Chapter 130
Beyond it lies a stone wall and an unforgiving expanse of ice. My task is clear: navigate the obstacles and reach the other side of the valley before sunset. The problem is, the path ahead doesn’t look forgiving.
Before I can dwell on it too much, Kaden steps up behind me, holding out a strip of red cloth. His expression is a mix of sympathy and mischief, his lopsided shrug adding a touch of apology.
“Sorry,” he says. “But you’ve got to be blindfolded.”
“What?” The word bursts out of me in disbelief, my grip on the sword tightening.
“It’s the rules,” he explains simply, as though this ridiculous twist is perfectly reasonable.
Before I can argue further, he steps closer, placing the red cloth over my eyes and ties it securely at the back of my head. Darkness envelops me, and I resist the urge to rip it off. His hands land on my shoulders, squeezing gently.
“Just open up your other senses, and you’ll be fine,” Kaden says, his voice low and reassuring. “The Vera I knew before loved this game.”
I snort softly, shaking my head. “The girl you knew had a lot more faith in herself.”
“I believe in you,” Kaden replies, and there’s no teasing in his tone now—just certainty.
I hear his steps retreat, leaving me standing at the top of the slope, blindfolded and clutching my sword. I take another deep breath, trying to focus on the sounds around me—the crunch of snow underfoot, the faint whistle of the wind as it brushes against the trees.
This is going to be anything but easy.
The darkness brings my fears bubbling to the surface. Panic, familiar and unwelcome, creeps in like a long-lost friend. The Witte Wieven cautioned me that I would have to confront my fears.
“When the horn sounds, you may begin,” Chief Barak’s deep, authoritative voice rumbles from somewhere behind me. “The rules are simple: keep the blindfold on and make it to the other side.”
My stomach knots, a cold wave of unease washing over me. The horn blasts a moment later, its echo bouncing off the mountains like a warning. My heart leaps into my throat as I force myself to step forward.
I know I’ll need my magic if I have any hope of succeeding. Almost as if in response to my thought, it unfurls within me, a wave of energy wrapping around me like a protective shield. The sound of my blood pounding in my ears nearly drowns out everything else.
My breaths come heavy and fast, panic clawing at my chest.
“Calm down, Everly,” I mutter, trying to ground myself. “It’s just a test.”
A test that can severely hurt you if you make one wrong move, I chide myself.
I take another step forward, snagging a boot on a rock hidden beneath the snow. My stomach lurches as I stumble, arms flailing for balance. I catch myself just in time, planting my sword in the snow for support, and cringe, knowing George won’t be happy with me for using the weapon in that way.
Drawing on the elements, I focus on letting them guide me.
The wind brushes my face, tugging at my clothes with subtle persistence.
Trusting the sensation, I turn and follow the direction it seems to urge me toward.
From my left, a branch creaks, the sound sharp and clear against the soft hush of the snow. I tilt my head, listening.
The whistle of an arrow pierces the air, slicing through the silence. Instinct takes over, and I lift my sword just in time, deflecting it with a metallic clang. The force reverberates up my arm, but I don’t falter. I keep as still as possible, listening for another.
Behind me, I hear Raiden’s voice rise in fury. “You said nothing about her being under attack!” he roars, his anger palpable even from a distance.
Valric’s response is carried away by the wind, lost as I refocus on the challenge before me. My pulse is still racing, but I force myself to slow my breathing, steadying the rhythm. Each inhale sharpens my focus; each exhale releases the tension in my limbs.
Two more whistles sound in the air, and I tilt my head, concentrating on the direction. Letting my muscles relax, I lift my sword, arcing it through the air to hit both arrows in succession. I stand there for a few seconds, waiting. When no other arrows sound, I start moving again.
The snow crunches underfoot as I cautiously make my way down the slope into the valley below. The soft brush of fur against my legs, startles me. My magic reaches out instinctively, connecting with the presence—it’s the frostflare, its energy bright and wild.
The creature nudges my leg, almost impatiently, urging me to move left. Trusting its guidance, I adjust my path. I try to send magic out to map the area for me, like it did when I found Zaria. But with panic so close to the surface, I can only manage a few yards ahead.
