."
They adjusted the sails. The ship angled slightly, compensating.
Elias felt the cold sink into his skin. It wasn't normal. Didn't feel like a storm. Felt like something else.
He didn't know what.
Five and a half hours in, the woman in the kelp coat walked past him.
She stopped. Looked down.
"You're quiet," she said.
Elias looked up at her. "Yeah."
"Scared?"
"Yeah."
She nodded, like that was a reasonable answer. "Good. Fear keeps you sharp."
She started to walk away.
"Hey," Elias said.
She stopped, turned back.
"Do most people make it?" he asked.
She looked at him for a long moment. Her river-colored eyes were unreadable.
"No," she said.
Then she walked away.
Elias sat there, his hands resting on his knees, the cold wind biting at his face.
No.
At least she was honest.
Six hours in—or close to it—the ship began to slow.
The crew was trimming the sails, adjusting the rudder. The woman in the kelp coat was at the bow again, looking ahead.
Elias stood, moved to the railing, looked.
There.
In the distance. An island. Dark shapes against the gray sky. Buildings, docks, movement.
Zone Thirteen-Seventeen.
They were almost there.
Relief washed over the deck. A few kids smiled. Someone laughed, shaky and breathless.
Elias felt nothing.
Not yet.
The ship drifted closer. The docks came into view. Figures standing on them—administrators, probably. Water-Evolved. Waiting to process the new arrivals.
The crew began preparing to moor. Ropes were readied. The gangplank was positioned.
Elias gripped the railing.
Almost there.
Almost—
A hand grabbed the back of his shirt.
He jerked, twisted, tried to pull away.
The grip tightened. Lifted.
He looked up.
One of the Water-Evolved crew. Not the young man from before. A woman. Older. Her skin mottled, her eyes too bright. Gills flaring with each breath.
She was smiling.
"Off you go," she said.
And she threw him overboard.
CHAPTER TWO: THE RIVER TAKES
The cold hit him first.
Not the water—the air. A shock of it filling his lungs as he gasped mid-fall, his body too surprised to scream. Then the water, and the cold became absolute.
It swallowed him whole.
Elias plunged deep, the impact driving the air from his chest in a stream of bubbles that spiraled up toward a surface he could no longer see. The river closed over him like a fist. Dark. Freezing. The pressure immediate and disorienting.
He kicked, thrashed, clawed upward.
His head broke the surface.
He gasped, choked, sucked in air and water at the same time. His limbs were already going numb. The cold was eating through his clothes, his skin, sinking into his bones.
The ship was moving away.
Not fast. Not racing. Just… moving. Continuing. Like nothing had happened.
"WAIT!" Elias screamed.
His voice cracked, barely carried. The wind took it.
He could see faces at the railing. Kids staring. A few pointing. None of them moving. The crew didn't even look back.
"WAIT! PLEASE!"
The woman who'd thrown him—he could see her now, standing near the stern. She was watching him. Still smiling.
"HELP!"
She turned away.
The ship kept moving.
Elias kicked harder, tried to swim after it. His arms felt like lead. The satchel on his back was pulling him down, waterlogged, the weight of it dragging at his shoulders.
He fumbled at the strap, fingers clumsy, numb. Got it loose. Let it go.
It sank.
The ship was farther now. Ten meters. Fifteen.
"COME BACK!"
No one came back.
Twenty meters.
Thirty.
Elias stopped swimming. Stopped screaming. He just… floated. Treading water. Watching the ship get smaller.
His breath came in ragged gasps. His teeth were chattering so hard it hurt.
They left me.
The thought was distant. Detached. Like it belonged to someone else.
They just… left.
The ship was a shadow now. The figures on deck indistinct. Another minute and he wouldn't be able to see it at all.
Elias turned in the water, looked around.
Nothing.
Just the river. Stretching out in every direction. Gray water under gray sky. No land in sight. No other ships. No—
Wait.
There.
A shape. Low, dark. Maybe… three hundred meters away? Hard to tell. But it was solid. Not water.
An iceberg? No. Wrong season. Wrong temperature.
Didn't matter. It was something.
Elias started swimming.
