The dawn wind, sharp as a whetted blade, cut through Kavir’s thin tunic, tugging at the coarse wool of his scarf. A dull ache throbbed beneath his ribs, a familiar phantom limb sensation of crystallization expanding, threatening to seize his breathing. He stood among the huddled recruits on the frozen parade grounds, plumes of vapor rising in the pre-dawn gloom, the northern peaks looming like jagged teeth against the bruised sky.
“Listen well, maggots!” the drillmaster's voice, a gravelly rasp, sliced through the cold. His silhouette, massive and unyielding, was framed by the flickering torchlight of the fortress gates. His gaze, colder than the ice-rimed stones of the Watch, swept over the ranks, snagging on Kavir for a beat too long, bearing bare contempt. “Today, you prove your worth. The Glass-Wyrm of Grothul is not a beast for the faint of heart. One bite, one scratch, and you’ll be another calcified statue for the mountain winds to erode.”
He paced before them, the crunch of his heavy boots on the packed snow the only sound. “Your assignments have been made. Stick to your flanks. Deviation means death. And do not, under any circumstances, allow the Wyrm to withdraw its prey into the subterranean fissures. We need a clean kill, an intact specimen.”
The officer stopped, his stare pinning Kavir. “Tarsin, you’re on the vanguard. Front left flank. Vond, you’re with him. Front right.”
A low murmur rippled through the ranks. The front flanks were notoriously dangerous, the first point of contact, often without the protective cover granted to the rear. Kavir felt a familiar, cold knot in her gut. The commander had not forgotten the training bout. He was enjoying this.
“No shields,” he added, his voice thin and sharp as he looked between Kavir and Garek. “You’ll move faster. More agile. A true test of your mettle, wouldn’t you agree, Kavir?”
Kavir met his gaze, her expression unreadable. “As the Watchmaster commands, Commander.” The words were flat, devoid of emotion, a mask she had perfected over years of hiding. Inside, a cold fury began to simmer.
Garek, standing stiffly beside him, remained silent, teeth set, staring at the distant peaks. He glanced at Kavir, a flash of something unreadable in his stern features, then looked away. The air between them ran taut with rivalry, now laced with a shared, enforced peril.
The march to the cavern fissures was a brutal ascent. Jagged scree slopes gave way to treacherous ice fields, the wind howling through narrow passes, tearing at their exposed skin. Kavir moved with an economical grace, her worn boots finding purchase where others slipped. Grit, a dark shadow, circled high above, occasionally swooping low to snatch a discarded morsel of hardtack from an unwary scout.
They entered the dark mouth of ancient, glistening black rock, its entrance rimmed with mineral formations that pulsed with a faint, internal light. The air inside was still and cold, heavy with the scent of damp earth and something acrid, reptilian. The light faded quickly, forcing them to rely on their flickering lanterns, their beams carving out shifting pockets of visibility in the oppressive darkness.
“Fan out!” the commander’s shout echoed, distorted by the cavern walls. “Stay alert. It favors the shadows.”
Kavir and Garek advanced into the gloom, their blades drawn, the scraped steel catching the faint light. The silence was absolute, broken only by the drip of unseen water. Kavir's awareness stretched, every sense honed, her heart a steady, deliberate drum against her ribs. The stony rot inside her seemed to throb in rhythm with the silent threat.
Then, a low rumble, not of earth, but of bone and muscle. The ground vibrated. A shrill shriek tore through the silence, raw and piercing, followed by the sickening crunch of something large scraping against rock.
From a fissure high above, it dropped. A monstrosity of calcified scales and needle-sharp talons, its body a grotesque mosaic of iridescent glass, its eyes twin pools of freezing malice. The Glass-Wyrm, larger than any recruit had imagined, landed with a heavy thud, scattering fighters across the stone. Its tail, a thick, vitrified whip, lashed out, sending shards of rock flying.
One swipe, aimed with lethal precision, arced directly for Kavir. She saw it coming, the impossible speed, the glittering menace of the segmented tail. Her instincts screamed to dodge, to roll, but the confined space offered no escape. The drillmaster watched from the rear, arms folded, not moving to help.
Just as the tail was inches from impact, a sudden, blinding force slammed into Kavir’s side. The world spun. She hit the icy ground hard, the impact knocking the air from her lungs, pain blooming across her shoulder and hip. Snow exploded around them, cold and sharp. Garek. He had tackled her, throwing his own body into the path of the Wyrm’s tail, just enough to divert its killing blow. The tail, redirected, smashed into the rock face where Kavir had stood moments before, sending a shower of razor-sharp mineral fragments raining down.
Kavir lay sprawled in the snow, Garek’s heavy, muscled body pressed against hers, his breath warm and ragged on her cheek. The sudden, intense proximity was disorienting. His arm was still flung across her chest, pinning her, and through the layers of their rough tunics, she could feel the hard planes of his torso, the rapid beat of his heart. A strange, unfamiliar heat bloomed in her stomach, a sensation she immediately crushed, disgust rising at her own weakness.
Then, Garek stiffened. His body went rigid, a sudden tremor running through him. He jerked back as if burned, scrambling away from her, his eyes wide and wild, almost panicked. He stared at Kavir, his face stiff with horror and a sudden, visceral confusion. He violently shoved her, hard enough to send her skidding several feet across the snow, the force jarring her already aching ribs. “Stay away from me!” he snarled, his voice a low, desperate growl, his gaze flicking wildly to his own hands as if they had betrayed him.
The commander observed them with cold pleasure, his mouth set in a thin line. The Wyrm, momentarily distracted by the flurry of movement, focused its faceted gaze on the now-separated pair. It let out another ear-splitting shriek, its voice reverberating through the cave, a sound that seemed to shatter the very air. With chilling deliberation, it began to herd them, its massive body blocking the cave exit, its tail a constant, swaying threat. They were trapped, forced deeper into a frozen ravine, the walls narrowing, the cold intensifying.
Panic began to ripple through the remaining soldiers. Their blades were useless against its armored hide, their lack of shields a glaring vulnerability. The Wyrm advanced, slow and methodical, its glassy scales glinting in the faint light. It was playing with them. The air grew heavy, thick with the scent of ozone and stale blood. Elian, the weakest of the group, whimpered, tripping over his own feet, his eyes wide with terror.
With a swift, impossible lunge, the Wyrm struck. Its head shot forward, its calcified maw unhinging, revealing rows of jagged, translucent teeth. Elian didn’t even have time to scream. The beast’s jaws clamped around him, a sickening crunch of bone and flesh. It swallowed him whole, the bulge moving grotesquely down its throat, leaving behind only a faint splatter of crimson on the pristine snow. The Wyrm’s gaze, chillingly intelligent, settled on Kavir, then on Garek. It knew they were the strongest, the most defiant. And it had an entire ravine of initiates trapped.
Kavir’s mind raced, a cold, calculating machine. The uncooled core. The fresh heart. Elian was gone, useless. But the Wyrm had just consumed him. Was that enough? Could she…