Day five on the Sorrow Range, and I couldn't feel my toes.
The wind screamed between the jagged peaks, carrying ice crystals that stung any exposed skin like tiny needles. We'd been climbing since dawn—a brutal slog up narrow paths where one misstep meant death. My lungs burned with each breath, the thin air barely sufficient to keep moving.
But I wasn't the one in trouble.
"Stop," I called, turning back to where Laina struggled twenty paces behind me. "We need another break."
Her face had taken on a grayish cast beneath her wind-burned cheeks. Dark circles shadowed her violet eyes, now dulled with exhaustion. Each step seemed to require conscious effort, her normally fluid movements reduced to a mechanical trudge.
"I'm fine," she gasped, the words barely audible over the wind. "Keep going."
I backtracked to her side, noting how she swayed slightly even while standing still. "You're not fine. None of us are."
Joran appeared from around the bend ahead.
"There's a hollow in the rock face up ahead," he said, gesturing with a gloved hand. "Not quite a cave, but it'll block the wind."
I nodded, then turned to Laina. "Think you can make it another fifty yards?"
"I said I'm fine."
"And I'm the Winter King," I muttered, positioning myself behind her as she started forward again. Close enough to catch her if she fell but far enough not to wound her pride.
We made it to the hollow—a depression in the mountainside just deep enough to shelter us from the worst of the wind. Joran immediately set about clearing snow from the ground while I helped Laina sit with her back against the rock wall.
"Drink," I said, offering her my water skin.
She took it with trembling hands. When she tilted her head back to drink, I noticed the blue tinge to her lips.
"How's your head?" I asked, already knowing the answer.
She took another sip before answering. "Like someone's driving a spike through my temples."
"Nausea? Dizziness?"
"Both." She handed back the water skin. "But it comes and goes. I'll be fine once we rest."
I exchanged a glance with Joran, who had finished clearing a space and now crouched nearby. We'd both seen the signs—headache, nausea, fatigue beyond what the journey should cause. Altitude sickness had set in two days ago, growing steadily worse as we climbed higher.
"We should make camp here," Joran said quietly. "Push on in the morning when she's stronger."
I shook my head. "Snow's getting worse. If we don't make the next shelter by nightfall, we'll be exposed when the temperature drops."
"She can't keep this pace," he insisted, voice low enough that Laina couldn't hear over the wind. "And neither can I, if I'm being honest."
I studied him more carefully. Though he hid it better than Laina, the signs were there—the slight shortness of breath, the careful way he moved to minimize effort. His gray-green eyes were bloodshot from the wind and altitude.
"How far to the shelter?" I asked.
He glanced at the sky, where heavy clouds threatened more snow. "Maybe three in this."
I did the mental calculation. Nine days to cross the Sorrow Range had seemed reasonable when we started. Now, with Laina and Joran both struggling with altitude sickness and the weather deteriorating, even that timeframe looked optimistic.
And that left me just 48 hours to reach the Temple and complete the trial.
"We rest for thirty minutes," I decided. "Eat something, drink water, then push on."
Joran looked like he wanted to argue but nodded instead. He knew our situation as well as I did.
I settled beside Laina, pulling dried meat and a handful of nuts from my pack. She accepted them mechanically, chewing without enthusiasm.
"It doesn't make sense," she said after swallowing.
"What doesn't?"
"You." She gestured vaguely at me. "You're not even winded. We're at an altitude where most people can barely function, and you're acting like we're on a casual stroll."
I shrugged, unsure how to explain something I didn't understand myself. The truth was, I'd noticed it too. While Joran and Laina suffered increasingly from the thin mountain air, my body had adapted almost immediately. Another quirk of the Domain Trial, perhaps, or some aspect of my real-world physiology that carried over.
"Just lucky, I guess," I said finally.
She snorted, then winced as the sudden movement aggravated her headache. "There's lucky, and then there's whatever you are."
"What am I?"
Her violet eyes studied me, searching for something I couldn't name. "I'm still figuring that out."