His strokes were sloppy, uncoordinated. The cold was making it hard to think. His muscles weren't responding right. But he kept moving. One arm. Then the other. Kick. Breathe. Kick. Breathe.
The shape got closer.
Two hundred meters.
One-fifty.
He could see it better now. Rock. A fragment of an island, maybe. Or a plateau that had broken off from something larger. Flat on top, maybe three meters across. Ice clinging to the edges.
Ice.
That was wrong. It was summer. There shouldn't be ice.
But there was.
Elias didn't care. He just swam.
One hundred meters.
Seventy.
His arms were burning. Not from exertion—from the cold. Like they were on fire and frozen at the same time. His lungs ached. Each breath felt thinner than the last.
Fifty meters.
Forty.
Something moved in the water beside him.
Elias jerked, looked.
A shadow. Beneath the surface. Big. Keeping pace.
His heart slammed against his ribs.
He swam harder.
Thirty meters.
The shadow moved closer.
Twenty meters.
He could see the rock clearly now. The ice on its edges. A flat shelf he could pull himself onto if he could just—
Fifteen meters.
The shadow rose.
Elias saw the shape of it. Broad. Flat head. Legs? No—flippers? Something in between. And the skin—mottled, warty, slick. He caught a glimpse of an eye. Yellow. Filmy.
His brain supplied the word before he could stop it.
Bombardier.
Ten meters.
The creature surfaced. Not all the way. Just enough. Its head broke the water behind him. He heard the wet, rattling sound of its breath.
Five meters.
Elias reached the rock.
His hands slapped against stone. Found a grip. He pulled, kicked, hauled himself up.
The creature lunged.
Elias felt the water surge beneath him, felt the displacement as something massive moved through the space where his legs had just been. He scrambled, clawed, dragged himself onto the rock and rolled, heart hammering, vision blurring.
He lay there. Gasping. Shaking.
Behind him, the water churned.
He forced himself to sit up, look.
The creature was still there. Circling. Its body was huge—easily three meters long, maybe more. The head was wide, flat, with nostrils positioned high on the skull. The eyes were set far apart, filmed over. The skin was covered in warty growths, grayish-green, slick with mucus. And the legs—they were malformed. The back left leg ended in a stump, mangled, the flesh ragged like something had bitten it off.
It circled. Slow. Patient.
Elias watched it.
His whole body was shaking. Not just from cold now. From adrenaline. From the realization of how close—
He cut the thought off.
The creature sank lower in the water. Just the top of its head visible. The yellow eyes tracking him.
It's waiting.
Elias pulled his knees to his chest, wrapped his arms around them. Tried to stop shaking. Couldn't.
His clothes were soaked. The wind was picking up. The cold was getting worse.
He was going to freeze to death on this rock.
Or the creature would wait until he was too weak to fight back, and then it would drag him into the water.
Either way.
Elias closed his eyes.
Opened them.
No.
He wasn't going to die. Not here. Not like this.
He looked around the rock. Flat. Mostly smooth. Ice clinging to the edges—more than there should be. The air temperature had dropped even in the last few minutes. He could see his breath now.
That's not normal.
He pushed the thought away. Focused.
The rock was too small to move around much. If he stood, he'd be visible from every angle. If the creature decided to climb up—
Could it climb?
He looked at it. The front legs had webbed digits. Claws, maybe. The back legs—one was gone. The other looked functional.
Maybe it could climb.
He needed a weapon.
Elias patted himself down. His satchel was gone. The knife Merra had packed—gone. The fire-striker—gone. Everything.
He had nothing.
He looked at the rock. Smooth. No loose stones. Nothing to—
Wait.
He ran his hand along the surface. There. A crack. Narrow, but deep. He dug his fingers in, pried.
A chunk broke loose. Smaller than his fist. Jagged on one side.
Better than nothing.
He gripped it, looked back at the water.
The creature was still there. Still watching.
Elias met its gaze.
I'm not food, he thought. You hear me? I'm not food.
The creature didn't respond. Just kept circling.
Elias sat there, gripping his pathetic stone, shaking so hard his teeth rattled.
And he waited.
The cold got worse.
The wind picked up. The sky darkened—not with night, but with clouds. Thick, low, the color of wet ash. The temperature dropped fast. Too fast.
