The first light broke over the eastern horizon like a wound opening in the night—a thin line of crimson against the black.
I hadn't slept. Not for lack of trying—twice I'd closed my eyes, only to snap them open at the memory of those reflectors. Their voices had grown closer as the night deepened, then faded before dawn. Whether they'd found easier prey or simply lost interest, I couldn't say. Either way, I counted it as luck.
My luck rarely lasted.
As the sun climbed higher, the landscape revealed itself in stages. First the trees closest to camp, then the deeper forest, and finally the distant mountains—jagged teeth against the lightening sky. The snow caught fire, thousands of ice crystals blazing with reflected light.
It was beautiful. Painfully beautiful.
In New Vein, sunrises meant nothing. The eternal haze of pollution turned them into murky transitions—night to slightly-less-night. The wealthy could buy sunrise views from their high-rise apartments above the smog line, but down in the Depths, we made do with artificial lighting and the occasional glimpse of what might be the moon.
This, though... this was something else entirely.
"You didn't wake me."
I turned to find Joran standing behind me. The scar across his nose looked paler in the morning light, a thin white line against weather-tanned skin.
"You needed the sleep," I said, carefully flexing my fingers. "I didn't."
His eyes—somewhere between gray and green in this light—narrowed slightly. "We agreed on shifts."
"Plans change."
He studied me for a moment, then sighed and crouched beside the dying fire. "Your hands need treatment."
"They'll heal."
Behind us, Laina stirred, muttering something in her sleep. Her black hair spilled across her makeshift pillow, her face softer in repose than I'd ever seen it. One hand still gripped her bow.
"She should have taken second watch," Joran said, finishing with the bandaging.
"Let her rest. We have a long way to go."
He nodded. "The Grief Marshes aren't kind to travelers. We'll need all our strength."
"You've been through them before?"
"Twice." His expression darkened. "Lost three men the second time. Would have lost more if not for a guide."
I flexed my newly bandaged hands, testing the pain. Still there, but duller now. Manageable. "What killed them?"
"One drowned. Thin ice." He stared into the dying fire. "The others... something took them in the night. Never found the bodies."
Great. More monsters to look forward to.
The sun had fully risen now, bathing everything in cold, clear light. Our fires had burned low, some extinguished completely. We'd need to move soon, before the warmth faded entirely.
"I'll wake her," I said, rising to my feet.
Laina woke instantly at my approach, her hand tightening on her bow before recognition dawned. "Isaiah." Her violet eyes, still heavy with sleep, quickly scanned the camp. "Everything alright?"
"Time to move," I said, offering her my less-injured hand.
She ignored it, rising smoothly on her own. "You look like shit."
I laughed despite myself. "Good morning to you too."
"Did you sleep at all?"
"Enough."
She frowned, studying my face. "Liar."
"We need to break camp," I said, changing the subject. "Joran says we're still two days from the marshes."
"If we push hard," she agreed, rolling up her bedding with practiced efficiency. "The horses will slow us down, though."
I glanced at the animals, huddled together for warmth. They looked as tired as I felt. "We need them."
"For now," she conceded.
We worked in silence, dismantling the camp as the sun climbed higher. My hands protested every movement, but I kept working. Pain was temporary. Death was permanent.
By the time we finished, Joran had prepared a meager breakfast—strips of dried meat and a handful of berries for each of us. I ate mechanically, barely tasting the food, my eyes on the path ahead.
"The marshes," I said between bites. "What should we expect?"
Joran and Laina exchanged glances.
"Thin ice," Joran began. "Hidden currents underneath. Strange mists that disorient travelers."
"And hags," Laina added grimly. "Witch-women who made pacts with old gods. They claim territories throughout the wetlands. Cross them, and you'll wish for a quick death."
"Lovely," I muttered. "Anything else?"
"The drowned ones," Joran said quietly. "Corpses animated by dark magic. They lurk beneath the ice, waiting to drag down the unwary."
I nodded, filing away the information. "How do we kill them?"
"Fire," Laina said immediately. "But good luck lighting anything in that damp hellhole."
