Chapter 2 — A Stranger's Fate

Mara

The Frostshade Expanse stretched out before Mara, a desolate sea of frost-crusted grass and jagged ice patches reflecting the weak sunlight. The biting wind cut through the tundra, carrying whispers of forgotten battles and long-buried secrets. Her cloak billowed behind her as she trudged forward, her boots crunching against the frozen ground. She had ventured farther than usual today, driven by a restless energy she couldn’t name. Perhaps it was the unease that had taken root since the market—Edlyn’s words about the hunters, the strange lights, the scent of ash in the air. Or perhaps it was something deeper, some instinct urging her not to retreat but to push forward.

The wind shifted suddenly, carrying with it the faintest trace of smoke and iron. Mara froze, her heart thudding in her chest. Her amber eyes scanned the horizon, narrowing against the glare of the icy landscape. For a moment, all was still—just the endless expanse of white and gray, the silence broken only by the low howl of the wind. Then she saw it: a dark shape, crumpled and motionless, lying just beyond a shallow rise in the terrain.

Her breath caught as she approached cautiously, the faint metallic tang in the air growing stronger with every step. The shape resolved into a man, his body sprawled on the frozen ground. His clothing—tattered and scorched—looked out of place in this frigid wasteland. A faint trail of blood stained the frost beneath him, vivid and jarring against the dull landscape. Mara hesitated, her instincts warring within her. She had no idea who he was or how he had come to be here, but something about the scene set her on edge. A trick? A trap? The hunters were devious, and she couldn’t afford to be careless.

But then she moved closer and saw his face—sharp features, skin a rich golden hue faintly shimmering in the weak sunlight, and copper-toned hair matted with blood. His lips were pale, and his body shivered faintly despite the thick, ornate fabric of his ruined armor, which bore faintly etched insignias of a dragon—a detail that sent a chill through her. A faint warmth seemed to radiate from his body despite the cold, as though some part of him resisted the frozen death encroaching on him. He wasn’t a hunter. That much was clear. And yet, something about him struck her as dangerous in a way she couldn’t quite define.

Still, she couldn’t walk away. Not when he was dying. Her mother’s voice echoed in her mind, soft but insistent. _“Compassion is not weakness, my darling. It’s what keeps us alive—what keeps us human.”_

Mara knelt beside the man, her fingers hovering uncertainly over his wounds. His breathing was shallow, his chest rising and falling in uneven bursts. The claw marks raking across his side were deep and jagged, as though some massive beast had torn into him. Burn marks trailed along his arms and shoulders, as if fire had licked at his skin. The sight made her stomach churn. Her thoughts flickered to her mother’s death—how the hunters had left her to bleed out while Mara watched, hidden and helpless. She had vowed then never to abandon someone in need, even at her own peril.

She reached into her satchel, pulling out a small vial of salve and a strip of cloth. It wouldn’t be enough. Not for injuries like these. Her logical mind told her to turn back—to leave him to whatever fate had brought him here. _Think of the child,_ a voice whispered in her mind, sharp and insistent. _You can’t risk this._ But her heart rebelled at the thought, and before she could stop herself, she was rolling up her sleeves.

As she pressed her palms against his chest, warmth bloomed beneath her skin, spreading outward in a soft, golden light. The air seemed to still, the wind falling silent as if holding its breath. Mara closed her eyes, focusing on the flow of magic as it moved through her, stitching torn flesh and sealing ruptured blood vessels. The effort was draining, her reserves stretched thin by her own frayed nerves and the strain of suppressing her magic for so long. But she persisted, her amber eyes glowing faintly beneath the shadow of her hood.

The man stirred, a low groan escaping his lips as his lashes fluttered open. For a brief moment, their gazes met—her glowing amber eyes reflected in his deep blue ones, which seemed impossibly vivid against the pallor of his skin. There was something in his stare that unnerved her, something ancient and intense that made her breath catch. Awe flickered briefly in his gaze before confusion set in.

“Who...” His voice was hoarse, barely audible above the wind. “What... happened?”

Mara tensed, withdrawing her hands quickly. The glow faded from her eyes, but it was too late—he had seen. Panic flickered through her thoughts, but she forced herself to stay calm, to avoid betraying the fear tightening her chest.

