The soldier's dying rattle tore through Olenka's brief triumph. Her parents. Dawn. The Blighted Pass. A cold, sharp dread pierced the Rime-Core’s icy calm, a foreign sensation that startled her. Not fear, but a searing, protective fury. Yrsa. Always Yrsa. “She means to draw you out, Olenka,” Valdemar stated, his voice a low rumble beside her, his hand settling on her arm, a steadying weight. “Skogar Keep is a fortress. We need a plan. A full assault.” Olenka shook her head, the movement sharp. “There is no time for a full assault. That’s what she wants. She wants a war, Valdemar. I will not give her one, not if my parents are the sacrifice.” Her gaze swept over the fallen southern soldiers, then back to Jarek, still kneeling, broken in the snow. “This ends tonight. Alone.” Valdemar's grip tightened, his amber gaze fixed on her face. He saw the resolve, unyielding as the permafrost, and a spark of something fierce and untamed that mirrored his own spirit. He knew arguing was futile. The Rime-Wolf was not to be dissuaded once her kin were threatened. “Then I go with you.” “No,” Olenka said, her voice clear and precise, like splintering ice. “This is my battle. My family. But you will follow. Give me a half-hour head start. Bring the Vindur. If I am not out by sunrise, storm the gates. Spare no one who stands with Yrsa.” Valdemar pressed his lips thin, then gave a sharp nod. “The cells lie beneath the fortress,” Valdemar warned. “Heavily guarded. Carved from granite, reinforced with iron.” “Then I will carve them anew,” Olenka declared, her Rime-Wolf aura flaring, turning the surrounding snow to crystalline dust. She didn’t wait for another word, shedding her cloak and transforming. A magnificent wolf, pure white as fresh snow, with eyes that held the blue fire of a glacier’s heart, streaked away, leaving a trail of shimmering frost in her wake. She ran, the tundra blurring beneath her paws. The Rime-Core hummed in her sinews, sharpening her senses until the iron stench of spilled blood and cured hide from the southern fortress marked a clear trail. Paws pounded the crusted drift, churning white powder in rhythmic bursts. She felt the cold deep within, no longer a numbing presence, but a weapon honed to lethal precision. The last remnants of her easy trust had dissolved into ash. Only hard purpose remained: rip her mother and father free, then break the matriarch. The southern stronghold loomed ahead, a jagged notch against the pale horizon, its stone ramparts rimmed in rime. The outer sally port at the base was a slab of pig iron, pinned by heavy crossbars. Two sentries leaned against the jambs, cloaks drawn tight against the draft. Olenka shifted back, cold vapor weaving about her skin as her garments re-formed. She closed the distance without a rustle, sliding over the crust. Before either could raise an axe, twin spikes of rime shot from the flagstones, pinning their wool mantles to the masonry. “Where are they?” Her voice, normally soft, was now laced with the chill of an arctic gale, echoing off the stone. Her eyes, glowing with the Rime-Core’s power, fixated on the immense iron gate. Its surface, thick with frost, seemed to groan under her gaze. The men jabbered, gesturing wildly toward the corridor beyond the threshold. Olenka ignored them. Her concentration narrowed, focusing every ounce of her Rime-Core’s essence. A spiderweb of delicate frost bloomed across the massive iron surface, growing thicker, more intricate, until the entire gate was encased in a shell of diamond-hard ice. The runes embedded in the metal flared, then dimmed, overwhelmed by the sheer, unyielding power. With a silent command, the ice pulsed. A crack split the quiet air, followed by the screech of shearing pig iron as the frozen barrier blew inward. Shards of ice and twisted iron flew like lethal shrapnel, tearing through the air. The pinned watchmen shrieked as ice splinters grazed their cheeks. Olenka stepped through the gaping maw where the gate once stood, her boots crunching on the debris. The passage beyond was dark, damp, and smelled of stale blood and fear. She moved with purpose, her Rime-Core acting as a beacon, guiding her through the labyrinthine corridors. She heard distant shouts, the frantic clanging of steel, but she ignored it, driven by a singular mission. She broke into the open training yard, where packed snow lay strangely smooth between the barracks. A thin layer of fresh snow covered the ground, undisturbed. Too quiet. A trap. The thought flashed through her mind an instant before it was too late. Before she took three strides, obsidian links etched with burning crimson glyphs burst from the drift. The metal whipped around her calves and ribs, searing her skin through wool. A gasp tore from her lips. Blood-Bane iron, forged to starve an inner beast and leech its strength. Her Rime-Wolf aura flickered violently, struggling against the binding. Her internal cold sank like lead, the core's draft pulled violently down into the iron links. Elder Yrsa emerged from the shadows of the Keep’s entrance, a cruel smile stretching her withered lips. Behind her stood the southern pack ranks, their faces rigid under the torches. Yrsa held a ceremonial dagger, its blade gleaming with malevolent intent. She looked exactly as Olenka remembered her: a picture of false benevolence. “Welcome, Olenka,” Yrsa purred, her voice dripping with saccharine malice. “Or should I say, my Rime-Wolf. You came. Just as I knew you would.” She circled Olenka, her eyes alight with a mad triumph. “You foolish, naive girl. I told Jarek I chose him for Alpha for his strength. A lie. It was always for this.” She pointed to the tethering iron, then to Olenka’s sternum. “The Rime-Core. My family’s birthright, stolen by your wretched ancestors. I manipulated your parents, forged the evidence, poisoned the pack against you. I even gave you the core myself, knowing your weak heart would be unable to control it, driving you to this very trap. I allowed you to live long enough to integrate its power, to make it truly mine.” Each word was a hammer blow, not to Olenka’s body, but to her soul, shattering the very last fragments of her inherent kindness. The vindication she felt earlier for Jarek was a flicker compared to the inferno of pure, unadulterated hatred that now ignited within her. Yrsa hadn't just framed her family; she had orchestrated her entire downfall, her transformation, every pain, every rejection, all to steal the Rime-Core. The chill in her ribs roared, resisting the leach of the metal with sudden, ferocious pressure. She would not merely stop Yrsa; she would erase her. “And now,” Yrsa continued, blind to the blue fire rising in Olenka's pupils, “with the binding secure, I shall simply… cut it out.” At her flick of fingers, two thralls dragged her mother and father forward, both bound at the wrists with hemp and gagged. They were battered, but alive. Grief spiked through Olenka, sharper than frostbite. She lunged against the links, a snarl rattling her throat as the core surged against the suppression. Yrsa smiled, a predator’s baring of teeth. She raised the ceremonial dagger high, its tip glinting, poised over Olenka’s mother’s throat. “A final lesson, dear Olenka. Loyalty is a weakness. Family is a liability.” Just as the blade began its descent, a primal roar ripped through the air, shaking the very foundations of the Keep. A massive wolf wreathed in smoldering embers bounded over the threshold, throwing up showers of sparks against the frost. It was Valdemar, gold eyes blazing with lethal clarity. He wasn't alone. Behind him, northern fighters poured through the breach, shield-rims gleaming. But even more shocking, amidst the chaos, Jarek’s Beta, Falken, stood with several loyal Skogar warriors. They had turned their weapons, not on the Vindur, but on Elder Yrsa and her stunned loyalists. The yard erupted into clashed iron, snarling wolves, and split shields. The trap had sprung, but not for Olenka. Valdemar lunged toward Olenka, heat flaring from his claws as he slashed into the binding links. He was here. They were all here. And this time, Olenka would not hold back. This time, Yrsa would pay.

The Trap at Skogar Keep