12-26-2024, 03:46 AM
Tristan exhaled a deep, steadying breath, his golden eyes scanning the desolation laid bare before them. The cave behind them was a remnant of the suffocating heat they had left behind, but the cold here was punishing. The wind clawed at his skin, biting through the remnants of his clothing as though it sought to freeze him from the inside out. Snow swirled in the air, catching in his beard and glinting faintly in the weak sunlight that filtered through a sky too pale and too alien to belong to the Iceland he had known.
He took a step forward, the snow crunching beneath his boots, and tilted his face to the sky. The pale sun hung at a strange angle, casting long, sharp shadows across the landscape. He watched it for a moment, his brow furrowed. The air felt thinner here, lighter but colder, and his instincts, sharp as ever, told him this was not Iceland as much as the vista reminded him of it. The chill was sharper, the landscape emptier, but most importantly the sun's position... was off. Familiar, somehow, but entirely wrong.
“No,” he finally said, his voice calm despite the gnawing cold. “I didn’t come here for the guardian.” He glanced at Thalia, her figure small and fragile stuck between the vast emptiness of the horizon and the yawning maw of the cave, and his expression softened, something protective flickering in his eyes. “I came because you desired it. I came for you.”
His gaze shifted back to the horizon, to the barren land that seemed to stretch endlessly toward the edge of the world. He didn’t elaborate further—it wasn’t his way—but the weight of his words hung in the air. He hadn’t needed a reason beyond her need. That was enough for him. Instead, he let his golden eyes drift once more toward the sky, his instincts sharpening.
“I can do the dreaming,” he continued after a pause, “but…” He gestured vaguely to the landscape, his fingers brushing against the frozen air. “I need to sleep for it. And there’s no way I’m falling asleep in this.” His sharp gaze swept across the landscape, finding streaks of volcanic ash staining the snow here and there.
He closed his eyes briefly, centering himself. There had always been something wild and primal in Tristan’s blood, something that tied him to the earth and sky, to the wolves that had once been his companions. He reached outward now, his senses seeking them across the unseen threads that always bound him to their world. But there was nothing. No faint echo of paws on snow, no soft growl in his mind. Just silence. A vast and empty silence that left his gut cold in a way the biting wind could not.
“They’re gone,” he muttered under his breath, more to himself than to Thalia. “Far away, too far.” His jaw tightened, and he exhaled sharply through his nose, forcing the disconnection from his thoughts. Wherever they were, they were far from the reach of his wolves, which meant they were somewhere else entirely. Somewhere far beyond the boundaries of what he understood. And yet, there was something familiar about this place—something he couldn’t quite place. The angle of the light, the taste of the air. His instincts nagged at him, pulling at the edges of his thoughts like a splinter he couldn’t dig out.
“We can’t stay in here,” he said finally, his voice calm but firm as he turned back to Thalia, who huddled near the faint glow of the light she had conjured. Her arms were wrapped tightly around herself, and her dark curls clung to her face, damp from sweat and soot. She looked fragile, exhausted from the ordeal they’d just escaped, but he could still see the spark of determination in her gaze as she glanced up at him.
“There’s no food, no water,” Tristan continued. “And even if you keep that light going, there’s no telling how long we’ll last with this cold biting at us.” He flexed his fingers, feeling the stiffness creeping into his joints, and glanced toward the opening of the cave again. The light outside was strange—off in a way he couldn’t quite place. “We need to figure out where we are. Get a better look.”
He crouched briefly in front of her, his expression steady but laced with concern. “Stay here for a moment,” he said. “I’m going to climb the hill behind the cave and get a look at the land. Maybe there’s something we can use—a shelter, a path, anything.” His gaze lingered on her, gauging her state. She was shivering, her shoulders hunched, but she nodded.
Tristan straightened and turned toward the opening. The biting wind hit him immediately as he stepped out into the stark, open expanse beyond the cave. The snow crunched beneath his boots as he began his ascent, the incline of the hill behind the cave steep but manageable. Each step was deliberate, his sharp eyes scanning the surrounding landscape as he climbed higher.
The air was thin and cold, but Tristan’s endurance carried him forward. His boots found traction on the ash-streaked ice, his movements careful to avoid slipping on the treacherous terrain. As he climbed, the wind howled louder, whipping at his hair and tugging at his clothes. His breath fogged in the frigid air, but he pushed onward, driven by the need to understand where they had landed.
When he reached the top of the hill, he stopped and turned to take in the view. What he saw made his stomach sink with a strange mixture of relief and dread.
