Freya awoke to the weight of stone and silence. The air was thick and stale, carrying the scent of damp earth and old decay. The walls of the cave loomed high and uneven, their jagged edges vanishing into darkness above. The ground beneath her was slick, not quite frozen but wet enough to leech the heat from her body.


    Everyone was sprawled across the cavern floor, still as the dead. Penelope hadn’t even managed to take Alice off her back before collapsing, the girl draped over her, similarly unconscious.


    Freya scowled. “Serves her right.”


    She pushed herself upright, sluggish and stiff, her limbs aching from the shock of the winter. She vaguely remembered the howling winds hitting them from all directions, being carried—Truman’s solid grip, his steady breath. Now he was slumped nearby, unmoving.


    There was no light from the entrance. No distant glow of snowfall or storm. Just the pressing weight of stone, the slow drip of water echoing in the cavern’s belly.


    A dull ache lingered in her stomach. Her poison resistance had dulled over time—not that she could complain. She was the one who had neglected it ever since she left home.


    She reached for her sword, gripping the hilt. A deep, distant rumble sent a shiver down her spine. Instinct pulled her forward, toward the mouth of the cave. Though she couldn’t see it from here, she could feel the change in air, the shift in pressure.


    She moved swiftly, feet steady on the uneven rock, until at last she emerged into the blizzard.


    The world was in tatters, and Freya faltered.


    The sky swirled above, churning, dark with impending fury. “Shit. The storm…”


    Bending slightly, she braced herself against the wind, keeping her center of gravity low. A lone, half-buried tree stood nearby, and an idea burst into her head.


    Doubt came to hunt the thought, but Korpa must have wanted to extinguish the hesitation, as it sent her a gift.


    Emberite.


    A small spot, melted from the buried rock’s heat, glinting faintly beneath the ground. Relief swelled in her chest.


    “I see the signs,” she muttered, tilting her head toward the sky. “Thank you.”


    With a sharp exhale, Freya set to work.


    Her muscles screamed as her sword bit into frozen bark, ice splintering with each strike. The wind howled, but she swung harder, hacking away until—“ARRRGH!”—the trunk gave way with a final, violent heave.


    Triumphant, she sheathed her sword and bent down, gripping the fallen tree. Fire surged through her limbs as she pushed, boots grinding into the ice. Step by step, she dragged it toward the cave’s entrance, breath coming in ragged gasps.


    With a final roar, she shoved the trunk into place, sealing them off from the storm.


    The cave would have been swallowed in darkness—if not for the green glow of a stone embedded in the walls.


    Striking Korpa’s gift, the Emberite, Freya let its warmth spill outward like liquid fire. Heat chased away the gnawing cold, unfurling through the cavern like a sigh.


    Freya joined her fallen companions, and the witch, then sank down. She leaned back, exhaustion settling over her like a thick cloak.


    The cave’s wall reflected the silhouette of a wise warrior, finally permitted to rest.


    She let out an exaggerated sigh.


    “’Tis hard being a leader…”


    With that, her eyes fluttered close.


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    Pulling myself out of the sweet, sweet embrace of a warm nap took a while.


    But I did it.


    The world slowly took color, painting a comforting portrait compared to the one I had been waking up to the past few weeks.


    A ceiling.


    Dark and distant.


    How nice.


    “Anyway,” I muttered, sitting up. “Time to get down to business.”


    The cave was vast, as was mentioned in Wholeheartedly Yours.


    The only aspect of this cave that didn’t align with the book’s description was the pleasant warmth, so comfortable I barely wanted to move.


    I turned toward the source and found Freya slumped against the wall, head tilted forward, soft snores leaving her lips. On the ground in front of her, an Emberite.


    I smiled, reaching for the stone, but a sudden cough stopped me.


    Stolen from its original source, this story is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.


    A numbing sensation traveled all across my body as I coughed. When it passed, my hand was slick with blood, and I could barely breathe.


    Looking at the crimson liquid on my palm, I sighed.


    The things I do for… well, no, it will all be worth it.


    A sleeping Truman lay on the moist ground, unconsciously cuddling up to the raisin-sized stone. His expression was at ease, which was a relief to see after witnessing his half-dead complexion when he carried Freya earlier. He must have fully recovered from the poison now.


