I crept toward the pile of reeds, Heartseeker pulsing warmly in my palm. The knife seemed eager, its crimson glow intensifying as I approached the dry vegetation. Behind me, Laina and Joran made final preparations with our makeshift rafts, their movements hushed and precise.
The island beneath my feet squished with each step. Cold mud oozed between my toes through my sodden boots. I reached the reed pile and knelt beside it, listening intently for any disturbance in the water.
Nothing. For now.
"Ready?" I mouthed to the others.
Joran gave a terse nod. His angular face was all hard planes in the dying firelight, eyes constantly scanning the dark water. Laina clutched her damaged bow, knuckles white against the wood. She'd strapped it across her back along with her quiver—useless in its current state but too valuable to abandon.
I turned back to the reeds and pressed Heartseeker's blade against them. The knife hummed in my hand, its heat intensifying until the blade glowed bright orange. Smoke curled upward as the marsh grass began to blacken and curl.
"Come on," I whispered, willing the fire to catch.
A small flame flickered to life, licking tentatively at the reeds. I added more dry grass, feeding the growing fire. Heartseeker's heat had dried the vegetation enough that it caught despite the damp. The flames spread slowly at first, then with increasing hunger.
Pop. Crack. Hiss.
The fire's voice grew louder as it consumed the reeds. Sparks danced upward into the night sky. I backed away, returning to where Laina and Joran waited with our makeshift rafts.
"Now we wait," I said, keeping my voice barely audible. "Let it grow."
We huddled together, watching as the flames climbed higher. The fire snapped and popped, sending more sparks flying. The noise seemed thunderous in the silence of the marsh. If those things hunted by sound, they couldn't miss this.
"It's working," Laina breathed, indicating the water near the fire.
Ripples disturbed the surface—concentric circles spreading outward from a central point. Something large moved beneath the dark water, drawn by the commotion.
"Time to go," I said, picking up my section of platform. "Stay low. Stay quiet."
We slipped into the water on the opposite side of the island, each pushing a wooden raft ahead of us. The cold hit like a physical blow, stealing my breath. I bit my lip hard enough to taste blood, forcing myself not to gasp. Heartseeker provided some warmth, but not nearly enough to counter the bone-deep chill of the marsh.
The water came to mid-chest, soaking me to the skin. I pushed my raft forward, moving with agonizing slowness to avoid creating ripples or noise. Joran led the way, his lean form barely disturbing the water's surface. Laina followed him, and I brought up the rear.
Behind us, the fire roared higher, consuming the dry reeds with hungry abandon. The crackling grew louder, punctuated by occasional pops as pockets of marsh gas ignited. Perfect cover for our escape.
We'd made it perhaps twenty yards from the island when Joran suddenly froze. He raised one hand in warning, his body going completely still. Laina and I stopped, barely breathing.
Through the water, I felt it—a subtle vibration, a displacement of current. Something massive moved past us, heading toward the fire. The water level rose slightly as it passed, pushed by the creature's bulk.
Then another vibration, coming from a different direction. The second leviathan, answering its mate's call.
We remained motionless, floating beside our rafts, as the creatures converged on our abandoned island. In the flickering firelight, I caught glimpses of pale, segmented flesh breaking the surface, then submerging again. The circular maws opened and closed, testing the air.
Joran caught my eye and nodded once. Time to move.
We resumed our slow progress toward the distant shore, pushing our rafts ahead of us with minute movements. The cold was becoming dangerous now. My limbs felt heavy, responses sluggish. Even Heartseeker's warmth seemed muted, as though the knife struggled against the pervasive chill.
Fifty yards from the island. Sixty. The shore still looked impossibly far away.
A sudden, loud crack split the night—louder than the fire's popping. I turned to see a portion of the island collapsing, undermined by the flames. Burning reeds scattered across the water's surface, hissing as they met the cold marsh.
One of the leviathans breached fully, its massive body rising vertically from the water like some grotesque pillar. The firelight revealed more details of its anatomy—the segmented body, the pulsing circular maw, the clusters of sensing tendrils now fully extended. It towered over the burning island, swaying slightly as though mesmerized by the flames.
Then it plunged downward, driving its body directly into the fire.
The impact sent a wave across the marsh. It hit us seconds later, rocking our makeshift rafts and pushing us several feet closer to shore. I grabbed my platform to keep it from floating away, creating a splash louder than I'd intended.
Laina shot me a panicked look. I froze, listening.
For several heartbeats, there was only the sound of the fire, now diminished after the leviathan's attack. Then—a shift in the water. A ripple heading our way.
"Move," I hissed. "Now."
We abandoned stealth for speed, pushing our rafts forward with desperate strokes. The shore loomed closer—maybe forty yards now. Behind us, something large displaced water, following our trail.
Joran reached a patch of thin ice and broke through it with his raft, creating a channel. Laina followed, her breathing harsh and rapid. I brought up the rear, feeling the water surge behind me as our pursuer gained ground.
"There's a bank ahead," Joran called softly over his shoulder. "Solid ground."
