"Get up now. How long do you plan to lie there?"
My body screamed in protest as I tried to move. Every joint ached, every breath scraped against my ribs like broken glass.
Still, I couldn't tear my gaze away from Alice—standing there with the severed head of the Snow Lion, frost still clinging to its bloodied mane, her silver-white hair tangled and wild like the storm she'd just walked through.
She looked like something out of myth.
"Come on," she said again, more impatiently this time, voice cutting through the cold. "You're not growing roots there, are you?"
"Give me… five more minutes," I groaned, dragging myself upright with a grunt.
Alice tossed the lion's head beside me with a wet thud, like dropping a sack of meat.
"You've got thirty seconds," she replied flatly.
I stared at the head. Its eyes were still open, glassy and vacant. A shiver ran down my spine—but not from fear.
I had done it.
We had done it.