Joran returned from checking the path ahead, snow dusting his shoulders. "Storm's picking up. We should move soon if we're going to make it before dark."
I nodded and stood, offering Laina my hand. She took it, allowing me to pull her to her feet. For a moment, she swayed, and I tightened my grip on her hand.
"I've got you," I said quietly.
"I know." She steadied herself, then released my hand. "Let's go."
We resumed our climb, moving in single file along the narrow path. Joran led, using his knowledge of the mountains to find the safest route. I followed, with Laina behind me where I could turn and check on her regularly.
An hour into our renewed journey, Laina stumbled. I turned just in time to see her foot slip on an icy patch, her body pitching sideways toward the drop-off. Without thinking, I lunged back and grabbed her arm, yanking her away from the edge and against my chest.
For a moment we stood frozen, her heart hammering against mine. Her breathing came in short, panicked gasps.
"I've got you," I repeated, my arms still around her. "Just breathe."
She nodded against my chest, fingers clutching the front of my coat. "Sorry. Got dizzy for a second."
"We need to rope up," Joran called back. "All of us."
Shit. We should have done it hours ago, but the path had seemed manageable then. Now, with the storm worsening and both my companions struggling with altitude sickness, it was the only sensible option.
We paused long enough for Joran to retrieve a coil of rope from his pack. He tied us together—himself in front, then me, with Laina last. The rope would ensure that if one of us fell, the others could brace and prevent a fatal plunge.
We continued our climb, now moving as a single unit. The rope provided some security, but it also meant we could only move as fast as the slowest among us—which, increasingly, was Laina.
Her steps grew more labored as we ascended. Twice more she stumbled, saved only by the rope connecting us. The third time, she didn't immediately rise.
"I need... a minute," she gasped, on her knees in the snow.
I was beside her instantly, crouching to study her face. Her eyes had a distant, unfocused quality that alarmed me.
"Laina, look at me," I said firmly, taking her face between my hands. "Focus on my voice."
Her gaze wandered before finally settling on mine. "So tired."
"I know. But we can't stop here." I glanced at the sky, where daylight was already beginning to fade. "The shelter's not far. Can you make it if I help you?"
She nodded weakly. "Just... give me a second."
I looked to Joran, who had backtracked to join us. "How much farther?"
"Half an hour, maybe less," he replied, his own breathing labored. "But we need to hurry. Light's failing fast."
I made a quick decision. "Untie her from the rope."
"What? Why?" Laina protested.
"Because I'm going to carry you."
Her eyes widened. "No. Absolutely not. I can walk."
"You can barely stand," I countered. "And we need to move faster than you can manage right now."
Before she could argue further, I nodded to Joran, who quickly untied the rope from her waist. Then I turned my back to her and crouched.
"Arms around my neck," I instructed.
For a moment I thought she might refuse out of sheer stubbornness. Then, with a barely audible sigh, she complied. I hooked my arms under her legs and stood, settling her weight against my back.
Joran retied the rope, connecting just the two of us now, and we set off again.
Laina was lighter than I expected, though still a substantial burden on the steep, icy path.
The snow fell more heavily as daylight faded, reducing visibility to almost nothing.
"There," he called finally, pointing ahead. "See that shadow?"
I squinted through the swirling snow. At first, I saw nothing. Then, as we drew closer, a dark rectangle took shape against the white mountainside—the entrance to a stone shelter similar to the one we'd found in the foothills.
"Thank the gods," Laina murmured.
The final approach felt endless, each step through deepening snow requiring twice the effort of those before. By the time we reached the shelter's entrance, even I was breathing hard.
Joran pushed open the heavy wooden door, and we stumbled inside, out of the howling wind. The interior was pitch black, but the sudden silence felt like a blessing after hours of wind screaming in our ears.
"Let me down," Laina said as Joran fumbled with flint and steel to light a torch mounted on the wall.
I crouched, allowing her to slide from my back. She immediately sagged against the wall, her legs apparently unable to support her weight.