Thirty yards. Twenty-five. The water grew shallower. Behind us, the pursuing leviathan seemed to hesitate at the changing depth.
"It's stopping," Laina gasped.
I risked a glance back. A disturbance in the water marked where the creature had paused, perhaps uncertain about following us into the shallows. The second leviathan remained by the island, still attacking the fire.
"Don't... count on it," I panted, shoving my raft forward with numbing hands.
Twenty yards. Fifteen. The water dropped to waist height, then knee height. We abandoned our rafts, stumbling forward through the sucking mud. My legs felt like lead weights, each step an exhausting battle against the cold and the clinging marsh.
"Almost there," Joran urged, his voice tight with strain.
Ten yards. Five. The ground beneath my feet grew firmer.
A sudden splash behind us—loud, deliberate. I turned to see a pale form rising from the water, its segmented body undulating as it propelled itself into the shallows after us. Not as large as the ones by the island, but still massive—perhaps ten feet of writhing, glistening flesh.
"Run!" I shouted, abandoning all pretense of stealth.
We scrambled up the muddy bank, slipping and sliding on the frozen ground. The leviathan—a juvenile, perhaps—surged after us, its body moving like some obscene caterpillar across the mud. Its circular maw pulsed open and closed, revealing rows of curved teeth.
Joran reached the top of the bank first, turning to help Laina up. I slipped on a patch of ice, falling hard onto my knees. Pain lanced through my legs, but I pushed myself up, lunging for Joran's outstretched hand.
The leviathan's sensing tendrils brushed my ankle, cold and wet against my skin. I kicked backward blindly, my foot connecting with something soft. The creature recoiled momentarily, giving me the second I needed to scramble up the last few feet of the bank.
We collapsed on solid ground, gasping for breath. Below us, the juvenile leviathan writhed at the water's edge, seemingly unwilling to venture further onto land. Its pale body glistened in the moonlight, tendrils waving in agitation.
"What... the fuck... was that?" Laina wheezed, her chest heaving.
"Baby... version," I managed, teeth chattering violently.
Joran sat up, water streaming from his clothes. "We need... shelter. Fire. Now."
The cold hit me fully then—a bone-deep, killing cold that threatened to shut down my body completely. My clothes were soaked, my core temperature dangerously low. Even Heartseeker's warmth seemed feeble against it.
"Can't... stay here," I said, forcing myself to my feet. My legs trembled beneath me, barely supporting my weight. "Too close... to water."
Joran nodded, rising with visible effort. He helped Laina up, and the three of us staggered away from the marsh edge, following a game trail that led into a stand of skeletal trees. Behind us, the juvenile leviathan slipped back into the water, disappearing beneath the dark surface.
We'd survived, but for how long? Without shelter, without fire, the cold would kill us as surely as any monster.
"There," Joran said suddenly, pointing ahead.
Through the bare trees, a dark shape loomed—some kind of structure. As we drew closer, I made out the silhouette of a small cabin, its roof partially collapsed and its door hanging askew.
"Witches's hut," Joran explained, his voice steadier now that we had a goal. "They're scattered... throughout the marsh. Hopefully… abandoned."
We stumbled toward it, drawn by the promise of walls and a roof, however decrepit. The door creaked as Joran pushed it open, revealing a single room thick with dust and cobwebs. But it was dry, and the walls would block the wind.
"Check for... firewood," I said, summoning Heartseeker again. The knife appeared in my palm, its heat a blessed relief against my frozen skin.
Laina moved to a stack of split logs beside a crude stone hearth. "Dry," she reported.
"Thank the gods for lazy witches," Joran muttered, gathering the wood.
Within minutes, we had a small fire burning in the hearth, courtesy of Heartseeker's heat. We huddled around it, stripping off our outer layers to dry them. Steam rose from our sodden clothes as the blessed warmth penetrated our frozen bodies.
"That was... too close," Laina said, rubbing her arms vigorously. Her long black hair hung in wet ropes down her back, and her violet eyes reflected the firelight.
"We made it," Joran said simply. His lean face was drawn with exhaustion, but his eyes remained alert, scanning our surroundings out of habit.
I said nothing, focusing on the sensation returning to my extremities. The pain of blood flowing back into numb fingers and toes was excruciating but welcome—pain meant life.
"Those things," Laina said after a long silence. "What are they really? Not just stories to scare children."
"Not everything made it into the books," I said, flexing my fingers as sensation returned. "Some things people wanted to forget."
We fell silent again, watching the fire grow stronger. Outside, the wind whispered through the bare trees, carrying the distant sounds of the marsh—water lapping against the shore, reeds rustling, the occasional splash as something broke the surface.
"We should rest," Joran said eventually. "We're not safe yet."
"Are we ever?" I asked, not really expecting an answer.
Laina's mouth quirked in a humorless smile. "Not in Frostfall."
I leaned back against the rough wall of the cabin, Heartseeker still clutched in my hand. The knife pulsed with warmth, as though pleased with its performance. Its twin, Frostbite, remained dormant—this wasn't its kind of fight.
The fire crackled in the hearth, pushing back the darkness and the cold. For now, at least, we were alive.