The blizzard raged for three days.
During those seventy-two hours of enforced confinement, the cave became their entire world—a cramped space barely large enough for two people, filled with the constant howl of wind and the occasional rumble of avalanches echoing from somewhere above. Ethan maintained their small fire with careful rationing of fuel, while Grey sat in perpetual readiness, his sword across his knees, as if expecting enemies to burst through the storm at any moment.
They spoke little. Grey's pride wouldn't allow him to show interest in Ethan's experience, and Ethan recognized that any advice would be met with stubborn resistance. Instead, they existed in tense cohabitation—two predators sharing territory out of necessity rather than choice.
When the storm finally broke on the fourth morning, the world outside had transformed completely. Snow had drifted into fantastic sculptures, and the path they had followed was now buried under ten feet of pristine white. More troubling, the temperature had dropped so severely that Ethan's breath crystallized and fell to the ground like tiny diamonds.
"We're entering the Wyrm's territory," Ethan observed, studying the landscape through the cave entrance. Everything beyond the mouth of their shelter was covered in a thin layer of ice that caught the morning sun like a field of mirrors.
Grey stood and shouldered his massive sword without comment, but Ethan noticed how Grey's movements had become more careful, more controlled. Even Grey's pride couldn't ignore the hostile environment they now faced.
As they emerged from the cave, their boots crunched through snow so cold it squeaked underfoot. The air itself seemed hostile, biting at any exposed skin with vicious intensity. Within minutes, frost began forming on their eyebrows and the metal of their weapons.
"Stay close," Ethan instructed, though he knew Grey would bristle at the command. "The creatures up here hunt by scent and sound. Separation means death."
Grey's jaw tightened, but he gave a curt nod. Even his stubborn pride couldn't argue with survival.
They had traveled less than an hour when the mountain revealed the first of its escalated dangers.
The attack came without warning—a chittering sound like breaking glass, followed by movement in their peripheral vision. Ice Spiders, each the size of a dining table, descended from hidden crevices in the cliff face above. Their crystalline bodies refracted the sunlight into dazzling patterns that made them nearly impossible to track visually.
Grey reacted instantly, his sword sweeping upward in a powerful arc that caught the first spider mid-descent. The creature shattered like a window, its frozen blood spraying across the snow in glittering droplets.
But more were coming—dozens of them, skittering down the cliff face with supernatural speed.
Ethan's response was immediate and precise. His telekinetic knives launched into the air around him, each blade moving with perfect coordination. The normal knife—Razor Fang—carved through spider after spider with surgical precision, while his ice knife—Frostbite—sent crystalline spears shooting up from the ground to impale the creatures before they could reach striking distance.
Crash! Shatter! Crash!
The sounds of destruction echoed off the mountain walls as the two fighters worked in parallel, each handling their own section of the assault. Grey's style remained aggressive and direct—powerful swings that obliterated anything they connected with. His energy-charged attacks sent shockwaves through the snow, toppling spiders before they could coordinate their assault.
Ethan, by contrast, fought like a conductor directing a deadly orchestra. His knives danced through the air in complex patterns, each blade serving a specific purpose. His defense knife—Ironward—rotated around him like a shield, deflecting the spiders' acidic spit, while his other blades carved precise paths of destruction through their ranks.
Within minutes, the assault was over. Dozens of spider corpses littered the snow around them, their crystalline bodies already beginning to sublimate in the extreme cold.
Grey flicked spider gore from his blade, his breathing slightly elevated but his expression unchanged. "That all?"
Ethan recalled his knives with a thought, noting how the metal had already begun to frost over in the few minutes they'd been exposed. "That was just the welcoming committee."
As if summoned by his words, a deep rumble echoed from somewhere higher up the mountain—a sound that seemed to come from the very bones of the earth itself.
They climbed higher.
The ascent became increasingly treacherous as they gained elevation. Paths that had seemed stable proved to be thin crusts of ice over deadly crevasses. Twice they were forced to backtrack when routes simply ended at sheer drops that disappeared into mist-shrouded depths.
Grey's competitive nature drove him to take point, his pride demanding that he face each new challenge first. Ethan allowed this, recognizing that Grey needed to test himself against the mountain's escalating dangers.
That test came sooner than expected.
As they rounded a narrow ledge barely wide enough for single-file travel, Grey suddenly stopped, his hand moving to his sword hilt. Ahead of them, the path opened into a small clearing surrounded by towering ice formations that rose like frozen trees.
And in that clearing, three massive shapes moved with predatory patience.
Frost Bears—creatures of legend that most hunters only knew from stories. Each stood over twelve feet tall, their white fur so thick it looked like armor. Their claws were longer than Grey's fingers, and their eyes glowed with an intelligence that suggested they were far more than simple beasts.
"Three of them," Grey observed, his voice steady despite the obvious danger.
"Frost Bears hunt in family groups," Ethan replied quietly. "Mother, father, and adolescent. They're protecting territory."
"So we turn back?" Grey asked, though his tone suggested he already knew Ethan's answer.
"The only path to the summit goes through that clearing."
Grey's lips curved into what might have been a smile. "Good."
Without waiting for strategy or coordination, Grey charged.
His movement was explosive and fearless, closing the distance to the nearest bear—the adolescent—in a matter of seconds. His sword burst into crimson light as he channeled energy into the blade, the metal glowing like molten steel against the white landscape.
The bear reacted with surprising speed for something so massive, its claws sweeping toward Grey in an arc that would have decapitated a lesser fighter. But Grey was not the same as a year ago. His form was perfect as he ducked under the swipe and delivered a devastating upward slash.
The energy-charged blade cut deep, carving a line of scorched flesh across the bear's chest. The creature roared in pain and fury, its cry echoing off the ice formations like thunder.