"Silver works too," Joran added. "For both the drowned ones and the hags."
I thought of the twin daggers—Frostbite and Heartseeker. One cold as death, one burning with hidden fire. Perhaps they'd prove useful against these new threats.
"Any safe paths through?" I asked.
Joran hesitated. "Guild guides from Blackmere know the way. They maintain wooden pathways and rope bridges... for a price."
"Which we don't have," Laina finished.
"Then we find another way," I said simply, rising to my feet. "Let's move."
We packed the horses quickly, loading them with our supplies and the remaining firewood. The animals seemed reluctant to leave the relative safety of our camp, but eventually yielded to Joran's quiet insistence.
***
The forest thinned gradually, giving way to more open terrain—rolling hills blanketed in snow, occasional stands of pines providing the only vertical relief.
By midday, the sun had warmed the air enough that the snow became treacherous—soft on top but still frozen underneath. Our pace slowed as we picked our way carefully, avoiding the worst patches.
"We should reach the foothills by nightfall," Joran said, pointing ahead to where the land began to rise more dramatically. "There's a sheltered spot I know. We can camp there."
"And tomorrow?" I asked.
"Tomorrow we enter the Grief Marshes."
Laina sighed. "If the name doesn't warn you off, nothing will."
I studied her as she walked ahead, her bow slung casually over one shoulder. She moved with athletic grace, each step placed with confidence. Her black hair, tied back in a simple braid, swung with her movements. Despite the cold, she seemed perfectly at ease—as though the harsh environment was merely an inconvenience rather than a threat.
"She was born for this," Joran said quietly, noticing my gaze. "The wilderness. The hunt."
"And you weren't?"
He smiled thinly. "I learned to survive. She was born knowing how."
We pressed on through the afternoon, stopping only briefly to rest the horses and eat a cold lunch. The sun began its descent, casting long shadows across the snow. The temperature dropped noticeably.
"There," Joran said finally, pointing to a rocky outcropping ahead. "We'll camp there."
The spot was well-chosen—a natural windbreak formed by the rocks, with a small clearing large enough for our camp. Dead branches littered the ground nearby, promising fuel for our fires.
"Anything I should know about this place?" I asked as we began unloading the horses.
Joran knelt to examine the ground. "It's safe enough. No signs of recent passage."
"That's not what I asked."
He looked up, meeting my eyes directly. "People died here during the first years of the curse. Refugees from the southern settlements, trying to reach Hearthhome." He gestured to the rocks. "They sought shelter, just as we're doing."
"What killed them?"
"The cold. Hunger." He paused. "And fear."
I nodded, understanding what he wasn't saying. "Their bodies?"
"Long gone. Either buried properly by those who found them later, or..." He trailed off.
"Or taken by scavengers," Laina finished, dropping her pack nearby. "Human or otherwise."
We worked efficiently, setting up camp before the last light faded. Four fires again, arranged in a protective circle. The horses were tethered close to the central flame.
As darkness fell, I thought about my time table. According to my timer, we had thirteen days remaining to reach the Temple of Echoes.
"You should sleep tonight," Laina said, settling beside me with her bow across her knees. "I'll take first watch."
I flexed my bandaged hands, feeling the pain pulse through them. "I'm fine."
"You're exhausted." Her violet eyes reflected the firelight, turning them almost red. "And in pain. Neither makes for a good watchman."
I started to argue, then stopped myself. She was right, and I knew it. "Wake me for second watch."
"If you're still breathing, I will." She smiled slightly, taking the sting from her words. "Now sleep, Isaiah. Tomorrow will be hard enough without you falling face-first into the marsh from exhaustion."
I nodded, arranging my bedroll close to the fire. The heat felt good against my aching body. Nearby, Joran was already asleep, his breathing deep and even.
I closed my eyes, listening to the crackle of the flames and Laina's quiet humming as she kept watch. Despite my exhaustion, sleep remained elusive. My hands throbbed, and my mind refused to quiet.
The last thing I remembered before darkness took me completely was Laina's silhouette against the firelight, bow ready, watching over us as the night deepened around our small island of warmth.