The light of the vortex dulled, and Bullet landed hard. His bare feet sank into snow that was like broken glass, each step sliced into his skin. Blood froze almost instantly, leaving thin red trails across the white expanse. Above him, the auroras painted the sky with swooping bands of violet and green, the light reflecting from endless ice.
A pale blue sun hung low on the horizon, frozen in place like everything else in this cursed realm. Its light was cold and sharp, and it made the whole of the landscape glitter like one enormous diamond. Beautiful, perhaps, but deadly.
The pull surged in Bullet's chest, that old burning force that never let him rest. It pointed him toward some unseen horizon, demanding he keep moving. He lurched forward, his breath coming out in white clouds, his pipe always heavy in his hand. The metal was scarred and dented from Province 391's mirror fights, but it was still solid. Still deadly.
His body had been a catalog of injuries...his shoulder throbbing where the Mirrorheart had torn into him, the blood crusted and dark; his arm stinging from those winged beasts in Province 512, their claws having left ragged lines across skin; his leg aching with every step, the gashes burning like they'd been packed with hot coals.
The shard etched in his pocket pressed against his thigh, that circle bisected by a jagged line, always warm, always mysterious. Spark's unetched shard sat beside it, its faint glow a reminder of debts he couldn't repay and people he'd left behind.
No name, no past, only the pull and the scar above his heart, and a world seemingly designed to break him.
The false promise of Province 512 still stung. The vortex was supposed to be the way home, but it had just dropped him here, in Province 713's frozen wasteland. The ice laid out ahead like a trap waiting to spring, and the pull tugged at him forward into it.
---
The tundra was a nightmare of jagged ice formations gnawing from the snow like broken teeth. The auroras reflected off them, creating sharp arcs of colored light that hurt to look at. The air was so cold it felt like knives against his skin. His feet left bloody prints in the snow. The wounds from earlier provinces refusing to heal, now freezing over with each step.
Peculiar crystals thrust upwards from the snow...not ice, but something alive, something aware. They hummed with a low static that made his teeth ache. When his pipe accidentally grazed one, electricity jolted up his arm, making his muscles spasm. The pain shot through his already injured arm, the one the creatures had clawed in Province 512.
A sudden blizzard churned to life, the wind screaming across the tundra. Static electricity sparked across his tattered cloak, making his hair stand on end. His shoulder wound flared with each gust, and his ribs, cracked back in Province 837's tunnel, ached with every breath. Crystal spikes hidden in the snow nicked his ankles as he walked, each one drawing blood that froze almost instantly.
Without warning, an ice fissure opened right in front of him, its edges as sharp as razors. Bullet leapt across it, but with his leg injury, the jump was labored, muscles burning from the effort. His heart pounded as he barely made it to the other side, slamming his pipe into the ice to steady himself. The pull would not let him stop, would not let him rest.
He trudged forward, his cloak tearing on the ice outcrops, his breath fogged before his face. Every step was a fight against the urge of his body to collapse.
The wind howled around him, the snow blinding, the static snapping against his skin. His palm ached from the thorn gashes he'd gotten in Province 512, the blood crusting around the pipe's handle. Through the white haze, he spotted shapes...structures. Igloos, their ice walls glowing faintly with that same auroral light, pulsing like slow heartbeats.
Figures moved between them, wrapped in what looked like fabric woven from crystalline fibers. Many of their faces were scarred, their eyes hollow in that particular way Bullet had come to recognize. These were people who'd been here too long, trapped in the eternal now of this realm.
Slowly Bullet drew near, the pipe at the ready in his hand. His scar throbbed above his heart. His leg wound burned. His arm was stiff from the cold.
A wiry man stepped out from the nearest igloo. Frostbite scars marked his brow, and his white hair shone in the light of the aurora. His nose was sharp, his eyes sharper. He held a crystal spear, its surface carved with intricate spirals that caught the light.
"Who are you?" the man barked, his voice cutting through the wind like a blade.
"Bullet," he rasped, the grip on the pipe tightening. His breath came out in white clouds. "That's all I've got."
The man's eyes narrowed, studying him. Then they softened slightly as he took in Bullet's scars...the circular mark over his heart, the dozens of smaller wounds covering his body. "Fair enough," the man said. "I'm Frosthawk. You look like death walking. Come into the camp before you freeze out here."