A low rumble reaches my ears, faint at first but growing louder with each passing second. My stomach drops to my toes, and the ground beneath my feet shudders, sending a jolt of fear through me.
I spin around, trying to pinpoint the source of the noise, but all I achieve is disorientation. Which way am I heading?
Panic pulls taut, but it enhances my senses too. I feel it—a faint pull, like a thread tugging at the edge of my awareness. My magic comes alive, stretching outward, guiding me to the source of the disturbance.
Avalanche.
The realization slams into me like a blow to the chest. My head snaps to the side as golden waves of magic ripple out from me, blanketing the landscape.
The world shifts, and I can see the landscape around me through the magic as it paints the terrain in glowing golden detail.
There—a rocky outcrop to my left. It might not be much, but it’s my best chance.
The snow is coming fast. I don’t waste another second.
Boots pound the snow packed ground, as magic surges beneath me, hardening the earth and giving me traction. The rumble becomes a roar, thunderous and all-consuming. I grit my teeth, lungs burning as I push myself harder, the rocky outcrop growing closer with each step.
I reach it just as the avalanche crashes into the valley.
With a desperate dive, I slide beneath the outcrop, curling into myself as snow and debris surge overhead.
The roar is deafening, the force of it pressing down like a physical weight.
For one breathless moment, I am completely surrounded—by sound, by movement, by the raw power of nature.
Then, silence.
I lie there, trembling, the adrenaline coursing through me like fire. The moment is fleeting, but it feels like an eternity, etched into my memory as vividly as the golden magic still shimmering faintly around me. Slowly, cautiously, I exhale and let my head fall back against the rock with a thud.
“That was too close.”
Gradually, I shift from my cramped hiding place, muscles stiff and trembling with adrenaline.
The air is eerily still, thick with a muffled quiet that presses against my ears.
Somewhere above, snow still settles, but all I hear is the echo—dull, haunting—bouncing through the hollow space around me. It fills me with instant dread.
With a shaking hand, I reach forward and my fingers swipe through the empty air. Encouraged, I inch forward on my knees, snow grinding beneath them, sharp and wet as it seeps into my breeches. I flinch at the chill, but push on.
Then . . . my palm hits a wall of snow.
My heart gives a single, hard thud. I press against it, move sideways, feeling along its surface. All around me, the world has become a coffin of ice and snow.
I’m trapped.
You’re okay. It’s okay.
The words sound hollow, but I repeat them anyway, trying to keep the panic at bay. My breathing quickens, rising with panic despite efforts to stay calm. The confined space feels smaller by the second.
I just need to dig. That’s all. I just have to dig.
I let go of my sword—the hilt has been welded to my palm with tension, and my fingers ache from the release. I flex them, trying to restore feeling. They’re stiff, almost numb.
Sliding my hands along the cold walls, I inhale slowly through my nose, then exhale through pursed lips, trying to stay in control.
Magic stirs faintly in my chest, a flicker of warmth.
I reach for Maxon’s fire, willing it to come to my hands, to spark, to burn a way out—but there’s nothing. Not even a wisp of heat.
Fine. No fire. Just me.
I press my hands against the softest patch I can find and begin to dig.
It takes me longer than I want to claw my way out of the snow.
My arms ache with exertion as I drag myself from the cold, wet tunnel and into the fresh, open air.
The faint sound of cheers rises up behind me, and a smile creeps across my face.
I take a deep breath, feeling the relief wash over me. Yes, I am still alive.
Climbing to my feet, blindfold still in place, I look around, my magic sweeping over the landscape once again.
Less than a hundred yards ahead is the wall I have to get over.
I head in that direction, easily navigating the terrain now.
I pick up the pace, not too sure how much time passed while I was digging my way out of my icy tomb.
Unease slithers through me and my fingers flex around the hilt of my sword.
Sensing something is off, but I can’t pinpoint exactly what it is.
It’s more like a gut feeling, my intuition screaming at me to slow down and listen.
A prickling sensation moves between my shoulder blades, but I push on, not wanting to waste any more time.
I slow as I near the towering wall. An eerie hollowness twists in my stomach, and the tingling sensation crawling over my skin grows clearer, setting every nerve on edge. The hair on the back of my neck rises, and I feel the unmistakable pulse of my magic, a warning I should have heeded sooner.