Elias's breath came out in plumes. His fingers were numb. His toes—he couldn't feel them anymore.
The creature was still there. It hadn't left. Hadn't tried to climb up. Just… circled. Waiting.
For what?
For him to fall asleep. For him to slip. For hypothermia to take him and make him easy prey.
Elias clenched his jaw. Focused on staying awake.
Think. Stay sharp. Don't drift.
He thought about the ship.
The woman who'd thrown him.
Her smile.
Off you go.
Rage flickered in his chest. Weak. Tired. But there.
Why?
He didn't know. Didn't matter. She'd done it. She'd looked at him and decided he didn't deserve to make it to the other side.
When two people capable of killing each other disagree, they argue the law.
He wasn't capable of killing her. He'd known that the second she grabbed him. He was twelve. She was Water-Evolved. Adult. Strong. Fast.
Two people, one overwhelmingly stronger than the other—their word becomes the law.
She had the gun.
He had nothing.
I'll kill her, Elias thought.
The thought was absurd. Impossible. He knew that.
But he thought it anyway.
If I survive this. If I make it to the island. I'll find her. And I'll kill her.
The rage flickered again. A little stronger now.
Stay awake.
He didn't know how much time passed.
The sky got darker. The wind got colder. His body stopped shaking. That was bad. He knew that was bad. Shaking meant his body was fighting. No shaking meant it was giving up.
Stay awake.
The creature was still there.
Elias watched it through half-closed eyes. It was closer now. Maybe two meters from the rock. The water around it looked… wrong. Thicker. Slower.
Ice?
No. Couldn't be. It was summer.
But the edges of the rock—the ice was thicker now. Spreading.
Elias blinked. Tried to focus.
What's happening?
The wind howled.
Something wet hit his face.
He flinched, looked up.
Snow.
It was snowing.
Elias stared.
That's… not possible.
But it was happening. Flakes drifting down. Small at first. Then larger. Falling faster.
The water around the rock began to freeze.
Not slowly. Fast. The surface clouding over, hardening, spreading outward in a web of white.
The creature noticed. It stopped circling. Turned. Looked at the ice forming around it.
Then it dove.
Elias watched it disappear beneath the surface.
The snow fell harder.
He tried to stand. His legs didn't respond. He pulled himself up using his hands, wobbled, nearly fell.
The cold was inside him now. In his blood. In his bones.
I have to move.
He looked out at the water.
The ice was spreading fast. Impossibly fast. The river was freezing over.
Why?
He didn't know.
Didn't matter.
He had to—
His legs gave out.
Elias collapsed. Hit the rock hard. His vision blurred.
Get up.
He couldn't.
Get up.
The snow piled on his back. On his shoulders. In his hair.
Get… up…
The world went dark.
CHAPTER THREE: BURIED
Elias woke to suffocation.
Not drowning. Not water. Something else. Pressure on his chest, his face, his limbs. He couldn't move. Couldn't see. Couldn't breathe.
Panic exploded through him.
He thrashed. Tried to sit up. Couldn't. Something was holding him down. Heavy. Cold.
Buried.
The word surfaced through the panic, and with it, a fragment of awareness.
Snow.
He was buried in snow.
Elias forced himself to stop thrashing. Forced his brain to work.
Dig.
He moved his fingers. Slowly. They were stiff, clumsy, but they moved. He scraped at the snow above his face. Pushed it aside. Packed it down. Made space.
Air.
He gasped, sucked it in. It burned going down. Cold. Dry. But it was air.
He kept digging.
His hands found open space. He pushed up. The snow resisted, then gave. His head broke through.
Light.
Dim. Gray. But light.
Elias dragged himself out of the snow, rolled onto his side, gasped. His whole body ached. His skin felt raw, flayed. His fingers were white, the tips faintly blue.
He forced himself to sit up.
The rock was covered in snow. Not just dusted—covered. At least a foot deep. More in places. It had piled up around him, over him, buried him completely.
How long was I out?
He didn't know.
He looked out at the water.
It wasn't water anymore.
The river had frozen.
Not just around the rock. Everywhere. As far as he could see. A vast expanse of white stretching in every direction, broken only by ridges of pressure ice and jagged cracks that ran like veins through the surface.
