Evening. Clouded.

  Orphanage. Porch.

  The sky finally broke—one golden eye peering through the gray, lighting the battlefield below: moss-hoppers strewn across the mud, green bodies twisted, the ground dark with blood.

  From the tree line, more came. Waves of them.

  We met them with whatever we had—slings, swords, spears, broken branches, splintered wood. The clash blurred into motion and noise.

  Exhaustion crept in. Muscles burned, then went numb. Our grips weakened; weapons felt impossibly heavy.

  Protective fabrics hung in tatters, no longer enough against claws and gnawing teeth.

  Still no hunters from Delmar.

  Had the moss-hoppers struck the village too—Delmar itself?

  Then it came.

  The loudest roar tore through the air. Everything froze—us and the moss-hoppers alike.

  Somewhere far off, trees collapsed. The ground shuddered. The line moved toward us.

  It emerged from the woodlands, a massive build loomed as it reared up. The giant moss-hopper. Its remaining garnet eye swept the field.

  Nobody moved.

  A low, grinding growl rolled out, followed by a piercing shriek that sent ice through my blood.

  Clank.

  Steel hit the ground.

  Exhaustion. Fear. Despair. Cold sweat. Goosebumps.

  What little strength and courage I had left were blown away by that bloody shriek.

  Ol’ Lucia paled and trembled, hands barely holding the spear.

  Above us, the golden eye hid behind clouds.

  SLAM!

  Before I could even blink, the beast casually flicked its paw, sending smaller ones flying through the air.

  THUD! THUD!

  Two sheep-sized moss-hoppers smashed into the muddy field, grits scattering.

  The silence snapped. A wave of panic hit the rest of the pack; we were forgotten in their desperate rush to survive. They screamed, roared, scrambled to escape the giant behind them.

  “Thomas, sword!”

  Ol’ Lucia shouted, shoving her spear at the charging pests. I grabbed my steel, shield in the other hand, fending them off with her.

  A dog-sized moss-hopper leaped, claws and teeth glinting. Fear and wild in its eyes.

  I dashed sideways, shoulder into it. Splintered wood, teeth clashing, it skidded away—but more came.

  Then, it moved.

  The towering giant stalked toward us on two legs. Tremors shook the ground, pushing the lesser ones to the brink.

  SMASH!

  One jumped from the side, crashing through the window. Another followed.

  “The house!”

  Distracted, nervous, I made a fatal mistake.

  My steel slammed into a moss-hopper’s muscled body. Sword broke. Shallow cut, far from lethal.

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  It regained balance, leaping again. I grabbed a shard of wood, lunged at its head.

  Splinters burst. The massive weight threw me to the ground. I held its paws with all my strength as it struggled in rage. Then Ol’ Lucia’s spear struck. Shoulders scratched by claws, crimson dyeing the fabric.

  The large garnet eye glared at us. Low growl. Drool. Pungent odor. Giant steps approaching.

  Ol’ Lucia helped me up, shoving the spear into my hands.

  “Into the house. Two more. Check on Allen and the others. I’ll stall it with the trap.”

  At the edge of death, you saw who the real heroes were—the powerless who stayed.

  Rampaging sounds echoed from inside the house. I gripped the spear and dashed through the door. Faint screams, Julian’s brash shouts, and heavy crashes came from the dining hall.

  I moved with haste but caution—I couldn't stumble twice.

  One moss-hopper lay motionless on the floor, a sword buried in one eye.

  Another lunged at Julian, daggers in hand. He stood firm by the open latch, shielding the others.

  I pierced its hind leg, careful not to strike Julian. The beast reared up with a shriek, and Julian seized the opening, ramming a dagger into its throat.

  A moment of quiet hung over the room. Blood and sweat mingled, the air thick with fear and victory. Giant footsteps shook the ground, reminding us of its presence.

  I dropped my spear and rushed to the latch. Millie hugged Fiorella as she sobbed. Allen’s eyes were wide; he managed a wry smile when he saw me. He was still far from recovered, having danced the longest with that beast in the storm.

  “We must go. Quickly. Lucia is alone.”

  I lifted Fiorella into my arms while Millie helped Allen to his feet.