"Why would you help me?" Bullet asked, suspicion coming automatically after so many betrayals.
Frosthawk shrugged. "Because we've all been where you are...lost, wounded, following something we don't understand." He turned toward the igloos. "Come on. We have food and warmth. You can decide what to do next after you are not actively dying."
---
Frosthawk guided him through the cluster of igloos. Inside, the air was warmer. Not comfortable, but enough that Bullet's extremities weren't going completely numb. The walls pulsed faintly with captured auroral light, casting everything in soft colors. Bullet's toes started to thaw, painful pins and needles spreading through his feet, though his leg wound still ached deep in the muscle.
The inside of the igloos was surprisingly well-made, with smooth floors and walls curving overhead. Dwellers gathered as Frosthawk brought Bullet in, their eyes curious and wary.
The first to step forward was a woman with bright red hair. Her eyes were fierce despite the exhaustion that lined her face, and her fingers carried scars from weaving the crystal-fiber fabric that appeared to be the main industry of the camp. "Another one from the vortex?" she asked Frosthawk.
"Looks like it." said Frosthawk.
"I'm Ember." the woman told Bullet. "That's Stone over there." She nodded to a man with rough, weathered skin and a steady hand who sharpened a blade. "Twig's the nervous one in the corner." A lanky figure clutched at a dull stone like a talisman, his eyes wide with barely suppressed fear. "Glass is the quiet one." A person with a sharp, calculating gaze watched silently from the shadows. "And Shade." Ember's voice dropped slightly. "Shade keeps to herself."
Bullet followed her gaze to a figure in dark furs made from some creature he didn't recognize. Shade's hand rested near a hidden blade, her face carefully blank, unreadable.
Frosthawk positioned himself near what appeared to be a throne, a disturbing construction of ice and bone. Femurs, ribs, skulls...all arranged into a seat that spoke of fallen climbers and hard choices. It reminded Bullet of Vine's throne back in Province 512, another petty tyrant ruling over desperate people.
"Sit." said Frosthawk, gesturing to a place near a small fire made up of burning some kind of sap. "Ember, get him some food."
Ember brought over a bowl of fish and broth. The smell was strong, but not unpleasant. Bullet ate quickly, the warmth spreading through his chest, though the pull never completely faded. His pipe rested against his leg, within easy reach. The shards in his pocket felt heavy, the etched one pulsing faintly against his skin in a rhythm only he could feel.
"We're like you." Ember said, sitting down across from him. Her voice was firm, but exhausted. Even her words sounded spent, burdened by the disappointment she'd accumulated. Her hair flared like fire under the auroral light. "No past, just scars. Frosthawk built this camp to survive the tundra. It's not much, but it's something."
Bullet sipped the bitter broth, his scar throbbing with each swallow. "Why stay here?" he asked. The memory of the Dreadwraith and the sentinel flashed through his mind. "This place seems just as dangerous as anywhere else."
Stone's voice rumbled from across the igloo, deep and steady like shifting earth. "The tundra takes everything and gives nothing in return. Frosthawk made this haven, carved it out of the ice with his own hands. But make no mistake, it's as much a cage as it is shelter."
"A cage you can leave anytime." Frosthawk said, though an edge was in his voice. His knuckles were white around his spear.
"Can we?" Glass spoke for the first time, her voice soft but cutting. "Have you let anyone leave, Frosthawk?"
The air felt cooler in the igloo all of a sudden. Frosthawk's jaw clamped down. "Anyone who wishes to head north is free to try. I do nothing to prevent them. The mountain sees to that on its own."
"North?" Bullet asked. The pull in his chest seemed to grow stronger with the word.
Frosthawk's scarred face grew darker. "North, or what we call north, beyond the ridges, there's a mountain. An ice wall stands there, immense and alive with light, cold as death itself. There is a cave...the only way through the wall. But the Ice Hound guards it." He paused, his eyes with a faraway stare. "Three heads, ice breath that can freeze you solid in seconds, claws that can tear through crystal. I have sent climbers up there. Many climbers." His hand gestured toward the bone throne. "None ever came back."
Twig shivered in his corner, his stone slipping from his fingers to clatter on the floor. "It's death." he whispered, his voice shaking. "That's all that's up there. Death."
The fear in his voice mirrored something in Bullet, a doubt that tried to surface, tried to ask why he should keep going, why he should trust the pull. But then his scar burned, hot and insistent, and the questions died before they could fully form.