Light flared as Joran succeeded in lighting the torch. The flame revealed a chamber similar to the previous shelter—stone walls, a hearth, simple furnishings. But this one showed signs of more recent use. A stack of firewood stood ready beside the hearth, and furs were neatly piled on a raised sleeping platform.
"Sit," I told Laina, guiding her to a wooden bench near the hearth. "I'll get a fire started."
She didn't argue, which concerned me more than her pallor. Laina always argued.
While Joran secured the door against the storm, I knelt at the hearth. My hands, still tender from their marsh wounds, protested as I arranged kindling and smaller logs. Once I had a suitable structure, I summoned Heartseeker. The dagger appeared in my palm, warm and eager as always.
"Convenient trick," Joran commented, watching as I touched Heartseeker's blade to the kindling. The wood caught immediately, flames spreading with supernatural speed.
"Has its uses," I agreed, allowing the dagger to dematerialize.
With the fire burning steadily, warmth began to fill the small space. I turned my attention back to Laina, who sat motionless on the bench, staring into the flames.
"Hey," I said, crouching in front of her. "Talk to me. How's your head?"
She blinked slowly, as though having trouble focusing. "Worse. Room's spinning."
I pressed my palm to her forehead. Her skin felt clammy despite the flush in her cheeks. "You need to lie down. And drink water."
"We all need to drink," Joran said, already setting a pot of snow near the fire to melt. "And eat something warm."
Between us, we managed to get Laina settled on the sleeping platform, propped up with furs so she could drink more easily. Joran found dried beans and preserved meat in the shelter's storage chest, quickly setting about preparing a simple stew.
"How are you holding up?" I asked him while Laina dozed.
He shrugged, stirring the pot suspended over the fire. "Better than her, worse than you."
I changed the subject. "How long will the storm last?"
"Hard to say. Could be hours, could be days." He tasted the stew, then added a pinch of salt from a small pouch. "Either way, we need to stay put until she's stronger."
"We can't afford to lose more than a day," I reminded him. "The Temple—"
"Will still be there," he interrupted. "Push her too hard in this condition, and she won't make it at all."
I knew he was right, but the knowledge did little to ease my frustration. Every hour spent in this shelter was an hour closer to my trial's deadline.
The stew finished cooking, filling the small space with rich, savory aromas. I gently woke Laina, helping her sit up enough to eat.
"This is getting old," she muttered, accepting the bowl I offered.
"What is?"
"You. Taking care of me." She took a small sip of broth, grimacing slightly. "I'm supposed to be the guide here. The strong one."
I sat beside her on the edge of the platform. "Even guides need help sometimes."
"Not me." She took another sip, stronger this time.
"First time for everything."
She shot me a look that would have been withering if her eyes could focus properly. "Don't get used to it."
Despite her protests, she managed only half the bowl before fatigue overcame her again. I took the bowl as her eyelids drooped.
"Rest," I said softly. "We'll talk in the morning."
She mumbled something inaudible and drifted into sleep. I rejoined Joran by the fire, where he sat staring into the flames.
"She's strong," he said without looking up. "Stronger than most. But the mountains don't care about strength."
"I know."
"The air up here..." He gestured vaguely. "It kills indiscriminately. Can't fight it, can't outsmart it. Your body either adapts or it doesn't."
I glanced back at Laina's sleeping form. "Will she adapt?"
Joran was silent for a long moment. "Most do, given time and rest. Some don't." He finally looked at me. "We'll know tomorrow."
I nodded, accepting the hard truth of it. "I'll take first watch."
"There's nothing to watch for in this storm," he pointed out. "Get some sleep. We all need it."
But even after Joran had settled into his own bedroll, I remained awake, listening to the howling wind outside and the soft, regular breathing of my companions.
If the storm delayed us another day...
I shook my head, forcing the thoughts away. There was no point in worrying about what I couldn't change. The storm would last as long as it lasted. Laina would recover at her own pace or not at all. All I could do was adapt to circumstances as they developed—something I'd been doing my entire life.
Eventually, I stretched out on my bedroll near the fire, watching the shadows dance across the stone ceiling until exhaustion finally pulled me into darkness.