The landscape stretched endlessly before him, a bleak expanse of volcanic wasteland and ice. Black sand curled along the edge of a jagged cove, where gray waves churned and crashed against the shore. The water was dark and unwelcoming, framed by the faint silhouettes of massive glaciers in the distance. The snow and ash were littered with debris—rusted metal fragments and jagged barrels that seemed out of place in this desolate environment. And there, far on the horizon, Tristan saw the unmistakable shapes of man-made structures.
Buildings.
His sharp eyes honed in on them, studying the distant shapes. There were several structures—boxy, weathered, and clearly abandoned. Their metal exteriors were streaked with rust, and parts of them appeared to have collapsed under the weight of years and the unforgiving elements. A few large cylindrical tanks stood near the buildings, their surfaces pitted and scarred. The entire scene was lifeless, frozen in time, but it was the only sign of civilization he could see.
He turned back toward the cave, his voice carrying over the wind as he called out. “Thalia! I see something.”
“There’s a group of buildings in the distance,” he explained, pointing toward the horizon. “They look abandoned, but it’s the only lead we have. If we stay here, we’ll freeze.” His tone was calm but resolute, leaving no room for debate. “We’ll head toward the buildings. There might be shelter—a phone—a radio or something we can use.”
They set off, the wind tearing at them as they trudged through the uneven terrain. The climb down the hill was easier than the ascent, but the cold gnawed at them with every step. The snow grew deeper as they moved toward the buildings, the ground beneath it uneven and littered with volcanic rock. Tristan kept his sharp eyes trained on the structures ahead, guiding their path while staying alert for any signs of movement—or danger.
The trek toward the structure was slow, the terrain uneven and treacherous with patches of ice and loose volcanic rock. The desolation around them was oppressive, the silence broken only by the sound of their footsteps and the relentless wind. The snow seemed to seep into everything, chilling them both to the bone.
As they drew closer, the building came into focus. It was an old research station, its walls weathered by years of exposure to the harsh elements. Rust streaked the metal exterior, and parts of the structure had collapsed, leaving jagged edges of steel and splintered wood jutting out into the frozen landscape. A battered sign hung crookedly above the entrance, its letters barely legible beneath the frost and ash.
Tristan paused at the threshold, his breath visible in the icy air. He glanced back at Thalia, then forward into the dark, gaping entrance of the station. Whatever awaited them inside, it was better than the cold void outside.
“Let’s see what’s left,” he said, stepping inside.
He took a step forward, the snow crunching beneath his boots, and tilted his face to the sky. The pale sun hung at a strange angle, casting long, sharp shadows across the landscape. He watched it for a moment, his brow furrowed. The air felt thinner here, lighter but colder, and his instincts, sharp as ever, told him this was not Iceland as much as the vista reminded him of it. The chill was sharper, the landscape emptier, but most importantly the sun's position... was off. Familiar, somehow, but entirely wrong.
“No,” he finally said, his voice calm despite the gnawing cold. “I didn’t come here for the guardian.” He glanced at Thalia, her figure small and fragile stuck between the vast emptiness of the horizon and the yawning maw of the cave, and his expression softened, something protective flickering in his eyes. “I came because you desired it. I came for you.”
His gaze shifted back to the horizon, to the barren land that seemed to stretch endlessly toward the edge of the world. He didn’t elaborate further—it wasn’t his way—but the weight of his words hung in the air. He hadn’t needed a reason beyond her need. That was enough for him. Instead, he let his golden eyes drift once more toward the sky, his instincts sharpening.
“I can do the dreaming,” he continued after a pause, “but…” He gestured vaguely to the landscape, his fingers brushing against the frozen air. “I need to sleep for it. And there’s no way I’m falling asleep in this.” His sharp gaze swept across the landscape, finding streaks of volcanic ash staining the snow here and there.
He closed his eyes briefly, centering himself. There had always been something wild and primal in Tristan’s blood, something that tied him to the earth and sky, to the wolves that had once been his companions. He reached outward now, his senses seeking them across the unseen threads that always bound him to their world. But there was nothing. No faint echo of paws on snow, no soft growl in his mind. Just silence. A vast and empty silence that left his gut cold in a way the biting wind could not.
