CHAPTER NINETEEN #2
The practical wisdom in his words cut through Thalia's spiraling thoughts.
They couldn't solve every problem at once, couldn't erase generations of hatred with a single revelation.
But they could forge one more blade. Train one more fighter.
Prepare as best they could for the darkness that approached.
"Rissa," Naj called, turning toward the female Warden. "Show Luna the lightning-current technique we discussed. Darek, continue with the energy conservation drills for the others." His gaze returned to Thalia. "You and I have a blade to forge, I believe."
Thalia nodded, gathering herself. As she moved toward the makeshift forge, the familiar routine of preparation settled her turbulent thoughts. She stoked the coals, checking their temperature with a practiced eye while Naj selected an ingot of glacenite from their dwindling supply.
Her frustration still simmered beneath the surface—at the War Council's blindness, at the prejudices that kept potential allies divided, at her own inability to find a path through this impossible tangle.
But for now, she would do what she could.
Hammer and anvil, ice and storm, one weapon at a time against the void that hungered for them all.
***
Thalia's shoulders ached as she climbed the narrow service stairs that wound upward from the mine tunnels, each step a deliberate effort after hours bent over the forge.
The hybrid blade they'd completed—their twenty-fourth—hung at her hip in a makeshift leather sheath, its weight both reassuring and burdensome.
Beside her, Luna moved with the quiet efficiency of someone accustomed to remaining unnoticed, while Kaine brought up the rear, his larger frame casting elongated shadows in the flickering torchlight.
None of them spoke; fatigue and caution rendered conversation an unnecessary risk.
When they reached the first landing, where the service tunnel intersected with a rarely used corridor, Thalia paused to listen for approaching footsteps.
The academy's night routine had settled in—most students and instructors retired to their quarters, only guards and night workers still moving through Frostforge's labyrinthine passages.
"We should split up here," Luna whispered, her small hand resting briefly on Thalia's arm. "Three people together draw more attention than one."
Kaine nodded, though reluctance shadowed his eyes. "The weapons store inventory is scheduled for tomorrow. I need to ensure our borrowed materials are accounted for, or at least their absence explained."
"And I should check on our allies in the infirmary," Luna added. "Felah mentioned something about smuggling healing supplies down to the Wardens."
Thalia's gaze moved between them, these friends who risked everything alongside her.
Exhaustion lined their faces, smudges of soot and sweat marking the day's labor.
How much longer could they maintain this pace—forging weapons by night, fulfilling duties by day, all while keeping their alliance secret?
"Meet again tomorrow after evening meal," she said softly. "Naj believes we can improve the balance between ice and storm energies with a modified quenching process."
Kaine lingered after Luna slipped away into the shadows. He stopped a step behind Thalia, close enough that she could feel the heat of him even through the chill stone.
His fingers lingered at her side, not quite touching, as if he were afraid even that small contact might tip something already precarious.
“You’re pushing yourself too hard,” he said quietly.
Thalia let out a tired breath that was halfway to a laugh. “So are you. So is everyone else, in fact.”
“That’s different.”
She turned then, slow and deliberate, meeting his gaze in the dim torchlight. Up close, she could see how worn he was—the tension etched into his brow, the faint tremor he hadn’t quite managed to hide in his hands. “Different how?”
“Nobody else has to deal with cleaning shifts in the keep before dawn’s light. You—”
“Brynn, Luna and Ashe have to report for dawn muster. You have duties to attend to in the Forge. I’m not the only one with other responsibilities.”
Kaine hesitated, then switched tactics. “You have this intensity about you. I’ve seen it before. You start to become reckless. To take undue risks with your own well-being.”
"Really?" Thalia asked, a bitter edge creeping into her voice.
"You volunteered for that suicidal fortress-whale mission.
You've put yourself between danger and Frostforge more times than I can count, even when it meant risking your life.
" She stepped away from the wall, squaring her shoulders. "Why is it different when I do it?"