    I put both arms up, stretching as I basked in the pleasant sensation that was Everything Is Going According to The Plan.


    Truly, how nice.


    I walked towards the mouth of the cave, leaving everyone in its depths. It was a decent way between the entrance and the end, —not bad for a hideout from a snowstorm.


    My ears twitched. The sound of the howling wind was so faint. Whatever became of the storm?


    I approached the entrance, and still no light.


    Then, I saw it.


    The reason I couldn’t feel the wind or the cold, not even meters away from the Emberite. Why my chest was so tight, why the air felt so… so…


    “Wha…” The words trickled out of my lips, “What… is that?”


    The horror.


    A tree trunk the size of a truck was blocking the entrance.


    The little gaps left by a difference in shape were sealed by heaps of snow. So much snow that I could tell… we couldn’t move it.


    We’re stuck here.


    Footsteps echoed behind me.


    “That’s right. I saved us,” Freya’s voice sounded behind me. “Now the cold and the winds will be none of our concerns. Furthermore, I, favored by Korpa themselves, have acquired an Emberite. How blessed can one be…?”


    “You…” I turned to meet her, but I did not have the words. My jaw was agape. “You absolute…”


    Freya, groggy from sleep, her nose slightly swollen from what must have been a rewarding nap.


    “Now tell me, witch. Why did you do it?” She glared.


    I blinked, still disgusted from the sight behind me.


    “What are you talk—”


    “How could you poison me and my companions?” Freya mirrored the disgust in my eyes, her nose scrunching up. “How could someone be so evil?”


    My jaw was still open from the shock. I shut it, running a hand over my face.


    There goes Plan a.


    I let my hand drop, and met her glare with a sharp look.


    My mind flashed back to the night before. The game of Truth or Drink.


    “Being alone,” I had said, waiting for the stone to glow.


    It was personal—none of Freya’s business—but who cared. I just needed to make them uncomfortable enough to overlook my next move.


    Everyone had nodded after my answer, venturing into some dark corner of their mind, or something.


    I stood, masking the panic creeping up my throat. “I’ll excuse myself for a moment. I’ll return shortly,” dragging my boots through the snow, I slipped past the frozen bushes, out of Truman’s earshot, beyond their gazes.


    I hunched over, bracing myself against the rough bark of a large frozen bush. My breath came out shallow, erratic.


    Stupid. So stupid.


    The taste of the antidote clung to my tongue—bitter, earthy, crushed between my teeth like dried leaves. I forced myself to chew, to swallow, but my body rejected it with a shudder.


    I whined, crunching down and holding my head in my palms. I shut my eyes tightly as I chased away the thoughts.


    Poison. I poisoned them. All of them.


    I drank the poisonous soup.


    It’s in my stomach.


    Fuck.


    My stomach twisted. Not from the toxin, but from the ugly, disgusting sensation coursing throughout my body.


    I could barely breathe, rocking back and forth.


    This isn’t about them being innocent. Or me being innocent.


    But they didn’t do anything to deserve it.


    “I’m such a-a fucking…” I gritted my teeth, running both hands over my face.


    It was after spiraling for some time that I found a calming thought.


    The storm is almost here.


    I feel sick to my stomach.


    Breathe.


    In. Out.


    Slowly, I opened my eyes.


    The night stretched around me. The mist, the snow, the moon. So vast I felt like a spec.


    “I should go back…” I’d mumbled, standing back up, slightly dizzy.


    It would make more of a ripple if I passed out over there, anyway…


    “I could not believe it,” Freya took an ominous step towards me. For a moment, her voice sounded like the one in my head. “You woke up all giddy as well. Was it fun? Did you have a blast poisoning us all?!”


    I watched Freya, with her accusative, passionate air as she pointed at me.


    I had to pick my next words carefully. After all, Truman could be listen—


    A roar thundered from further inside the cave. “Did you block the fucking entrance?!”


    From the shadows, his silhouette emerged—broad, imposing. Golden eyes burned against the dim. The sound of his steps struck the cavern floor, each one reverberating through the stone. Or perhaps it was the sheer force of his rage distorting the air.


    The usual vacancy in his expression was gone. Replaced by a glare truly ominous.


    Truman. Angry. Woah.