They coiled around the hilt and ripped it out of the ground and the blade came screaming through the air toward my outstretched hand.
The beast tore the chains from its face and hurled me downward. I hit the ground so hard I bounced, but my fingers were already closing around the Frostfang's grip as it arrived, and the cold of the blade raced up my arm and into my chest and something clicked into place.
The cold met the fire.
I don't know how to describe what happened inside me in that moment. The frost of the blade and the remnants of the white flame in my body didn't cancel each other out. They fed each other. The cold sharpened the fire and the fire heated the cold and something in between surged up through my arms and into the sword until the Frostfang blade was glowing white, wreathed in flame that burned cold and hot at the same time, frost crystals forming and evaporating along the edge in the same instant.
