Page 21 of Frostforge, Passage Four

They settled back into rhythm, the skiff responding eagerly to Thalia's guidance.

They weren't leading the pack, but they maintained a respectable position as the fleet of small vessels streamed toward the first marker.

The fjord opened before them, its waters deepening from teal to indigo as they moved farther from shore.

Cliffs rose on either side, their faces catching the morning light, stark and beautiful against the cloudless sky.

"We're making good time," Thalia called to her team, hoping to foster some unity in the face of external provocation. "Daniel, be ready to adjust the jib when we round the marker."

That was when she noticed it — a subtle change in the air pressure.

The hairs on her arms rose, not from cold but from something less tangible.

A strange silence fell across the water, as though the fjord itself held its breath.

The breeze, steady just moments before, faltered, then gusted from a different direction entirely.

Thalia looked up. The sky remained blue directly overhead, but at the edges of her vision, darkness gathered. Stormclouds. A shiver traced her spine.

"What is that?" Felah's voice trembled as she pointed toward the mouth of the fjord, where the clouds thickened with unnatural speed.

Before Thalia could answer, the wind shifted again — violently, unnaturally — catching their sail with enough force to heel the skiff dangerously to one side.

"Rasmus! Ease the mainsheet!" Thalia shouted, fighting the tiller as the rudder threatened to lose purchase in the suddenly choppy water.

Rasmus scrambled to comply, but the wind howled now, drowning his curse as the boom whipped across the deck. He ducked just in time, sprawling flat as the heavy wooden beam passed inches above his head.

All around them, chaos erupted. Luna's skiff pitched violently, nearly capsizing before her team wrestled it back under control. Shouts now carried across the fjord, thin and frantic against the rising wind.

"This isn't natural," Thalia muttered, her senses prickling with recognition.

The air tasted metallic, charged with energy that raised the fine hairs on her neck.

She knew this feeling — had experienced it before, when Roran lost control of his magic.

This was storm-calling, the distinctive signature of Isle Warden power.

Rain lashed suddenly across their faces, cold and stinging. The sky darkened further, as though someone had drawn a curtain across the sun. Lightning cracked overhead, illuminating the chaos on the water in stark, frozen tableau.

"What's happening?" Daniel shouted, his voice nearly lost in the howl of the wind.

Thalia had no answer for him — only the certainty that this was deliberate.

Someone had summoned this storm, targeting the race specifically.

Her mind raced through possibilities — this was an Isle Warden’s doing.

It couldn’t be Roran; he would never use his magic so openly, or endanger other students.

Besides, his hands were as busy with the riggings of his skiff as the rest of them.

No, this was someone else, someone likely hidden in the trees along the fjord’s edge.

There was no time to theorize. The skiff heaved beneath them as a wave — impossibly large for the protected fjord — slammed into its side. Water sloshed over the gunwale, pooling at their feet.

"Lower the sail! Take it down!" Thalia shouted, but her command came too late.

Another gust hit them broadside, powerful and precise. The skiff lifted, teetered for one suspended moment at an impossible angle, then capsized completely.

The world inverted. Cold rushed over Thalia, shocking the breath from her lungs as she plunged beneath the surface.

Disorientation seized her — which way was up?

Her limbs tangled in something — rigging, she realized, panic blooming as it tightened around her ankle.

She kicked desperately, lungs already burning, and felt the rope give slightly.

She clawed toward what she hoped was the surface, only to collide with something solid — the overturned hull of their skiff. Trapped. The realization sent a bolt of pure terror through her chest. She pushed against the wood, seeking any gap or opening, but found none.

Her lungs screamed for air. Black spots danced at the edges of her vision. She was going to drown here, pinned beneath their vessel, unable to reach her team — unable to save them or herself.

Then strong arms encircled her waist, pulling her sideways. Her trapped ankle wrenched painfully, then came free. The arms guided her, powerful strokes carrying them both until suddenly they broke the surface, and Thalia gasped, air filling her starved lungs.

"Breathe," a familiar voice commanded, and she turned to find Roran treading water beside her, his dark curls plastered to his forehead, eyes wild with concern. "Are you hurt?"

"My team," she managed between ragged breaths, spinning to scan the churning water. "Where are they?"

When she didn't immediately spot them, terror seized her anew. Without hesitation, she gulped air and dove again, ignoring Roran's shout behind her.

Beneath the surface, chaos reigned. Shadows twisted in the murky water, punctuated by flashes of lightning from above.

She spotted movement near their sinking skiff, which was descending in pieces into the darkness of the deceptively deep fjord.

