No one escorted them out of Greyline. There were no wagons waiting, no banners, no warm send-offs. There was only a road cutting through frostbitten ground and a village that did not bother pretending it would miss them.
Smoke curled lazily from the chimneys behind them, already unconcerned with who stayed and who left.
Cael slung his pack over one shoulder and grinned anyway. "So," he said, squinting toward the horizon, "how far do you think it is?"
Riven adjusted the straps on his own bag, fingers precise, movements economical. His eyes were already measuring the sky, the angle of the light, the way frost clung thicker in the low places. "About seven days, if I read the map right."
Cael laughed, bright and unbothered. "That far? Good thing I brought an escort."
Riven did not answer. He simply started walking, and after a beat, Cael followed.
They left at dawn.
The first day was easy enough. The road was worn and packed hard by years of boots and wagon wheels, its deep ruts familiar beneath their feet. The cold bit at them, but it was a kind they understood. Sharp. Honest. The sort that woke you before it killed you.
They walked quickly, shared bread torn unevenly in half, and traded insults with the ease of repetition.
Cael talked about the academy as if it were a battlefield waiting to recognize him. He imagined duels beneath vaulted ceilings, instructors forced to admit raw talent whether they liked it or not, halls full of challengers he had not yet beaten. Riven listened, and when Cael said something especially stupid, he corrected him without looking up.
Cael never seemed to mind. Half the time he was saying it just to see whether Riven would react.
By nightfall, the road had narrowed.
By the second day, it was gone entirely.
They moved through old farmlands swallowed by scrub and ice, passing half-buried fences and stone markers that no longer meant anything to anyone. Beyond that, the land gave way to low forest, where the trees pressed too close together and the light thinned until even midday felt dulled and late.
Riven slowed without explanation.
Cael noticed, but he did not argue. He never did when Riven went quiet like this, when his shoulders squared and his attention shifted from scenery to shadow.
They heard the growl before they saw the thing that made it.
Low. Wet. Wrong.
The creature burst from the underbrush fast and close, all muscle and frost-crusted fur, its breath steaming through bared teeth, its eyes too bright for anything that should have still known caution. It came at them with the force of hunger given shape.
Cael reacted instantly. "It's a baby frost boar."
Fire rushed to life around his fists as he charged, reckless and loud, heat flaring against the dim stillness of the trees. He drove a punch straight into the creature's shoulder.
Heat met cold in a violent hiss. The smell of singed fur cut through the air as frost-covered muscle absorbed the blow and answered with brutal force. The beast shrieked and slammed into him, sending them both tumbling across frozen ground.
"Cael!"
Riven moved differently. He did not rush. He circled instead, steps light, gaze fixed, waiting for the exact moment Cael would commit too much and leave himself open.
Because he always did.
The opening came quickly.
A sharp sigil snapped into place beneath the creature's hind legs. The air tightened. The ground seized. Mud hardened around the beast mid-lunge, trapping it for one precious second, and that was long enough for Cael to drive a burning fist into its skull.
The body collapsed and did not rise again.
Cael staggered back from the carcass, breathing hard, steam pouring off him in thick waves. Even then he managed a grin. "See? Easy."
Riven was already beside him, checking for blood beneath scorched fabric, fingers moving with practiced efficiency. "You burned half your gloves off."
Cael shrugged, though the motion was less steady than he probably intended. "Didn't need the other half anyway."
Then his eyes drifted back to the body. "Shame it's only a baby. We won't get much meat off that."
They did not sleep much that night.
By the fourth day, their food was running low. The kill had yielded less than either of them wanted to admit, most of it too lean or spoiled to matter. Beasts this far out carried more muscle than meat, and what little they had managed to salvage disappeared quickly.
By the fifth, Cael's hands were shaking when he tried to summon even a spark. Fire still answered him, but sluggishly now, as if the cold had gotten into it too. Every small flare cost more than it should have.
Riven noticed.
He rationed without saying anything. He ate less. Carried more. Let his own steps grow heavier so Cael's did not have to.
Always, in ways he never named, putting Cael first.
On the sixth day, they reached a river too wide to jump and too cold to cross. Meltwater rushed past in a hard gray current, loud enough to drown out thought and fast enough to promise death for anyone stupid enough to trust it.
Cael stared at it for a long moment, jaw tight. "We could swim it."
Riven turned to look at him. "You idiot. You'd cramp, and I'd drown trying to pull you out."
They followed the river north for hours, boots slipping on wet stone, until they found the remains of a bridge. Half-collapsed pillars jutted from the current like the ribs of something stripped clean and left behind.
Riven tested the footing first. He checked each stretch of stone, each fractured seam, each place where water had worn the surface smooth. When he finally decided it was stable enough, he crossed.
Cael followed without waiting.
He was halfway over when the stone beneath his foot cracked.
For one terrible second he hung in open air.
Riven moved before thought caught up. He lunged and caught Cael by the wrist just as the slab gave way beneath him.
Cael hit the remaining stone hard, the river roaring below, his full weight wrenching at Riven's shoulder. For a moment neither of them spoke. Riven braced, shaking with the strain. Cael dangled over the current, fingers tightening hard enough to hurt.
Then, because it was him, Cael managed, "You good?"
Riven's grip only tightened. "Climb."
Cael did.
They joked less after that.
Orison came into view on the eighth day, a full day later than Riven had predicted. The academy rose from the hills like something the world had set apart on purpose, its towers clean and deliberate, its stone untouched by weather in a way that made Greyline feel like something meaner than poor. Something forgotten.
Cael stopped walking.
"…That's it?" he asked, and for once the sound of his voice had gone quiet.
Riven looked at the distant towers, then nodded. "That's it."
They stood there for a moment, filthy, tired, and scarred, two boys who had crossed frozen roads and worse odds because there had been nowhere else to go.
Cael let out a small laugh. "Think they'll let us in?"
Riven adjusted his pack and started forward. "They invited us. They better."
Cael grinned at that and fell into step beside him.
Together, they walked toward the gates.