The Northwake Fjords were not kind to travelers.
Rhen felt it the moment they crossed the last broken ridge of the Shattered Reach and the land sloped downward into a world of ice and stone. The air sharpened, slicing into his lungs with every breath. Snow fell in thin, relentless sheets, hissing as it touched the dark water below.
Nymera staggered beside him.
He caught her elbow instantly. "Easy."
"I'm fine," she lied.
Through the bond, he felt the truth—fatigue layered over fatigue, the Bridge humming too loudly inside her. The sea was farther here, its voice muted by ice and distance, and that absence hurt her in ways she couldn't explain aloud.
Azkarel's image flickered briefly in Rhen's mind, a reminder rather than a presence: Restraint was learned here through loss.
Rhen didn't like places that learned lessons that way.
They descended toward the fjords as dusk bled into night. Jagged cliffs rose like broken teeth, their faces carved with runes so old they were more scar than symbol. Longships lay frozen into the shoreline, abandoned, their hulls split by ice.
"People lived here," Rhen murmured.
Nymera nodded. "And learned when to stop."
They reached a narrow pass just as the storm worsened. Wind howled through the stone, carrying something else with it—a rhythm too deliberate to be weather.
Drums.
Rhen's spine prickled. He halted, nostrils flaring. "We're not alone."
Nymera closed her eyes, reaching outward—not with the Voice, but with listening. "They're watching us."
Figures emerged from the snow like ghosts.
Tall. Wrapped in fur and layered armor etched with tide-and-land sigils intertwined so tightly they were almost indistinguishable. Their weapons were sheathed but ready. Their eyes—human, wolf, and something else—were sharp with suspicion.
A woman stepped forward. Her hair was white as frost, braided with bone and steel. Her gaze flicked immediately to Nymera's glowing marks, then to Rhen's stance.
"You brought the storm with you," the woman said flatly.
Rhen didn't bristle. He felt the tension coil but forced it down. "We didn't ask for it."
The woman snorted. "No one ever does."
Nymera stepped forward despite Rhen's hand tightening on hers. "I am Nymera of the Sapphire Court. This is Rhen. We seek shelter—and counsel."
A low murmur rippled through the gathered warriors.
The woman's eyes narrowed. "You seek a lot, Princess."
Nymera didn't flinch. "I offer truth in exchange."
Silence stretched, broken only by the wind.
Finally, the woman gestured sharply. "You'll freeze out here. Follow."
They were led into a fortress carved directly into the cliffside, its walls fused with ice and stone. Heat pulsed within—not fire, but geothermal warmth harnessed carefully, never wasted.
Inside, Rhen felt something strange.
Balance.
Not the fragile kind he and Nymera carried—but a practiced one. Hard-earned. Maintained through discipline, not denial.
The woman turned as the doors sealed behind them. "I am Skelda Northwake," she said. "Warden of the Fjords."
Nymera inclined her head respectfully.
Skelda's gaze cut to Rhen. "And you," she said. "You carry two worlds badly stitched together."
Rhen met her eyes. "We're learning."
Skelda studied him for a long moment, then nodded once. "Good. Arrogance would've gotten you killed."
She led them deeper into the fortress, to a circular chamber marked by a massive stone table. Around it sat representatives—wolves with frost-scarred muzzles, humans with salt-stiff cloaks, merfolk wrapped in heated brine-veils.
A mixed council.
Nymera exhaled softly. "You work together."
"We survive together," Skelda corrected. "Big difference."
Rhen felt Nymera tense as all eyes turned to them.
Skelda placed her hands on the table. "We felt the shift," she said. "The Bridge woke something old. Something hungry."
Nymera nodded. "The Deep Ones."
The room darkened—some with fear, others with grim recognition.
"They stir beneath the ice," a merfolk elder said. "We've lost two patrols."
Rhen's jaw tightened. "We didn't know it would happen this fast."
Skelda's gaze sharpened. "You knew it would happen."
Nymera swallowed. "Yes."
Silence.
Then Skelda surprised them both by laughing once—short, humorless. "At least you don't lie prettily."
She leaned forward. "So here's the truth you're offering, Princess."
Nymera met her gaze. "The Convergence was never meant to end the world. It was twisted into a weapon by those afraid of change."
Murmurs spread.
Rhen stepped in. "We're not here to rule. Or be worshiped. We're here because if the Bridge falls, everything falls."
Skelda studied them—really studied them.
Finally, she spoke. "If you stay, you will be tested."
Nymera nodded. "We expect nothing less."
Skelda turned sharply. "Good. Because the first test begins now."
A horn blared.
The fortress shuddered as a deep, resonant sound rolled up from below the fjords—too slow, too vast to be ice shifting.
Rhen felt it in his bones.
Nymera gasped. "They're closer than Azkarel said."
Skelda drew her weapon—a blade etched with both tide and moon. "Then you'll show us whether the Bridge holds."
The walls trembled again.
Far below the ice, something answered.
And for the first time since the Convergence began, Rhen felt fear "not" of the world ending—
—but of what it would demand next.