  "Skadium Nivalis!" Ol' Lucia's voice rang out from the porch, ancient and mystic.

  We rushed to the threshold as the chant thundered—and what we witnessed stole every thought of the giant moss-hopper from my mind.

  The runestones ignited one after another with piercing glacial-blue light, their glow weaving together into a colossal glyph that crowned the porch in a blinding pillar.

  From within it came a low, primeval drone—war horns—announcing her descent into the mortal realm.

  A giantess of frost emerged. A long fur coat flowed around her frame. A horned war-helm of frosted iron crowned her brow. In her hands, a massive axe of ice.

  When her feet touched the glyph, the air surrendered. The temperature plunged; snow crystals formed, drifting down in silence.

  The cold swept toward us, and I tore off my cloak, wrapping it around Allen without thinking.

  The giant moss-hopper recoiled, then roared and lunged, claws aimed for her throat.

  She answered with absolute authority.

  The axe struck the earth.

  BOOM.

  A ring of white frost erupted outward. The air crystallized into jagged shards. The beast froze mid-leap, encased in ice so thick it gleamed like ancient sapphire—its claws halted a hair’s breadth from her neck.

  The giantess stood unmoving for a heartbeat longer. Then she dissolved into a slow swirl of snowflakes. One by one, the runestones shattered, their light dying with a brittle crack.

  Snow crystals faded into the air, yet the cold lingered, biting deep into my bones. The massive ice casing still glimmered faintly—enigmatic, beautiful, wrong.

  Ol’ Lucia collapsed as the battle finally ended, white breath pouring from her mouth. We rushed to her side, then looked back at the frozen beast.

  “Lucia… that magic was incredible,” I said, awe trembling in my own voice. “Who was that giantess?”

  My eyes stayed glued to the ice sculpture, unable to look away.

  “I wish I could wield a spell like that,” Allen sighed. “To be strong enough.”

  Fiorella and Millie approached more cautiously, dread etched across their faces as they stared up at the towering form.

  “We must leave now,” Ol’ Lucia said, gripping their hands. “The ice won’t hold it forever.”

  Her words tightened my chest.

  We couldn’t lower our guard—not until it was truly dead.

  I took up the spear. Julian readied his daggers. Millie loaded her sling.

  We moved toward the cobbled path, slow and careful, wary of lesser moss-hoppers.

  We had nearly reached the tree line when a sudden burst of light flared behind us.

  I turned—and my blood ran cold.

  Within the ice, dark green moss began to glow.

  The light rippled across the beast’s body, growing brighter, shifting from deep green to pale, then to a sickly yellow.

  “It’s using its magical power,” Ol’ Lucia warned.

  The glow faltered.

  Then—a sound like a thousand windows shattering at once.

  The ice exploded outward.

  The giant moss-hopper collapsed onto the frozen mud, groaning weakly as steam rose from its frost-bitten body.

  The moss sloughed off and fell lifeless to the ground. Its magic was spent.

  Its magic was spent. It twitched once—twice—then lay still, movements heavy with lingering agony.

  With a sharp, sweeping motion of Allen’s arm, he urged us forward.

  “We need to move,”

  he hissed, eyes locked on the beast sprawled in the mud,

  “While its back is still turned.”

  We edged along the cobbled way, footsteps weightless and precise.

  We timed our strides to the rhythm of the wind; when the canopy roared, we moved.

  I checked on Ol’ Lucia and Julian.

  Like me, their wounds were raw and untended, yet they held their breath with a ghostly stillness.

  Fiorella was on the verge of a breakdown, her breath coming in panicked hitches until Lucia and Millie each took a hand, literally hauling her through her fear.

  At the front, Allen—strong-willed as ever—forged the path.

  He moved with a heavy, weakened gait, but his resolve never flickered.

  We had gone far enough—or so I thought—yet the beast's heaving followed us like a curse, growing unnervingly crisp instead of fading, rising above the gale until it curdled into a low, guttural growl.

  Then, the air itself seemed to fracture.

  A violent, predatory roar tore through the woodlands, rattled the marrow in our bones.

  In that instant, our shattered hope fell away, leaving us cold and exposed in the woodlands.

  We knew—it wasn’t over.