Elias stared.
This… this isn't…
It was impossible. The river didn't freeze. Not in summer. Not ever, as far as he knew. The water was too deep, the current too strong.
But it had.
He pulled himself to his feet. His legs shook, threatened to give out. He locked his knees, held himself upright through sheer stubbornness.
The snow was still falling. Lighter now, but steady. The wind had died down. The air was silent except for the faint hiss of flakes landing on ice.
Elias looked down at himself.
His clothes were frozen. Stiff. The fabric crackled when he moved. His hands were a mess—blistered, cracked, the skin peeling in places. Frostbite, maybe. Probably.
He flexed his fingers. They moved. Barely. But they moved.
I'm alive.
The thought felt distant. Unreal.
I shouldn't be.
He looked at the ice again. Tried to make sense of it.
The ship would have made it to the island by now. Hours ago, probably. The other kids would be processing in, getting assigned housing, integrating into Zone Thirteen.
And he was here.
Alone.
On a frozen river that shouldn't exist.
What do I do?
The question sat in his mind, heavy and unanswerable.
He could stay on the rock. Wait. Hope someone came looking.
No one was coming.
He could try to walk across the ice. Head toward… where? He didn't even know which direction the island was. He'd lost his bearings when the ship threw him off.
North, he thought. The island is north.
But which way was north?
He looked at the sky. Overcast. No sun. No shadows. No way to orient himself.
Guess.
Elias turned slowly, scanning the horizon. Ice in every direction. No landmarks. No—
Wait.
There.
Far in the distance. A dark shape. Too regular to be natural.
The ship?
His heart jumped.
No. Can't be. It's been too long.
But it was something.
He stared at it, trying to make out details. Too far. But it was there.
A direction. Better than nothing.
Elias stepped off the rock onto the ice.
It held.
He took another step. The surface was uneven, slick in places, rough in others. Snow covered most of it, but beneath he could see the white-blue of solid ice.
He started walking.
His legs didn't want to work.
Each step was a negotiation. Lift the foot. Swing it forward. Plant it. Shift weight. Repeat. His muscles screamed. His joints felt like they were grinding against each other.
But he kept moving.
The dark shape in the distance didn't seem to get any closer.
Elias didn't care. He just walked.
The silence was oppressive. No wind. No water. Just the crunch of his boots on snow and the rasp of his breathing.
He tried not to think about the creature.
The Bombardier.
It had been in the water when the freeze happened. Was it dead? Trapped under the ice?
Or had it escaped?
Doesn't matter. Keep moving.
He walked.
Time stopped meaning anything. There was just the ice, the snow, the gray sky. One step. Another. Another.
His mind started to drift.
He thought about Merra. About the carving she'd made. The fish.
You're stronger than you think.
Am I?
He didn't feel strong. He felt hollow. Used up.
But he was still moving.
Maybe that's what strength is. Just… not stopping.
He walked.
The dark shape resolved slowly.
Not the ship.
A body.
Elias stopped.
It was lying on the ice maybe twenty meters ahead. Face-down. Arms splayed. Snow dusting the back.
Frozen.
He should keep walking. There was nothing he could do. The person was dead. Had to be.
But he walked toward it anyway.
As he got closer, details emerged. The body was small. A kid. Maybe his age. The clothes were torn, soaked through, frozen stiff. Dark hair. Pale skin.
Elias crouched beside it. Reached out. Hesitated.
What are you doing?
He didn't know.
He touched the shoulder. The fabric was frozen solid. He pulled, tried to turn the body over.
It didn't budge.
Frozen to the ice.
Elias let go. Stood.
There's nothing you can do.
He looked down at the body for another moment.
Then he kept walking.
He found two more bodies before the sun set.
Or before the sky got darker, at least. He couldn't see the sun. Didn't know if it had set or if the clouds had just thickened.
Both bodies were the same. Kids. Frozen. Face-down or curled up. One of them looked like they'd been running. The other looked like they'd just… stopped.
From the ship?
Maybe. Or maybe from another ship. Maybe there were dozens of ships out on the river when the freeze hit.
How many people are dead out here?
Elias didn't want to think about it.
He kept walking.
The sky went from gray to black.
Elias stopped.
