The Ice Rain had come earlier than expected.
The first sound was always the same: a faint hiss, like breath slipping between clenched teeth. Then the winds shifted. It was cold enough to bite through skin, cold enough to burn muscle to ash.
It was never quiet for long after that.
Within minutes, the sky cracked open with shards of frozen death. Spears of ice punched through bone, split stone and turned living bodies into frozen statues. Entire hunting parties had been lost in past seasons because they hadn't made it underground fast enough.
No one risked that kind of death now. The Northern Tribes might have been a savage people, but they weren't fools.
Beneath the frozen ground, far below the carved channels that made up the fighting pits and communal spaces, the emergency village had been opened.
Dug deep into the stone itself, reinforced with thick beams of ancient wood and walls lined with insulated hides, it was a hollow city built for survival. Fires crackled along the main halls, sending warmth spiraling through the tunnels. Water dripped slowly from carved channels, gathered in troughs. Here, the tribes gathered when the world outside turned deadly.
The Mate Choosing Ritual had ended hours ago, leaving a strange sense of anticlimax hanging over everything. People spoke in hushed voices, wary of angering anything beyond the walls. After all, it wasn't just the Ice Rain they feared. Other things hunted during storms like this.
Raika and Veyn had been given one of the larger tents, a private space set apart from the others. Not because of status.
It was because of the woman. The hooded one who had intervened, who served Peony's Apathy. No one wanted to test the patience of a being connected to that. And if it meant giving Raika more room to breathe, they'd do it.
The tent was simple but spacious, built from thick black hide stretched over bone frames. A firepit in the center sent warmth spiraling upward through a hole in the ceiling flap. Soft bedding—layers of stitched furs—had been laid out across the floor. There was a small rack with dried meats and a jug of fermented grain-water left for them.
Raika lay sprawled across the bedding, stripped down to little more than a wrap of white bandages across her chest and a pair of short, dark pants.
The bandages had already been soaked through and replaced three times. Even Krepsuna healing could only do so much in the face of broken ribs and deep bruising. But Veyn… he was different.
He knelt beside her now, his fingers trailing slow, careful paths along her ribs. Where he touched, her skin shivered, partly from the cold sting of his power, but partly from something else she wouldn't name.
His hands glowed faintly, threads of soft gold weaving through his palms and sinking into her flesh. She could feel it. Like warm water soaking deep into cracked stone.
"Damn it," she muttered, gritting her teeth as a fresh lance of pain shot through her side. "You sure you're not killing me faster?"
Veyn said nothing, but the look he gave her was patient. He shifted slightly, tilting his head in that way he always did, like she was being the difficult one.
His thumb brushed against the edge of a bruise just below her ribs, sending a flare of sensation straight up her spine.
Raika hissed. "Easy. I'm not made of stone."
"You survived the Chieftain," Veyn said softly. "You are made of stone."
Raika barked a laugh, followed by a grimace. "You've got jokes now? When did that happen?"
He offered a faint smile, but his focus didn't waver. His hands moved up, fingertips pressing against her shoulder, where Zarvana had nearly torn it out of socket with that damned throw.
For a few minutes, they sat in silence. Only the crackle of the fire and the faint howls of wind beyond the earthen walls filled the space between them. Raika let her head tilt back, staring up at the hide ceiling, breathing slow and even.
"You want to know how I met her?" She asked after a while.
Veyn's hands stilled for half a second, then resumed their gentle work.
"Yes."
"Two and a half years ago. I got cocky. Thought I could outrun a stampede on the Northern Ridge," she shook her head slowly. "Didn't work out. Crushed spine, leg like mush. I was halfway to dead when she found me."
Veyn didn't say anything, but his thumbs swept gently over her collarbone. His touch was light but deliberate, following old scars like he was memorizing them.
"She healed me but... not like this," she lifted her arm weakly, then let it drop. "It was… cleaner. Faster. Like she was unmaking death and putting me back together."
Veyn's gaze lifted, watching her as he smoothed one hand over her ribs again, sending another wave of warmth sinking into cracked bone.
"She carried me to that cave," Raika said. "The one we call home. I woke up there with supplies, water and the essentials. She was gone before I could even ask who the hell she was."
Veyn hummed quietly. "But you found out."
Raika's lips quirked. "Yeah. She's one of.yhe subordinates of Peony's Apathy."
"She is dangerous."