Daniel and Felah, struggling to lift the broken mast. As she swam closer, her heart froze.

Rasmus was pinned by the mast, trapped by the sail and riggings.

His movements were weakening, bubbles streaming from his mouth as he fought to free himself.

Thalia reached them, gesturing frantically for Daniel and Felah to surface for air. They hesitated, unwilling to abandon their teammate, but she pointed upward insistently. They needed air if they were to help at all. Reluctantly, they kicked toward the surface.

Thalia grabbed the mainsail, straining to free Rasmus from its confines.

It wouldn't budge. His eyes, wide with terror, locked onto hers. She redoubled her efforts, muscles screaming, but the canvas was tangled around the splintered beam hopelessly. The water pressed in from all sides, cold and endless. Thalia’s lungs burned, but she didn’t let go.

She reached for the rigging, yanking and slicing at the cords with the belt knife at her hip, the fabric tearing in slow, stubborn shreds.

Her own air was running out. Darkness crept at the edges of her vision again.

Then a shadow cut through the water beside her — Roran, powerful kicks bringing him to her aid.

He braced himself against the hull, his eyes meeting hers in silent communication.

Together, they moved — no words, no wasted motion.

Thalia shifted to give Roran space, her hands still working the last knot of rigging as Roran bundled the sail aside.

He wrestled with the heavy, sodden canvas, using his body as leverage while Thalia sliced the final cord.

The fabric tore away just enough to expose Rasmus’s torso.

He was free, but his movements were sluggish now, his consciousness clearly fading. Thalia grabbed his arm while Roran took his other side, and together they kicked toward the surface, dragging the Northern boy's limp form between them.

They broke into air and rain and howling wind. Daniel and Felah had made it to the rocky shore nearby, and now waded back into the shallows to help as Thalia and Roran struggled toward them with Rasmus's deadweight.

"Get him on land!" Thalia shouted over the storm's fury. Together, they dragged Rasmus onto the shore, where he lay frighteningly still, lips blue, skin paler than usual.

Roran didn't hesitate. He positioned himself over Rasmus, hands pressed against the boy's chest in a rhythmic pattern Thalia recognized from emergency training. Between compressions, he bent low, his lips forming a seal over Rasmus's as he forced air into the Northern boy's lungs.

Thalia watched, heart hammering, as Roran worked.

She'd never seen anyone perform the technique with such precision — and then she noticed something else.

With each breath Roran gave, a subtle pulse of energy accompanied it, a controlled burst of air pressure that she could sense rather than see.

He was using his storm magic, carefully, deliberately, to force water from Rasmus's lungs.

"Come on," she whispered, kneeling beside them on the wet stones. "Come on, Rasmus."

As if in answer to her plea, Rasmus convulsed suddenly, water spewing from his mouth as he coughed violently. Roran turned him onto his side, allowing him to expel the fjord water from his lungs. Each breath was a painful, rattling thing, but he was breathing — he was alive.

Relief washed through Thalia, so powerful it left her light-headed. She scanned the water automatically, looking for Sigrid — had the Northern girl made it to safety, or was she still out there, struggling in the unnatural storm?

"Greenspire!" The shout came from across the water, barely audible over the wind and rain.

Thalia turned toward the sound and spotted a figure on the opposite shore — tall, copper-haired, unmistakable even through the downpour. Sigrid stood on a rocky outcropping, soaked but whole, one arm raised. She had made it to safety on her own.

The final knot of tension in Thalia's chest loosened as she raised her hand to return Sigrid’s acknowledgement.

Her entire team was accounted for, all alive, if not entirely well.

She sagged backwards, suddenly aware of her own exhaustion, the ache in her limbs, the cold that seeped into her very bones.

Strong arms caught her, and she found herself leaning against Roran's chest, his warmth a stark contrast to the chill that pervaded everything else. She should move away, maintain a cautious distance, both emotionally and physically — but she couldn't summon the strength to pull back.

"You saved us," she murmured, turning her face up to his. Rain streamed down his features, plastering those wild curls to his skin, but his eyes burned with an intensity that had nothing to do with the storm around them.

"Of course," he answered simply, his arms tightening around her.

Around them, the unnatural storm continued to rage, lashing the fjord with a fury that could only be magical in origin.

Skiffs lay capsized across the water, students struggled to reach shore, instructors launched rescue boats from the distant academy dock.

But in that moment, sheltered in Roran's embrace, Thalia found herself anchored against the chaos — safe, if only temporarily, in the arms of someone who commanded the very elements that threatened to destroy them.