He couldn't see. The snow had stopped falling, but the darkness was absolute. No moon. No stars. Just black.
I have to stop.
He didn't want to. Stopping felt like giving up.
But he couldn't walk blind.
He looked around. The ice stretched flat in every direction. No shelter. No cover. Nowhere to—
There.
A ridge. Pressure ice, maybe. A few meters tall, the surface jagged and uneven.
Better than nothing.
Elias walked to it. Found a crevice between two slabs of ice. Crawled in.
It was tight. Barely enough room to sit. But it blocked the wind.
He pulled his knees to his chest. Wrapped his arms around them.
Don't sleep.
If he slept, he might not wake up.
Don't sleep.
His eyes closed.
He forced them open.
Stay awake.
The darkness pressed in.
Stay…
He dreamed.
Or maybe he didn't. Maybe it was delirium.
He was in the water. Swimming. The creature was behind him. Gaining. He could feel it. The displacement of water. The heat of its breath.
He swam harder.
It didn't matter.
It caught him. Jaws closed around his leg. He screamed. The water filled his mouth. He was drowning, being pulled down, and the creature's eyes were yellow and filmy and it was smiling—
Elias jerked awake.
His heart was slamming. His breath coming in gasps.
Dream. Just a dream.
He forced himself to breathe slower. In. Out. In. Out.
The crevice was still dark. Still cold.
But there was light now. Faint. Gray.
Dawn.
Elias crawled out.
The sky was lighter. The same overcast gray, but brighter. He could see.
He stood, brushed snow off his clothes. Looked around.
The ice stretched flat. The same as yesterday.
But there—
In the distance.
The dark shape.
Closer now.
Elias stared at it.
Not a body.
Too big.
The ship?
His heart jumped.
He started walking.
Faster now. His legs protesting, but responding. He walked, then jogged, then ran.
The shape got clearer.
Not the ship.
A structure. Low. Wide. Made from ice and… something else. Fabric? Wood?
A camp.
Elias slowed. Stopped.
People.
His chest tightened.
What do I do?
He could approach. Ask for help.
They might help.
They might not.
They might see him as a threat. Or as competition for resources.
What do I do?
He stood there, fifty meters from the camp, frozen with indecision.
And then he heard it.
A sound.
Behind him.
Wet. Rattling.
The sound of something breathing.
Elias turned.
The creature was there.
Ten meters away.
It had climbed onto the ice. Its body was massive, even more so out of the water. The warty skin glistened, slick with mucus. The mangled back leg dragged uselessly. The yellow eyes locked onto him.
Elias didn't move.
The creature took a step forward. Its front legs splayed, claws scraping against the ice.
Another step.
Run.
Elias ran.
Toward the camp. Away from the creature. His legs pumping, his breath tearing out of his lungs.
The creature followed.
He could hear it. The scrape of claws. The wet slap of its body against ice.
Faster.
He pushed harder.
The camp was closer. Thirty meters. Twenty.
The creature was gaining.
Elias glanced back.
It was right behind him. Jaws open. The inside of its mouth was pink, lined with small, backward-curving teeth.
Ten meters from the camp.
The creature lunged.
Elias threw himself forward. Hit the ice. Rolled.
The creature's jaws snapped shut on empty air.
Elias scrambled to his feet, kept running.
Five meters.
He could see details now. The camp was made from blocks of ice, stacked and mortared with frozen slush. A low wall. An entrance—
He dove through it.
Hit the ground inside. Rolled. Came up on his knees.
The creature stopped at the entrance. Too big to fit through.
It stared at him.
Elias stared back.
His chest was heaving. His vision was blurred with sweat and tears and exhaustion.
The creature didn't move. Just watched.
Then, slowly, it turned.
And walked away.
Elias collapsed.
He lay there on the frozen ground, gasping, shaking, his whole body screaming.
I'm alive.
I'm alive.
I'm—
A voice spoke behind him.
"You led it right to us, you stupid bastard."
Elias turned his head.
A figure stood in the shadows. Human. Earth-dweller. Holding something sharp.
Elias tried to speak. Couldn't. His throat was too raw.
The figure stepped closer.
"Get up," they said. "Before I change my mind about not throwing you back out there."
Elias got up.