“It doesn’t matter,” she said softly, her voice steady despite the storm raging within her. “You’re injured. You need to rest.”

But rest would not come easily—not here, not now. A distant sound reached her ears, faint but distinct: the rhythmic pounding of boots on frozen ground. Hunters. Her pulse quickened, and she rose to her feet, scanning the horizon. The dark figures of men crested a hill in the distance, their silhouettes stark against the pale sky. They were too far away to see clearly, but the direction of their march left little doubt—they were heading this way.

Mara glanced down at the man. He was struggling to sit up, his movements sluggish but determined. “If we stay, they’ll kill us both,” she said urgently, grabbing his arm and pulling him to his feet. “We have to go now.”

“Hunters?” he rasped, his breath labored. His gaze sharpened at the word, and his jaw tightened with grim resolve.

“Move,” Mara urged, looping his arm over her shoulders. His weight pressed heavily against her, his tall frame dwarfing her petite one. She struggled to carry him, every step an effort, but sheer determination drove her forward.

Together, they stumbled across the expanse, heading toward the forest that loomed in the distance. Its frost-covered canopy was their only hope of concealment, though Mara doubted it would hold the hunters at bay for long. Her legs trembled with exertion, her breaths coming in short, ragged gasps. She could feel the faint hum of wards in the air—anti-magic sigils meant to suppress and detect magical energy. The hunters were prepared. Too prepared.

By the time they reached the forest’s edge, Mara’s limbs screamed for rest. She half-dragged, half-carried the man beneath the cover of the trees, her eyes darting nervously to the shadows. The faint scent of ash lingered, mingling with the sharp tang of pine. She didn’t dare stop, even as her lungs burned and her strength waned.

Finally, they reached a small hollow nestled between two massive tree roots. Mara eased the man down gently, her hands trembling as she adjusted his cloak to cover his wounds. His breathing was still shallow, but the worst of the bleeding had stopped. For now.

“Stay here,” she whispered. “Don’t make a sound.”

He nodded faintly, his blue eyes flickering with a mixture of gratitude and unspoken questions. Mara straightened, her hand brushing against the dagger at her belt. It was a pitiful weapon, hardly a match for a hunter’s blade, but it was all she had. She turned toward the direction they had come, her heart pounding as she strained her senses.

The hunters were close now—close enough that she could hear the faint murmur of their voices carried on the wind. Her breath came shallow and fast as she dropped into a crouch, pressing herself against the trunk of a tree. She couldn’t fight them. Not like this. But she could distract them. Maybe.

She reached for the faint threads of magic lingering in the air, weaving them carefully with trembling hands. Her amber eyes glowed dimly as she whispered a single word under her breath. The sound rippled outward, carrying with it an illusion—a flicker of movement deeper in the forest, the crackle of a branch snapping underfoot. The hunters’ footsteps faltered, their voices rising in sharp, clipped tones. They changed direction, pursuing the phantom she had created.

Mara exhaled slowly, her hands falling to her sides. It wouldn’t hold them for long. They would realize the ruse soon enough, and when they did—

A low growl rumbled through the air, cutting off her thoughts. She froze, her blood turning to ice. The man stirred behind her, his gaze snapping toward the shadows beyond the hollow. “They’ve sent hounds,” he murmured, his voice laced with grim certainty.

Mara’s heart sank. She had heard of the hunters’ hounds—creatures bred and trained to track magic, their senses attuned to the faintest hint of energy. Her illusion wouldn’t fool them. And neither would the wards she had hastily cast around their hiding place.

The man struggled to rise, his teeth clenched against the pain. “You should go,” he said. “Leave me. They won’t stop if they find you.”

“Neither will I,” Mara shot back, her voice firm despite the fear clawing at her. She thought of her child, of the promise she had made to survive no matter the cost. “Stay down. I’ll figure something out.”

Before he could argue, the sound of growling grew closer, accompanied by the faint gleam of glowing eyes in the darkness. Mara gripped the hilt of her dagger tightly, her knuckles white. The forest seemed to hold its breath, the air thick with tension.

And then, with a sudden burst of movement, the first hound lunged from the shadows.