Kaine's expression shifted, a flicker of guilt, chased by frustration. "Because—" he began, then faltered. His hands clenched at his sides, then relaxed. "Because I can't lose you. Not after everything."
The words should have softened her, but they landed like a blow instead. "Everyone is giving everything they have," she said, meeting his gaze steadily. "I shouldn't be exempt from that, no matter what your feelings for me."
His expression fell, the mask slipping to reveal raw vulnerability beneath. "You're not exempt. That's not what I—" He dragged a hand through his dark hair, frustration evident in the gesture. "I just need you to be safe, and well. It's more important to me than anything."
"More important than Frostforge's survival?" The question was sharp, cutting through the tension between them.
Kaine didn't answer for a long moment. Then he sighed, the sound low and weary, as if it had been trapped in his chest for far too long. His gaze dropped to the stone between them, to the thin cracks worn smooth by centuries of passing feet.
"You can't put me above all this," Thalia said, gesturing to encompass Frostforge, the people within its walls, the world they were fighting to preserve. "We're beyond that now. The Deep Ones don't care about who loves whom, about what we stand to lose personally. They'll consume everything."
She felt it in him—the tension, the sharp line between duty and fear, the choice he couldn’t bring himself to name. His shoulders stiffened, his eyes dropping away.
“Please,” he said, barely above a whisper. “Just… slow down. Let me take some of that burden for you.”
She reached out, not touching him yet. “No,” she said. “I don’t want you to take my burdens. I want you to stand beside me.” Her hand finally found his arm, firm, grounding. “Don’t shield me from this—face it with me.”
She looked up to meet his gaze, and found it fractured. He turned away from her, as though he had seen something unbearable in the depths of her eyes. She tightened her grip on his arm, insistent.
“Kaine.”
He breathed out slowly, the sound rough, almost unsteady. For a moment he didn’t turn back, his gaze fixed on the dark curve of the corridor as if the stone might offer him answers she could not.
“I don’t know how,” he said. The words were quiet, stripped of pride. “Every instinct I have tells me to put myself between you and whatever’s coming. To take the blow first.” His jaw tightened. “Standing beside you feels like asking fate to choose.”
Thalia’s grip softened, thumb brushing the worn leather at his sleeve. “Maybe you should consider how I feel about it. I don’t want to watch you run yourself ragged, either. And I won’t be confined by your concern for me. Listen to what I’m asking you for, Kaine. Please.”
He closed his eyes for a moment, as if bracing against the weight of her words. Then he leaned down and rested his forehead against hers.
“Okay. I—I hear you, Thalia. And I’m with you. Always.”
She pressed closer to him, relief coursing through her at his acknowledgement. His hand rose, hesitated, then settled at her waist, careful and reverent. When she leaned in, the kiss they shared was brief and tender, a quiet meeting of breath and intent rather than hunger.
She closed her eyes, accepting the kiss, returning it.
As her lips met his, she willed the cold fingers that seemed to be clenched around her heart to withdraw, but their grip was like frost-rimed iron.
For an instant, she thought of Roran, somewhere out in the Reaches, in hostile territory—of the way his hands had once crackled with electricity as he’d watched her kiss Kaine, his distress so undeniable it had manifested as storm magic.
Since Roran had been sent to the Reaches, she’d felt his absence like a hollow ache, a constant pull at the edges of her thoughts.
But here, now, it was Kaine—steady, solid, tangible.
She tilted her head, deepening the kiss.
His hands tightened slightly at her waist, a grounding, silent reassurance, and she felt the heat of him seep into her, chasing back some of the frost that clung stubbornly to her chest. The kiss was still gentle, still measured, but it carried weight—an unspoken promise in the quiet of the corridor, a tether between them amid the chaos pressing in from all sides.
When they finally broke apart, Kaine lingered a moment longer, his forehead pressed to hers.
His hand rose to cup her face, his fingers in motion as if he was memorizing the line of her jaw, the warmth of her cheek against his.
Thalia felt the tension in him ease slightly, though it was replaced by something steady, grounding.
