Winter
Before the frost arrived, Solace sought answers.
Night had grown restless. The small dragon no longer fit on his shoulder; his weight had doubled, sleek muscles coiling beneath midnight-black scales. His wings twitched even in sleep, instinct urging him toward something older, something wilder.
But Solace didn't know what to feed him.
He scoured the base library, fingers running over cracked pages that spoke of ancient creatures long forgotten. The answers were few. Some dragons consumed elemental crystals; others drank mana from ley lines. But most simply ate meat — beast flesh, if they liked the taste. Anything alive, anything strong enough to fight for its place in the world.
So he hunted.
He ventured alone into the Black Reaches, into thickening frost and frozen mist. He hunted solitary beasts — foolish or desperate enough to wander alone — and returned bloodied but victorious, carrying large cuts of flesh wrapped in cloth. Night would sniff, taste, and devour with startling efficiency. His appetite was growing.
Night was particular, though. He didn't care for sinew-heavy cuts. He preferred soft meat — smaller, faster creatures — and he needed more of it.
Each day, Solace left before dawn, returning by nightfall, breath fogging in the bitter air, arms aching under the weight of his kills.
Lyra noticed. She said nothing at first, only watching him stagger through the gates.
"You'll run yourself into the ground," she murmured one evening as he dropped another load at their door.
"I can't stop," he answered simply.
They sat in the common room, the fire low and crackling faintly. Night lay between them, belly full, eyes half-lidded. His scales shimmered like starlight in the fire's glow.
"Have you thought about preserving it?" Lyra asked.
He shook his head. "I don't know how. No supplies for that here."
She leaned forward, resting her elbows on her knees. "Salt would work. Smoke, maybe. But it takes time. Space."
"I don't have either."
She studied him for a long moment. "I'll help you."
The next day, they hunted together — quiet, methodical. She fought with precise control, her martial arts flowing into shadow strikes, while his darkness moved like a storm: heavy, relentless, suffocating. Together, they brought the meat back and smoked it over low flames, the scent rich and primal.
As days passed, the wind grew sharper. The Black Reaches froze. The ground turned to jagged glass.
And then — winter came.
The froststorm rolled in from the north, swallowing the world in silence. Snow fell heavy, smothering sound and motion. The base became a frozen fortress, buried in drifts.
Beasts grew desperate. Hunger drove them mad.
And then they came — in the dead of night.
Horns blared. Alarms howled. Beasts attacked in waves: Rank 4s, Rank 5s, clawing, shrieking, battering against stone and steel.
Solace and Lyra fought side by side at the northern barricade. His darkness swallowed beasts in heavy tendrils, crushing them to pulp. Lyra's movements were sharp and graceful, each strike severing tendons, each kick shattering bone.
Night, now nearly the size of a hound, bared his teeth and let out his first roar. It wasn't thunderous. Not yet. But it cut through the night.
When dawn broke, the snow was stained black and red.
Lyra's voice was hoarse. "We can't hold forever."
"I know."
But they would. For as long as they needed to.
That night, the frost deepened. The fires burned low. The cold gnawed at stone and bone alike.
And then the true terror came.
A Rank 6 beast.
It emerged from the white fog like a god of winter — monstrous, plated in jagged black carapace streaked with pale veins, its breath steaming and cracking the stone. Eyes like burning embers, claws dragging deep scars into the frozen ground.
The soldiers along the wall froze in place.
Solace stepped forward.
"I'll handle it." His voice was low. Calm.
The beast struck first — a hammer-blow of claws that shattered part of the wall. Stone exploded outward, showering the field in debris.
Solace leapt down into the snow. His artifact uncoiled from his finger, shifting into a katana. In his other hand, the military-forged blade gleamed coldly.
He charged.
Steel rang against carapace. Sparks flew. The beast's tail lashed, sending him flying into a jagged pillar of ice. His ribs cracked. Blood filled his mouth.
He coughed, spat red into the snow, and stood.
The beast roared and lunged again. He ducked, rolled beneath a swipe that would have cleaved him in two, and slashed at its leg. Dark ichor sprayed out, hissing where it touched the ice.
Night dove from the wall, tearing at the beast's face. The monster batted him aside. Night yelped but landed on his feet, snarling.
Solace pressed forward. He spun, blades flashing, each strike more precise. One blade carved deep into the beast's neck. It roared and lashed out, slamming him again. His shoulder dislocated.
Still, he rose. Breathing ragged. Vision blurring.
On the wall, General Francis arrived just in time to witness it.
"Is he... fighting that thing alone?"
Jane's voice trembled. "He's going to die."
Mara's breath caught. "No. Look at him. He won't stop."
Solace's artifact shifted into a spear. He hurled it with all his strength, driving it into the beast's eye. It screamed, thrashing wildly. Solace leapt, using its flailing arm as a platform, running up its body and plunging his remaining sword deep into the second eye.
The beast shrieked one last time, collapsing into the snow with a thunderous crash.
The silence afterward was suffocating.
Solace stood atop the corpse, blood dripping from dozens of wounds. He looked up at the wall. His gaze met General Francis's. Calm. Empty.
Then he collapsed.
Night limped forward, curling protectively around him.
General Francis's fists tightened.
Lieutenant Mara whispered, "What... is he?"
Lieutenant Jane exhaled. "He's something we were never taught to understand."
Francis's mind reeled. "How strong will he become?"
The entire base knew.
And they would never look at Solace the same way again.
That night, Lyra found him in the medical ward, half-conscious, breathing shallowly. She sat by his side, silent, her presence steady as stone.
She didn't speak. Neither did he.
But her hand rested lightly on his wrist.
And in that small touch, he understood: they would endure.
Together.
In silence.
And the winter had only just begun.