Kassar choked on a sharp intake of air, tension locking his chest as iron chains bit his raw wrists. The prowling monstrosity broke into view, snarling maw lined with needle-like teeth as it surged from the tunnel. Its hide, a patchwork of leathery grey and oozing black, pulsed with corrupted power, its eyes twin points of burning Ash-Blight. It was fast. Too fast. He was still shackled, his muscles screaming from the flogging. Danira, unarmed, stood between him and the nightmare. Before his mind could even register the impossible speed of the beast, before he could formulate a plan that involved sacrificing his own life to buy her a single, precious second, Danira moved. Not with the frantic vigor of a warrior facing death, but with a languid, almost bored grace. She shifted her weight, a soft, almost inaudible yawn escaping her lips. “So much noise,” she murmured, her voice barely carrying over the creature's deafening roar. Then, her hand, still resting on his shoulder, slid down his arm, her skin grazing the cold, scarred metal of his vambrace. A strange tremor, deeper and colder than physical touch, surged through his core. It wasn’t just a touch. It was an intrusion, a connection. A gasp escaped him. What was she doing? A core-link, especially a dual-weave tied to armor, was an illicit intimacy, an unfiltered merging of power that left both participants completely exposed. He felt her core, a vast, frigid abyss of dormant power, brush against his own defensive forge. Colder than any steppe gale, her total indifference to impending death bled straight into his panic. The brute was a grey blur now, leaping with hooked talons aimed for Danira’s throat. The bloodthirsty crowd went still, throats seizing in collective terror. Even Commander Varkon leaned forward, lips curling in anticipation of an immediate butchering. Danira didn’t move. Her eyes, usually so sharp, seemed distant, almost glazed over. Yet the illicit conduit pulsed with an abrupt, devastating surge. Through his armor, through his very being, Kassar felt it—her core-weave activating. Not a direct attack, not a targeted strike. She was using *him*. A film of rime began creeping across the iron vambrace. It snapped inward along the very vector of the pounce rather than flaring out. The beast’s talons, inches from Danira, locked rigid in mid-air. The frost didn’t stop there. It leapt from its rigid claws to its forelegs, then its chest, spiderwebbing across its black hide with horrifying speed. The beast let out a choked shriek of pure confusion. Momentum carried it forward, a rigid projectile crashing hard against the pitted stone floor. A cloud of fine ice dust erupted as it hit. In less than three heartbeats, the ravenous predator turned to petrified rime and jagged crystal, its corrupted eyes locked open in a wordless screech. Danira pulled back her hand, knuckles trembling faintly against her thigh. She swayed slightly, a ripple of exhaustion tracing her features, quickly masked by her usual languid expression. She glanced at the frozen beast, a flicker of something like irritation in her eyes. “Waste of good reserve,” she muttered, more to herself than to him. The pit stood dead quiet. Not a breath stirred above the ditch. The roar of the beast, the thud of its fall, the gasp of the crowd—all had vanished. Only the distant wail of the steppe winds echoed off the canyon walls. Then, slowly, a murmur began to rise, a tide of disbelief and awe. Varkon’s face was a mask of furious bafflement. His mouth worked, but no words came out. Oghlun, who had barked insults at her technique moments earlier, stood rooted in place, proud posture unravelling into startled shock. Danira, oblivious to the stunned reactions, turned back to Kassar. Her gaze, no longer distant, was intense, possessive. She frowned at his bleeding back. “They’ll patch you up, Kassar. Don’t worry.” She didn’t need to worry, not with the way she looked at him. She looked at him like he was the last drop of water in the vast, unforgiving Vaskarr Desert. The sheer ferocity in her eyes, after a lifetime of her detached indifference, was a physical blow. *** The infirmary, smelling of antiseptic herbs and stale blood, was a blur of hushed movements. A dour-faced medic, his name tag reading ‘Jalath’, dabbed at Kassar’s lash wounds with a pungent poultice. Kassar gritted his teeth, not from the pain, but from the knot of confusion tightening in his gut. Danira sat on the edge of his cot, her gaze never leaving him. “What game are you playing, Danira?” Kassar’s voice was rough, his stoic facade finally cracking. The words, meant to be an accusation, came out as a desperate plea. “First the shield, then… that. The core-link? You know it’s forbidden. You know the price.” She simply looked at him, her head tilted. “No game. Just… cleaning up.” Her eyes narrowed, fixing on a particularly deep gash on his shoulder. With a soft hum, a shimmering layer of frost, delicate as a spider silk, bloomed over the wound. It wasn’t a healing weave, not entirely, but it sealed the ruptured flesh, numbing the pain with its icy touch. Jalath, the medic, gasped. “Weaver! You cannot interfere with my treatment! That’s an unstable—” Danira turned her head, fixing the medic with a look that promised swift, agonizing dismemberment. “He’s *my* patient. And if you so much as breathe wrong over him again, I’ll shatter every bone in your legs, starting with the kneecaps. Understood?” Jalath recoiled, his face paling, the poultice dropping from his trembling fingers. He stammered an apology and fled the cot, practically tripping over himself. Kassar stared at her, utterly bewildered. This wasn't the Danira he knew. This was a whirlwind of terrifying, possessive devotion. “Danira, stop,” he managed, his voice hoarse. “What has gotten into you?” “Nothing,” she said, her voice softer now, almost gentle as she ran a thumb lightly over his brow, wiping away a bead of sweat. “Just making sure no one hurts what’s mine.” The single syllable landed like an anvil between them. *Mine.* He had been hers once, in childhood, before she chose Jelmeq. Before the betrayal. Before everything. Just then, the infirmary door slammed open. Oghlun stood there, his face thunderous, his usually immaculate uniform slightly askew. “Danira! That display was an insult to the Ascendancy! A coward’s trick!” He strode forward, his eyes blazing. “You didn’t even engage the beast! You channeled through a vanguard's armor like a parasite, defiling the pit and the Trial of Blood-Oaths! I will see your title stripped for this!” Danira merely lifted an eyebrow, a dismissive flick of her wrist. “Go howl at the wind, Oghlun. I won. He lives. That is enough.” She swung her gaze back to Kassar, faint humor tugging at the corners of her mouth. “Now, where were we?” Oghlun choked on his indignation. “You think this is over? I swear by the Orolan Peaks, I will expose you! This ‘victory’ will be remembered for the dishonor you brought upon it!” He spun on his heel and stormed out, leaving the infirmary steeped in tense stillness. The quiet shattered moments later when another figure appeared at the door. Not a medic, nor a cadet, but a gaunt messenger of the Garrison, his face grey, his uniform stained with dust and something darker. He held a small, leather-wrapped package. “Weaver Danira, Cadet Kassar,” the messenger rasped, eyes darting between them. “A delivery. From the canyon rim.” He offered the package. Danira took it, her palms skimming the rough hide. The moment she untied the thong, a sickening smell wafted from within. She peeled back the flap. Inside, nestled on a bed of dark, dried sand, was a severed hand. Not a beast’s. A human hand. The stiff knuckles curled around something small and sickeningly familiar. Danira’s old pendant. The silver sun-disk Kassar had carved for her when they were children. Attached to the package was a single, blood-stained parchment. Danira’s eyes skimmed the neat script. Her jaw set, teeth grating as she crushed the slip of skin into her palm. “Jelmeq.” “He invites you,” the messenger whispered, his voice trembling, “to the canyon’s edge. To talk.”

Frost and Fluster