But now both adult bears were moving, and Grey was trapped between them.
Ethan didn't hesitate.
His teleport knife—Phantom Blink—sailed through the air in a perfect arc, landing behind the female bear just as her massive paw swept toward Grey's exposed back. In an instant, Ethan materialized behind the creature, his normal knife already driving deep into the base of her skull.
The bear collapsed immediately, her nervous system severed with surgical precision.
But the male was already turning toward this new threat, and Grey was still engaged with the adolescent. The massive creature charged at Ethan with terrifying speed, its roar shaking snow from the surrounding ice formations.
Ethan's response was a masterpiece of telekinetic combat.
His ice knife shot forward, embedding itself in the ground directly in the bear's path. "Frozen Spiral!" Ethan commanded, and the blade began to spin with tremendous velocity, creating a cyclone of razor-sharp ice crystals that rose from the ground like a tornado.
The bear charged directly into the frozen vortex, its momentum carrying it forward even as the ice shards tore at its flesh. But its thick hide protected it from the worst damage, and its massive bulk allowed it to push through the barrier.
Ethan was ready. As the bear emerged from the ice storm, bleeding but still dangerous, his defense knife—Ironward—intercepted its charge. The heavy blade, reinforced by telekinetic force, struck the creature's skull with the impact of a sledgehammer.
CRACK!
The sound of breaking bone echoed across the clearing as the male bear's charge stopped dead. The creature swayed for a moment, then toppled backward, its massive form hitting the ground with enough force to cause a minor avalanche from the surrounding ice formations.
Grey, meanwhile, had dispatched the adolescent with a series of precise, energy-charged strikes. His breathing was heavier now, and Ethan noticed a thin line of blood on Grey's cheek where a claw had come closer than intended.
"You're bleeding," Ethan observed.
Grey wiped the blood away with the back of his hand, leaving a dark smear on his skin. "It's nothing."
But Ethan saw how Grey's sword arm trembled slightly as he sheathed his weapon—not from fear, but from the exertion of channeling so much energy into his attacks. The mountain was testing both of them, pushing them toward their limits.
They climbed higher still.
The air became so thin that every breath required conscious effort. The cold was no longer merely uncomfortable—it was a living enemy that sought to freeze their blood in their veins. Ice began forming on their clothing despite their constant movement, and their water supplies froze solid within their packs.
At this elevation, the mountain's true guardians began to appear.
The first was a Frost Wraith—a creature of ice and malevolent energy that materialized from the swirling snow like a living blizzard. Its form was humanoid but ethereal, constantly shifting between solid ice and frozen mist. Most dangerous were its eyes—pale blue lights that seemed to pierce straight through to the soul.
"Don't look directly at it," Ethan warned, but Grey was already moving.
Grey's attack passed harmlessly through the creature's midsection as it shifted to its ethereal form. The Wraith's counterattack was immediate—a wave of supernatural cold that flash-froze the ground around Grey's feet, trapping him in place.
Ethan responded with calculated precision. His ice knife flew toward the creature, but instead of attacking directly, he commanded it to freeze the moisture in the air around the Wraith. The creature's ethereal form suddenly solidified as the water vapor crystallized, trapping it in a shell of ice.
"Now!" Ethan called.
Grey didn't need further instruction. His energy-charged blade shattered the ice prison and the creature within it in a single devastating strike. The Wraith's death scream echoed across the mountain like the sound of breaking glass.
But more were coming. The Wraith's cry had alerted others of its kind, and they began materializing from the snow around them like ghosts rising from graves.
What followed was a running battle up the mountain slope, with Ethan and Grey fighting their way through an army of supernatural guardians. Ice Wraiths attacked in coordinated waves, their ethereal forms making them nearly impossible to predict or counter.
Ethan's fighting style evolved to meet the challenge. His knives moved in increasingly complex patterns, each blade serving multiple purposes simultaneously. His wind knife—Windcutter—created cutting vortexes that disrupted the creatures' ethereal transitions, forcing them to maintain solid form long enough for attacks to connect.
Grey, forced to adapt or die, began fighting with a level of strategic thinking he had never shown before. Instead of relying purely on brute force, he started using the terrain to his advantage, positioning himself so that his energy attacks would ricochet off ice formations to strike multiple targets.
The battle continued for what felt like hours, though in reality it was probably less than thirty minutes. When the last Wraith finally fell, both fighters were exhausted. Grey's energy reserves were nearly depleted from the constant use of his power attacks, and even Ethan's perfect telekinetic control was beginning to show signs of strain.
They found shelter in a shallow cave and rested, sharing the last of Garrick's mountain root tea while their bodies recovered from the ordeal.
"The creatures are getting stronger," Grey observed, his usual arrogance tempered by the reality of their situation.
"We're close to the summit," Ethan replied. "Everything up here exists to protect the Wyrm."
Grey studied Ethan's face in the dim light of their small fire. "You've been holding back."
It wasn't a question. Despite his youth and pride, Grey was observant enough to recognize that Ethan had been fighting defensively, protecting Grey as much as advancing their mission.
Before Grey could press further, a new sound echoed through the cave—a rhythmic scraping that seemed to come from the mountain itself. Both fighters tensed, hands moving to their weapons.
The sound grew louder, more distinct. Something was climbing toward them, something large enough to make the entire mountainside vibrate with each movement.
"What is that?" Grey whispered.
Ethan's expression was grim. "I think we're about to find out."
The scraping stopped abruptly, leaving them in tense silence. Then, without warning, the cave entrance exploded inward as something massive punched through the rock face like it was paper.
A claw the size of a tree trunk withdrew from the hole it had created, followed by an eye larger than a shield. The eye was ancient and intelligent, filled with a cold malevolence that made both fighters instinctively step backward.
The Frost Wyrm had found them.