When he stepped back, the cold air seemed to rush in, her breath fogging in front of her as if he’d stolen what little warmth lingered in the corridor.
"But please rest, Thalia,” he said. "Even you need sleep sometimes.”
She managed a tired smile. "I'll try. Though my dreams are no kinder than waking these days."
Something softened in his ice-blue eyes—an understanding, Thalia thought, or maybe a flicker of worry he didn’t fully admit—before he gave a small nod and departed, taking the corridor toward the upper forges.
She watched him go, heart still thrumming from their encounter, mind stubbornly replaying the brush of warmth and the weight of his presence.
Shaking herself, she pressed onward, moving through the quiet passageways with careful, practiced stealth. Each step felt heavier than the last, her mind tangled with the memory of his hands at her waist, the brief warmth of the kiss, and the pull she still felt toward Roran.
She was nearly at the main corridor that led to her assigned quarters when motion ahead made her freeze mid-step. A figure rounded the corner, moving with a pace just short of running—tall, lithe, with black hair streaked in red, pulled back into a severe braid.
“Ashe,” Thalia breathed, relaxing slightly at the sight of her friend rather than a patrolling guard. She rubbed at her temple, blinking away some of the lingering daze, and tried to focus on the present rather than the echo of Kaine’s touch that still clung stubbornly to her senses.
Thalia’s relief evaporated at the expression on Ashe's face—tight with barely contained urgency, eyes scanning the corridor with predatory intensity. When she spotted Thalia, Ashe altered her course immediately, closing the distance between them in long, purposeful strides.
"I've been looking everywhere for you," Ashe hissed, glancing over her shoulder to ensure they weren't overheard. "Where have you been?"
"Working," Thalia replied, the half-truth bitter on her tongue. Even among their closest allies, they maintained careful boundaries of knowledge—protection through plausible deniability. "What's happened?"
Ashe's gaze locked with hers, unflinching in its directness.
"War Council briefing just ended. I was on perimeter duty when they summoned me.
" Her voice dropped lower, though no one else was present in the corridor.
"A scout at the fjord's mouth sent a message by raven an hour ago.
The black waters have reached the edge of the Rimspire range. "
The words struck like physical blows, each one landing with terrible precision. Thalia felt the blood drain from her face, a cold weight settling in her stomach.
"How close?" she managed.
"Close enough that the scout saw it with his own eyes rather than just hearing reports," Ashe replied, her Northern accent thickening with stress. "The darkness is converging on the fjord from both coastlines. Estimates give us only three weeks. A month, if we’re lucky."
Three weeks. The timeline they had been working against, the nebulous "soon" that had guided their desperate efforts, suddenly crystallized into a countdown measured in days, hours.
Thalia's mind raced through calculations—how many more weapons they could forge in that time, how many fighters they could train to wield them, how pitifully inadequate both numbers would be.
"We need to warn the others," Thalia said, already turning back toward the passage she'd emerged from. "We need to increase production, accelerate training—"
Ashe caught her arm. "Not tonight. Guards have doubled on all levels following the Council meeting. Movement between sections is restricted until morning briefing." Her grip tightened fractionally. "Whatever you're planning, it will have to wait until dawn."
Thalia wanted to argue, wanted to rush back to the secret forge and work through the night, forging weapons against the approaching darkness. But Ashe was right—they couldn't risk exposure now, not when discovery would mean execution for the Wardens and imprisonment for the rest of them.
"First light, then," she conceded, though every moment of delay felt like betrayal of those who depended on them. "Meet me at the service entrance near the lower kitchens. Bring anyone you can trust without question."
Ashe nodded once, her hand falling away from Thalia's arm. "Try to rest," she advised, though they both recognized the futility of the suggestion.
As they parted ways, Thalia felt the weight of the hybrid blade at her hip—their twenty-fourth weapon against an enemy that had devoured entire coastlines, that approached now with inexorable purpose. Would it be enough? Could anything be enough against the hunger that came for them?