Through it all, Shade remained silent, her fingers occasionally brushing the handle of her hidden blade. Her eyes flickered between Frosthawk and Bullet, calculating, weighing something. Bullet caught her glance and held it a moment. He knew that look. Betrayal waiting for the right moment.
He clutched at his pipe more tightly. Trust was in short supply, and getting shorter all the time.
"Why do you want to go through the ice wall?" Ember asked. "What's driving you north?
Bullet considered the question. How could he explain the pull when he didn't understand it himself? "I don't know." he said finally. "There's something...driving me. Like a compass I can't ignore. Every province I cross, it points me forward. North, in this case."
"And you always follow it?" Stone asked.
"I don't have a choice." Bullet said, and was surprised at how true that was. Every time he tried resisting, the scar over his heart burned hotter, forcing his feet to move.
The dwellers exchanged glances. Twig looked terrified. Glass looked intrigued. Ember looked sad, like she'd already mourned him. And Shade. Shade's expression stayed carefully blank.
"Then you'll go north." Frosthawk said. It wasn't a question. "You'll try the cave."
"Yes."
"You'll die."
Bullet met his gaze. "Maybe. But I'll die trying anyway. The pull won't let me stop."
Frosthawk studied him a long moment, then nodded slowly. "I understand that. Better than you might think." He gestured around the igloo. "Rest tonight. Eat. Recover what strength you can. In the morning, I'll give you directions to the mountain. But I won't come with you, and I won't let any of my people come with you. I've lost enough to that cave already."
Bullet slumped against the wall, exhaustion crashing over him in a wave. The faces of the dwellers blurred in soft light, scarred and hollow-eyed and lost. Like him. The pull whispered in his chest, never fully quiet, but for now it let him rest.
He closed his eyes, though he didn't trust the sleep that came. Patch's laughter echoed in his memory. Glow's vines. Thorn's shattered hope. And now these new faces. Ember's fire, Stone's steadiness, Twig's fear, Glass's sharp clarity, Shade's shadow. Connections he was already preparing to abandon. Debts he'd never repay.
The camp's warmth was fleeting, borrowed time before the pull drove him forward again. With his eyes closed, it felt like Shade's gaze was a razor against his neck.
---
The crack came in the middle of the night, jolting Bullet awake. The walls of the igloo shook and snow poured down the ceiling. There were shouts from outside.
Bullet grabbed his pipe, ignoring the flare of pain in his leg, his arm, his shoulder. He stumbled out of the igloo into chaos.
A huge fissure had burst open in the tundra, a jagged rents in the ice. And from it poured creatures that made his stomach turn...crystalline scorpions the size of large dogs, their blue-cold shells glinting in the auroral light. Their tails dripped with venom that hissed when it hit the snow, sending up clouds of acrid steam. Their shells pulsed with static electricity, and their eyes.
Their eyes were crimson, glowing like the sentinels which had hunted him through Province 618.
And they were all looking at him.
"Skitterblades!" Stone roared, hefting an ice axe. "Formation!"
The dwellers scrambled, grabbing weapons, anything they could find: spears, clubs, slingshots. But there were so many of the creatures, and they moved fast. Their multiple legs clicked across the ice with piercing sharpness.
A skitterblade charged at Twig, frozen with terror, his stone forgotten in the snow. Its tail arced up, venom gleaming at its tip.
Bullet charged forward, his pipe raised. His heart was hammering in his chest. The pipe connected with the creature's shell with a sharp clang that sent pain jolting up his already injured arm. The shell cracked, the beast screeching in a sound that was half-insect, half-something worse. Venom splashed across Bullet's cloak, burning through the fabric and searing his shoulder.
"Get behind me!" Bullet shouted, his voice raw.
Twig scrambled backward, shaking violently. "Thank you, I..."
"Just stay back!" Bullet swung again, catching another skitterblade that had scuttled too close. The shell shattered, blue ichor spraying across the snow.
The battle raged around him. Ember hurled burning sap, apparently kept for just such eventualities, and flames sizzled across a scorpion's shell, making it screech and retreat. Her hair was wild, her movements precise despite the chaos. Frosthawk moved with surprising speed for a man of his years, his knife severing tails, his spear stabbing eyes. Blood steamed where it hit the ice.
