The portal closed behind them with the soft finality of a heartbeat stopping.
They stood on the frozen river that cut through Kretia's capital, midnight water locked beneath a foot of crystal ice. Above them, the second trial door had already formed: a cathedral-sized arch of black glass and living flame, suspended twenty feet in the air. Runes crawled across its surface like ants fleeing fire.
Harold's human knees buckled the moment the cold hit his bare skin. Sixty-three years of dragon-scale insulation had left him unprepared for winter. Reed caught him before he fell.
“Easy, General," Reed murmured. “We've got you."
Harold's laugh came out a rasp. “Feels like I'm made of paper and regret."
Laken traced the arch with frost-coated fingers. The runes hissed where her bloodline touche
