The city gates creaked open a little before dawn, spilling Elias, Aric, and four soldiers onto the frost-sealed road to the east.
The bite of chill was on exposed skin, but the sky was cleaner than it had been in days, the mist being low over the distant hills.
Elias remained stride for stride with Aric, the mage's staff sinking shallow depressions in the frozen ground.
The soldiers were all old men—lined faces, weathered armor, and the kind of wary silence that cautioned they'd been through too many ambushes to take chances with words.
"Remember," Aric said without glancing at him, "this is still training. But what we're going up against won't care if it's training or not."
Elias gave a weak smile. "So I'm supposed to learn when they're trying to kill me?"
"Ought to be the best way to learn."
The road grew narrower as it cut across a grove of naked trees. The air was colder here, knife-cutting in the lungs.
The frost below increased in thickness, crunching underfoot with every step.
Elias's palm strayed to the hilt of his sword out of habit.
The Script hasn't shown up yet.
He wasn't certain if that was relief or warning.
The first indication of trouble was when they reached a shallow stream.
Abruptly, there was an eerie stillness across the woods—the type where even the wind holds its breath.
One of the soldiers gave a halt signal, bringing the group to a stop.
Then Elias saw it—claw marks etched into the frozen side of the stream.
Deep ones. Too big for wolves.
"Frostfang," whispered one of the soldiers. "Has to be."
Elias raised his eyebrow. "Frostfang?"
"Beast of the Second Tier," Aric told him. "Ice-bound lungs. Breath can freeze a man solid in three heartbeats."
The soldier shot a look along the treeline. "If the den's close, it won't be alone."
They moved closer together, boots whispering through snow.
Elias kept his wits sharp, each shadow between trees a potential threat.
The Script struck out of nowhere.
"The first breath will miss. The second will not."
His stomach knotted. "It's here."
Aric turned to him. "Where?"
"I don't—" Elias interrupted his own sentence as a massive white form erupted through the trees to their left.
The Frostfang was bigger than any carrion creature he'd ever encountered, its body adnescent-coated with fur, its head crested by razor-sharp ice-like horns.
Cold vapor flowed from its open jaws.
The first blast of icy breath ripped through Elias's shoulder, laying the ground in a thick covering of frost.
He barely felt the cold in the shock.
"Spread out!" Aric cracked, staff whipping up to the charge of the beast.
A burst of flame erupted from the tip of the staff, driving the Frostfang back with a snarl.
Elias stepped wide, sword poised. His head was reeling.
The second breath will not miss.
That left him seconds—maybe less—before it struck home.
The creature attacked one of the soldiers, its claws ripping across his shield.
Aric shouted an incantation, a ring of fire bursting between the creature and its target.
Steam hissed where flame met ice.
Elias circled around behind it, looking for an opening.
The Frostfang's tail swished at his head; he ducked under it, boots scraping on frozen soil.
His sword cut through the creature's rear leg, but the blade barely bit into the heavy fur.
It sprang back, head jerking at him.
He saw the fog building in its throat.
"No!" Elias dodged to one side as the second blast detonated.
Air was torn to ribbons—ice so cold it was pain.
Frost crystallized instantly across his sleeve, jamming the material stiff.
His left arm numb.
Aric's voice cut through the buzzing in his ears. "Keep moving! Don't let it fix on a target!"
The soldiers advanced in well-oiled synchrony, prodding with spears to keep the Frostfang's attention jumping.
Aric bludgeoned it with salvos of fire, each one replied to with an angry bellow.
Elias let his numb arm support his sword again.
Can't stay behind. Have to make it count.
The Script appeared again, looming to blind him.
"The Reader's strike shatters the horn."
Grinding his teeth. That was the beginning.
He waited for the monster to retreat against an outburst of Aric's flames, its head exposed.
Then he charged, boots skidding on ice-coated earth.
The sword was raised in both hands—one dead, the other throbbing with effort—and he drove it down into the nearest horn.
The blow resonated through his arms as if striking stone.
The horn shattered, then cleft in two with a ringing, crystalline crash.
The Frostfang groaned in suffering, thrashing wildly.
Aric seized the instant. "Down!" he shouted, jamming his staff into the ground.
A fire geyser erupted beneath the creature's chest, engulfing it in fire.
Once the flames were extinguished, the Frostfang did not move, steam venting from its shape.
Elias stepped back, panting, his sword arm trembling.
His left arm was still half-paralyzed from the cold, but he could feel sensation creeping back.
One of the men prodded the corpse of the creature with a spear. "Dead."
Aric came over, laying down his staff next to him. "Not bad."
Elias could do no more than smile. "That's high praise from you."
"You heard the Script, didn't you?"
Elias hesitated. "Yeah. It said I'd break the horn."
Aric's gaze was firm. "And did you?"
"Yeah."
"Then you learned your second lesson," Aric stated. "The Script shows potential, not destiny. Had you held back, it would have meant nothing."
They took a short break, building a small fire in the shelter of the trees.
Aric brewed a tea that steamed with a faint herbal scent, handing Elias a cup.
"It'll help with the cold bite," the mage said.
Elias sipped cautiously, the warmth spreading through him. "So that was a Second Tier beast?"
"Yes. Stronger than any carrion you've faced. But it's not its strength that makes it dangerous—it's its ability to change the fight's terms. Ice, frost, terrain… all magic has more than one effect."
Elias nodded slowly. "And you're a Third Tier."
Aric didn't answer, only smirked faintly.
The journey back was slower, the Frostfang's body left behind for scavengers and carrion to find.
The soldiers remained alert the whole way, their silence telling more than words of the danger of the roads.
When they rode in through the gates at dusk, the Warden waited, watching the company.
His gaze settled on Elias's frostharden arm.
"Report," the Warden ordered.
"Frostfang. Murdered," Aric replied. "Outlander did not die."
The Warden's face grew harder. "And the Script?"
Elias hesitated. "Helped. Again."
The Warden nodded brusquely. "Then keep using it. Just remember—if you lean on it too much, it will lean back."
That evening, seated alone in his room, the Script returned.
"The Reader dies in the streets three nights from now."
Elias's chest constricted.
No place, no description—just the vow.
And the scariest part is, he didn't know if this was a warning to stay away… or a prophecy he couldn't escape.