Stone brought his axe down with brutal force onto a skitterblade, completely shattering its shell. But more kept coming, pouring from the fissure like a flood, their crimson eyes locked on Bullet. He could feel their focus, that same wrongness he'd felt from the sentinels.
Bullet swung his pipe in wide arcs, shattering legs, cracking shells. His palm ached, the old thorn wounds reopening, blood making the handle slippery. His arm was stiff from the venom which had splashed on it, muscles not responding quite right.
A skitterblade leaped at Glass, its tail dripping venom. Without thinking, Bullet tackled her out of the way, his shoulder slamming into the ice. Pain exploded through the old wound, fresh blood welling up. The creature landed where Glass had been standing, and Bullet brought his pipe down on its head, crushing it. Blood hissed as it hit the snow, sending up clouds of steam.
"Watch out!" Shade's voice cut through the chaos.
Bullet looked up to see the fissure spewing yet more skitterblades. Their clicking was deafening now, a wall of sound that made his skull ache.
"We're getting overrun!" Shade yelled. She was hurling stones with deadly accuracy, each one cracking sharply off of the creatures' shells. Her hidden blade was drawn now, glinting in her other hand. Her eyes kept flicking between Bullet and Frosthawk, like she couldn't decide something.
Desperately, Bullet scanned the area. His eyes fell on a large ice boulder that sat atop a ridge above the fissure. It was pulsing with that same internal light as the sentient crystals.
"Stone!" Bullet roared. "With me!"
He sprinted toward the ridge, his leg wound screaming with every step, his shoulder seeping fresh blood. Stone understood immediately and followed, his heavy footsteps crunching through the snow.
They reached the boulder together. "On three," Bullet gasped. "One. two."
"Three!" They heaved together, their muscles burning, and the boulder rolled forward with agonizing slowness at first, then faster. It crashed down into the fissure with a boom that shook the entire camp, ice shattering, the sound echoing right across the tundra. The impact knocked several skitterblades back into the crack, and the fissure began to seal itself, the ice reforming with sharp crackling sounds.
The remaining skitterblades suddenly seemed less coordinated, less focused. The dwellers fell on them with renewed energy, spears piercing underbellies where the shells were weakest, clubs crushing the creatures against the ice. Blood steamed across the white ground, and gradually the clicking faded to silence.
---
Bullet slumped against an igloo wall, his entire body shaking. Ember gripped his shoulder, carefully, avoiding the wounds, her breath coming in pants. Her hair was still glowing faintly in the auroral light.
"You saved us." she said, her voice rough. Her calloused hands shook a little. "That was... thank you."
Glass approached, holding a container of the sap they used for medicine, and gently applied it to his burns. It stung at first, then cooled. "You didn't have to do that." she said quietly. "You could have run."
"No," Bullet said, meeting her eyes. "I couldn't have."
That was the truth, he realized. Despite the pull always urging him forward, despite knowing he'd leave these people behind, he couldn't watch them die. Not when he could do something. Not again.
Stone clapped him on the back hard enough that Bullet winced. "You fight well for someone who claims to have no past. Where'd you learn to move like that?"
"I don't know." Bullet admitted honestly. It was the question that haunted him. Why was he so good at violence? Why did his body know how to kill before his mind could catch up?
The dwellers settled around him. Ember's warmth, Stone's steadiness, Twig's grateful fear, Glass's sharp clarity. Even Shade hovered at the edge of the group, though her expression remained unreadable.
Frosthawk stood apart, his spear planted in the ice, his gaze heavy. Behind him, the bone throne appeared to loom larger than it had on the ascent, a reminder of all the climbers who lay dead, or dying.
But it was Shade's silence that bothered Bullet most. Her blade was still drawn, still ready. For what, he wasn't sure. But he'd learned to trust his instincts, and his instincts said Shade was waiting for something.
The pull blazed in his chest, pointed northward. Always north. But for now, for this moment, he was held by the camp's fragile bond, by the warmth of survivors who'd fought together and lived.
Guilt crashed into him in waves. Patch, who'd stitched his wounds and spoken of battles long past. Glow, who'd remained behind to set the dreamers free in Province 269. Thorn, whose hopes had been cast onto the ice in Province 713. And now the new bonds Twig, whom he had saved. Ember, who had dubbed him brave. Stone, who had fought by his side.
All tethers he knew he'd cut when morning came.
---