The cold wind swept across the ridge and bit into Sloane's face. She crouched low behind a wall of broken ice. Her boots pressed into snow. The ground was hard and slippery. She could see the valley below. Red banners swayed in the wind. The enemy was waiting. They had numbers. Many more than the fifteen soldiers with her.
Sloane's hand tightened on the hilt of her sword. She felt the familiar weight of steel. She felt the cold metal against her palms. She checked the soldiers behind her. They were tense. Eyes wide. No one spoke. The wind carried the sound of clanging armor from the valley below. Sloane could hear the enemy moving. They were close. Too close.
She took a deep breath.
"Stay calm," she whispered to herself. "Focus."
The enemy commander raised a whistle. A sharp sound cut through the wind. The soldiers stiffened. Sloane's squad shifted into formation. They raised shields. They gripped weapons. She could see the red eyes of the enemy commander as he scanned the ridge. His men were ready. They were waiting for a signal.
Sloane's heart beat faster. Not from fear. From readiness. She had trained for this. She had fought before. But something felt different today. Something inside her stirred. A warmth crept into her arms. It was faint. She ignored it. She had no time to think.
The first wave came running.
Steel clashed against steel. Shouts tore through the cold. Men fell like leaves in a storm. Sloane moved forward. She stepped aside just in time and swung her sword. Sparks flew where metal met metal. The enemy fell back a step. Her sword left a small scorch mark on his shield.
Her squad stared. Their eyes were wide.
"She is burning," one whispered.
Sloane did not answer. She only moved. Another enemy soldier charged. She ducked low and slashed at his legs. Her sword met his steel and cut through the guard. Sparks flew again. A small trail of heat shimmered where her blade had passed.
The enemy commander roared. He raised his sword high. He moved down the ridge like a storm. Sloane watched him carefully. He was tall and wide. His movements were fast. Precise. Deadly.
He struck at her. Hard. Meant to kill.
Sloane stepped aside. The snow broke beneath her boots. Ice cracked under the force of his swing. She swung her sword up. Sparks flew. The edge glimmered orange in the pale light. Heat ran up her arms. She blinked at it. She did not understand what it was. But she could feel it. She felt alive.
She ducked under another strike. She rolled forward and came up swinging. Her sword hit the enemy's guard. The metal clanged. Sparks shot out. The commander staggered a little. He had never met anyone who moved like this.
The enemy soldiers paused. They had expected her to fall in moments. Now she stood tall. Her sword glowed faintly. She swung again. The enemy cried out as the edge cut through armor. Her sword left a mark in the snow. Smoke rose from the scorch.
Sloane's soldiers watched, frozen. They had never seen anything like this.
"She is not normal," one whispered.
The commander roared and struck with both hands. Sloane blocked and twisted. Ice cracked beneath her feet. Snow flew into the air. She stepped forward and struck his side. Sparks hissed. He faltered. His eyes widened.
Sloane could feel the fire inside her growing. It was stronger now. She moved faster. Her sword glowed brighter. She felt heat along her arms and legs. The enemy commander swung again. She dodged and countered. Sparks flew. She spun and hit his guard again. Another hiss of fire. Another crack in the ice.
Then she saw the opening. Just a small one. His defense dropped for a heartbeat. Sloane stepped forward. She swung her sword in a clean arc. The edge met his neck guard. Sparks flew as metal gave way. The blade bit deep. She did not hesitate. She cut.
The commander fell. His head hit the snow. Blood sprayed into the cold air. It hissed when it touched the frozen ground. Sloane wiped her sword calmly. Her chest heaved. Her arms tingled from the heat inside her.
Her squad stared in disbelief. Enemy soldiers froze. Some turned and ran. Others fell to their knees, terrified. The commander was dead.
A veteran beside her whispered. "By the gods… she is not just a soldier. She is something else."
The wind carried the whispers down the ridge. Frost soldiers who had not seen the fight began to gather. Word would travel fast. Rumors would spread.
Sloane looked out over the battlefield. Snow still fell. Her sword dimmed slightly. Scorch marks dotted the ground where she had fought. Sparks lingered in the air for a moment. She felt a new awareness of herself. Something powerful inside her. Something she did not understand.
Then a figure appeared at the far edge of the ridge. Cloaked, tall, observing her silently. The figure's hand went to their mouth. A whisper carried on the wind.
"Sloane Vane," the voice murmured. "The Sun Kingdom must see this."
Sloane did not notice the shadow. She only saw the battlefield and the retreating enemy. But the first ripple had begun. Her name was leaving the Frost lands. Soon it would reach the ears of the Sun Kingdom. And everything was about to change.
The enemy had retreated. Frost soldiers began cheering. Sloane did not smile. She only watched the horizon. The war was not over. She had survived. She had killed. And she had been seen.
She was an anomaly.
And this was only the beginning.