"Beyond dangerous," Raika murmured. "No one knows what Peony's Apathy even is. No gender, no face. Just… power. And that woman—she serves it willingly. She could've killed me then. Could've killed me today."
Veyn shifted closer, his knee brushing against her hip. He placed his palm flat against her stomach, slow pulses of warmth threading into her.
"But she didn't."
Raika stared at him for a long moment. "Yeah. She didn't."
The silence stretched again. Softer this time. Less tense.
"You always take risks," Veyn said after a moment.
"That why you keep me around?"
Veyn didn't answer. Instead, he leaned in slightly, brushing his forehead gently against hers. It wasn't a kiss. Not quite. But it was… close.
Raika's breath caught for just a second. She huffed and rolled her eyes, but she didn't pull away.
"You're lucky I'm too broken to hit you," she muttered.
Veyn's smile was faint. But it was there.
And Raika? She lay there, wondering why the hell her chest felt tighter now than when Zarvana had crushed it an hour ago.
The warmth of Veyn's hands lingered even after he drew them back. Raika blinked up at him as he settled back on his heels, brushing his fingers clean on a cloth. The bruising in her ribs was already less vicious, the breaks knitting slow but sure. She exhaled, heavy, feeling the dull burn of the mended wounds. It was a tired kind of relief.
Then Veyn spoke.
"I'm thinking of leaving."
For a moment, she didn't register the words. Just the quiet way he said it, the weightless way they hung in the air between them. Like they didn't mean anything.
"What?"
He didn't repeat himself. Just reached for the water skin at his side and took a measured sip. His eyes flicked to hers, calm enough that it pissed her off even before she understood why.
"I might leave the Northern Tribes," he said, tone even. "Head to the Central."
Her breath stalled. The fire popped in the pit. The wind howled faintly through the tunnels outside the tent. Raika sat up sharply, pain forgotten, bracing herself with one palm on the furs beneath them.
"The hell did you say?" Her voice was low and dangerous.
Veyn met her stare with that same maddening calm. "I found something out. About my family."
She was already shaking her head. "Veyn—"
"My mother's sister," he continued, cutting through her protest like it was nothing. "She's alive. Runs a workshop in the Central Tribe lands. Carving, mostly. Woodcraft. She made it out."
Raika's throat tightened. She forced a scoff.
"So? You've got a dead-end aunt, and now you want to run off to play with wood and carve spirit dolls?"
"She's family," Veyn said gently.
"So was Clan Spine."
That landed. His jaw flexed, but he didn't rise to it. He didn't even look away.
Raika's chest heaved, and her fingers dug into the bedding under her.
"They let my people die. All of them. The Central Tribe sat on their hands while we were slaughtered. You think I forgot that? You think you should forget that?"
Veyn sighed quietly. "I haven't."
"Then why?" she snapped, voice cracking against the walls of the tent. "Why would you leave? Why now?"
He looked at her, something behind his gaze softening, not pity, not sorrow.
"Because you don't need to keep me here, Raika."
She froze.
"I'm not helpless," he went on, his voice still maddeningly calm. "I can work. I can survive. I'm Krepsuna too. And you… you shouldn't have to nearly die keeping me alive. Not like today."
"That was my choice."
"I know." He shifted closer, his knee brushing hers, and it made her want to shove him away. "And it's my choice to go. The last thing I want is to rely on you and die for being so weak to defend myself."
She glared at him. Fury and betrayal boiled in her chest.
"You're saying this like I'm just supposed to let you."
"You don't have to let me. You can't stop me."
And that was it. That was the killing blow.
He didn't need her permission. He wasn't asking for it. And suddenly, Raika realized the fight she was winding up for was already over before it started.
"Damn you," she hissed, shoving at his shoulder with one arm. "You always do this."
He let the push roll off him and didn't resist, didn't fight. Just sat there, steady as stone. The silence that followed was heavier than before, thick and suffocating.
"You won't last a week in their cities," she snarled. "Soft, smug, lying bastards."
"I'll be fine."
Raika's nails dug into her palms, blunt teeth clenching. She couldn't look at him anymore. So she stood up too fast, ignoring the sharp twist of pain in her ribs. The tent flap was in her grip before she realized she'd crossed the space.
"Fine," she spat. "Go carve your gods-damned dolls."
And with that, she shoved out of the tent, the hide flap snapping behind her as she vanished into the dim, fire-lit tunnel beyond.
Veyn sat there alone, staring after her for a long time. He didn't follow. He didn't call after her. Because he didn't need to.
"That went awfully wrong..."