“They’re gone,” he muttered under his breath, more to himself than to Thalia. “Far away, too far.” His jaw tightened, and he exhaled sharply through his nose, forcing the disconnection from his thoughts. Wherever they were, they were far from the reach of his wolves, which meant they were somewhere else entirely. Somewhere far beyond the boundaries of what he understood. And yet, there was something familiar about this place—something he couldn’t quite place. The angle of the light, the taste of the air. His instincts nagged at him, pulling at the edges of his thoughts like a splinter he couldn’t dig out.
“We can’t stay in here,” he said finally, his voice calm but firm as he turned back to Thalia, who huddled near the faint glow of the light she had conjured. Her arms were wrapped tightly around herself, and her dark curls clung to her face, damp from sweat and soot. She looked fragile, exhausted from the ordeal they’d just escaped, but he could still see the spark of determination in her gaze as she glanced up at him.
“There’s no food, no water,” Tristan continued. “And even if you keep that light going, there’s no telling how long we’ll last with this cold biting at us.” He flexed his fingers, feeling the stiffness creeping into his joints, and glanced toward the opening of the cave again. The light outside was strange—off in a way he couldn’t quite place. “We need to figure out where we are. Get a better look.”
He crouched briefly in front of her, his expression steady but laced with concern. “Stay here for a moment,” he said. “I’m going to climb the hill behind the cave and get a look at the land. Maybe there’s something we can use—a shelter, a path, anything.” His gaze lingered on her, gauging her state. She was shivering, her shoulders hunched, but she nodded.
Tristan straightened and turned toward the opening. The biting wind hit him immediately as he stepped out into the stark, open expanse beyond the cave. The snow crunched beneath his boots as he began his ascent, the incline of the hill behind the cave steep but manageable. Each step was deliberate, his sharp eyes scanning the surrounding landscape as he climbed higher.
The air was thin and cold, but Tristan’s endurance carried him forward. His boots found traction on the ash-streaked ice, his movements careful to avoid slipping on the treacherous terrain. As he climbed, the wind howled louder, whipping at his hair and tugging at his clothes. His breath fogged in the frigid air, but he pushed onward, driven by the need to understand where they had landed.
When he reached the top of the hill, he stopped and turned to take in the view. What he saw made his stomach sink with a strange mixture of relief and dread.
The landscape stretched endlessly before him, a bleak expanse of volcanic wasteland and ice. Black sand curled along the edge of a jagged cove, where gray waves churned and crashed against the shore. The water was dark and unwelcoming, framed by the faint silhouettes of massive glaciers in the distance. The snow and ash were littered with debris—rusted metal fragments and jagged barrels that seemed out of place in this desolate environment. And there, far on the horizon, Tristan saw the unmistakable shapes of man-made structures.
Buildings.
His sharp eyes honed in on them, studying the distant shapes. There were several structures—boxy, weathered, and clearly abandoned. Their metal exteriors were streaked with rust, and parts of them appeared to have collapsed under the weight of years and the unforgiving elements. A few large cylindrical tanks stood near the buildings, their surfaces pitted and scarred. The entire scene was lifeless, frozen in time, but it was the only sign of civilization he could see.
He turned back toward the cave, his voice carrying over the wind as he called out. “Thalia! I see something.”
“There’s a group of buildings in the distance,” he explained, pointing toward the horizon. “They look abandoned, but it’s the only lead we have. If we stay here, we’ll freeze.” His tone was calm but resolute, leaving no room for debate. “We’ll head toward the buildings. There might be shelter—a phone—a radio or something we can use.”
They set off, the wind tearing at them as they trudged through the uneven terrain. The climb down the hill was easier than the ascent, but the cold gnawed at them with every step. The snow grew deeper as they moved toward the buildings, the ground beneath it uneven and littered with volcanic rock. Tristan kept his sharp eyes trained on the structures ahead, guiding their path while staying alert for any signs of movement—or danger.
The trek toward the structure was slow, the terrain uneven and treacherous with patches of ice and loose volcanic rock. The desolation around them was oppressive, the silence broken only by the sound of their footsteps and the relentless wind. The snow seemed to seep into everything, chilling them both to the bone.
As they drew closer, the building came into focus. It was an old research station, its walls weathered by years of exposure to the harsh elements. Rust streaked the metal exterior, and parts of the structure had collapsed, leaving jagged edges of steel and splintered wood jutting out into the frozen landscape. A battered sign hung crookedly above the entrance, its letters barely legible beneath the frost and ash.
Tristan paused at the threshold, his breath visible in the icy air. He glanced back at Thalia, then forward into the dark, gaping entrance of the station. Whatever awaited them inside, it was better than the cold void outside.
“Let’s see what’s left,” he said, stepping inside.