Frost & Shadow

Chapter Six

The world twisted and flipped around me, tumbling like I’d fallen off the edge of something impossibly high. My stomach lurched, my bones and skin stretched and scrunched together in a way that made me gasp before I even hit the ground. And then—hard impact. My boots slammed against solid earth, sending a jolt of pain up my legs, and I sucked in a breath so sharp it burned my lungs.

Warm. Heat flooded into me, seeping into my frozen lungs, curling along my spine, threading through my hair. I blinked rapidly, trying to process it. My fingers twitched, stiff and raw from the cold, and I wiggled my toes, letting warmth creep back into them as I pressed deeper into the earth. Green. Grass underfoot. Trees rising around me, alive and thick. Somewhere above, a song rang out—birds. Birds, real ones, not the memory of the few that dared linger in the frost around our village. My chest constricted in awe, and my heart pounded against my ribs as I scanned the branches, searching, listening.

How had this world hidden itself? How had no one found it, not even with the stories of the Fae, the portal, the impossible promise of warmth? My fingers clenched around the strap of my bow. Even as my chest swelled with hope, there was a tightness coiling in my stomach, a knot of fear twisting alongside the thrill.

Then—snap.

I froze, every nerve screaming.

Snap. Crack.

I spun toward the sound, muscles taut. Someone—or something—was moving in the trees. My bow came up instinctively, arrow nocked. My fingers trembled, not from cold but from adrenaline, heart hammering like it might shatter my ribs.

“Oh, where are you, little one?” The voice rolled through the clearing like dark silk, rich and warm, yet edged with a subtle threat. “I felt the gateway shift when you entered. You have to be close.”

I swallowed hard, forcing my breath into slow, steady puffs of fog. My muscles stiffened, as I ducked into the small hollow of an impossibly large tree, refusing to move even as the footsteps drew closer, deliberate, quiet, hunting. The birds had gone silent. Even the wind seemed to hold its breath.

“I can smell you. I can hear your heart—so fast. Are you scared, little one?”

My pulse raced. Faster. He was behind the tree. I could feel the heat of his presence like a weight pressing into the back of my neck.

And then a hand shot around the trunk, yanking me into the light. The grip was firm, unyielding, yet not cruel—not yet. My stomach sank, my knees threatening to buckle.

Blue eyes. Deep, impossible, glowing with something I couldn’t name. Golden-tan skin, black hair like shadow against the sunlight, and ears—pointed. Fae. Gods, he was Fae. My body froze in place, every muscle locked in awe and fear, and my heart slammed against my chest as if trying to escape.

“Woah, youre terrifed." He pasued, his eyes assessing me. "Calm down, please. I won’t hurt you.” His voice was low, smooth, coaxing.

I stumbled back a step, gripping my bow tighter, arrow ready, hands trembling despite myself.

“Don’t aim that at me, little one,” he said calmly, eyes flicking to the weapon. Calm, too calm.

“Who are you?” My voice cracked, small in the vast green world.

“Fen.” He paused, studying me like I was something rare, fragile, and intriguing all at once. “What is your name, little human?”

Laine. My name felt foreign in my own mouth. “I’m Laine,” I whispered. “Where…where are we?”

“You’re in Ninkoral.” His smile was faint, fleeting, but the way his eyes held mine made me shiver in more ways than one.

“Ninkoral?” I repeated, mind racing, body tense, cold sweat prickling beneath my coat despite the warmth around me. “Are we…still near home?”

“Don’t panic.” His hands rose in a gesture meant to soothe, and I felt my chest tighten against the sudden need to trust, yet my grip on my bow remained firm. “You’re standing in the same spot as before you entered the portal—only now it’s our world. For now, you’re safe.”

I nodded slowly, heart still hammering. “What…what are you?”

“I’m Fae. You’re human, I’m guessing?” His eyes softened slightly at my lowered bow.

“Yes.” My voice was stiff, cautious. Fear and awe twisted inside me, twisting every inch of my body.

“You’re the first human to step through that archway in over three hundred years,” he said, voice calm but resonant. My chest tightened at his words. “Back then, humans never dressed so warm.”

“Our lands weren’t frozen,” I said, tense. “I tracked a deer through those stones. Deer aren’t…common anymore.”

His brow furrowed, gaze sharp. “Deer aren’t common? The only reason we have deer here is because of that archway. They aren’t native to Ninkoral.”

I clenched my teeth, hesitating. How much could I reveal? What would happen if the Fae saw how weak and vulnerable my people had become?

“Do you know why humans stopped coming through the archway? Why they abandoned these lands?” he asked. His movement was slow, deliberate, yet I tracked him like a hawk, every instinct on edge.

“The story says you stole them,” I blurted. My voice surprised even me. “Took humans from their beds to serve you.”

A low sound, almost a laugh, escaped him. “That’s what you were told?”

“That’s what everyone says,” I shot back, my voice sharper, protective.

“No, little one. We didn’t steal you. We asked. You came.”

I frowned, suspicion twisting in my gut, but he went on, patient, deliberate.

“Long ago, humans and Fae struck a pact. You worked our lands, tended our rivers, wove your songs into our roots. In return, we kept balance in your world. Winds stayed soft, crops stayed full. Winters never lasted too long. You call it servitude now, but it was freely made.”

My throat tightened. “Then why—why is my world dying now? Why is the frost…”

“Magic lingers,” he said, voice quiet, steady. “The winter, the famine, the silence—they are the last drops of a well running dry. The pact’s blessing held for centuries. But now…” He gestured toward my frozen boots, my heavy coat. “Now your world remembers itself.”

My stomach twisted, icy and sick. “So all the frost, the starving fields…”

“Your world’s true shape without the pact,” he said simply. “You were never stolen, Laine. You left. And when humans stopped coming, our worlds drifted apart. Slowly. Quietly. Until now.”

His patience was unnerving, and I felt every hair on my arms rise. “The frost…won’t stop?” I whispered.

“Not unless the pact is remade.”

My heart dropped. “Remade? With who? Everyone I know barely has enough to survive a week. They’d never—”

“They don’t need to. One will do.” His emerald eyes glittered.

“One?”

“The pact was sealed with hands and blood, not armies. The first who crossed were chosen. Their descendants carry that echo still. And you, Laine…you bear it.”

My throat closed. “You don’t know that.”

“I do.” His gaze pierced me, unflinching, holding the weight of something older than time itself.

Images of my family flashed—Cole’s laugh, Mother’s hands, Father’s hollow eyes. Could I do this? Could I save them, save the world?

“And if I refuse?” My voice shook.

His lips curved faintly, enigmatic, dangerous. “Then your world will freeze. Slowly. Beautifully. Until only silence remains.”

The words sank into me like frostbite, biting into bone and marrow. And yet…something deeper stirred, a spark I could not name.

He extended his hand, palm open. “Stay. Just long enough to see. Your world may yet have warmth again, if you dare to carry it back.”

I stared at it. My body screamed to take it. My soul ached with the pull of something greater, something impossible. But danger lingered at the edges of my mind, sharp and insistent.

I swallowed, grip tightening on my bow, and turned back toward the archway, back to the frozen world I knew. Fen said nothing. His hand fell to his side, eyes following me, a frown creasing his brow—but he did not move.