Page 33 of Frostforge, Passage Four

The world narrowed to a strip of shore as Thalia braced against the onslaught.

Around her, first-years huddled with terror etched into their faces, their training dissolving in the face of real combat.

The alarm bell's echo still haunted the fjord, a ghostly reminder of how quickly their Command Challenge had transformed into a desperate fight for survival. Lightning carved white scars across the darkened sky, illuminating the Isle Wardens pouring from the tree line like specters made flesh. Their war cries mingled with the crash of waves against the rocks and the roar of the fires as they consumed the skiffs, the students’ only means of escape.

"Stay together!" Thalia shouted, her voice raw from screaming orders. "Form a ring around the wounded!"

Daniel and Felah obeyed instantly, positioning themselves with shields raised.

Both wore expressions of grim determination that made them look years older than they had at the start of the Challenge.

Rasmus, nursing a deep gash along his arm, stood shakily beside them.

Of Sigrid, there was no sign, since she'd abandoned them in the forest.

Thalia lifted her ice-titanium shield, feeling its familiar weight settle against her forearm. The polished surface gleamed in the sporadic bursts of lightning that streaked overhead. She shifted her stance, preparing to intercept any attack directed at the injured students behind her.

"They'll target the vulnerable first," she called to the others. "Be ready for lightning strikes!"

Her heart pounded against her ribs as she surveyed the chaos unfolding across the shoreline.

What had begun as a simple race to the summit had descended into a nightmare.

The Isle Wardens had timed their attack perfectly, striking when Frostforge was at its most divided.

And now they were trapped on the northern shore, their escape routes destroyed, the academy visible but unreachable across the churning waters of the fjord.

Through the melee, Thalia caught glimpses of her friends fighting with desperate ferocity.

Ashe had emerged from the tree line, her distinctive red-streaked black hair whipping in the wind as she loosed ice-tipped arrows with deadly precision.

Each shaft found its mark in the throat or eye of an approaching Warden.

Her face was a mask of Northern stoicism, but Thalia knew her well enough to recognize the rage burning beneath that calm exterior.

The Wardens had violated Northern territory — Ashe's homeland — and she was making them pay for their transgression with each whistle of her bowstring.

Nearby, Luna darted between two attackers, a short blade clutched in her small hand.

For someone who had always avoided combat training, she moved with surprising agility.

Her eyes — normally so dreamy and unfocused — were sharp with concentration as she ducked beneath a sweeping blade and slashed at her opponent's hamstring.

Blood sprayed across the sand as the Warden fell, and Luna was already turning to face the next threat, her slight frame belying her unexpected ferocity.

"Behind you!" Thalia shouted, and Luna pivoted just in time to avoid a killing blow.

Further down the shore, Brynn Firstborn was a whirlwind of calculated violence.

Her twin daggers caught the light as she spun between three Wardens, each movement fluid and precise.

One attacker fell clutching his throat, blood seeping between his fingers.

Another staggered back with a blade buried in his chest. The third swung wildly at Brynn's head, but she was already gone, sliding beneath his guard to open his belly with a savage upward slash.

Her face showed no emotion — this was simply what she had trained for all her life.

Kaine stood like a sentinel near the water's edge, an ice-steel longsword gripped in both hands.

The massive blade, nearly three feet long, cleaved through the air.

Two Wardens lay motionless at his feet, and three more circled him warily, reluctant to close the distance.

His prison-hardened frame moved with the economy of someone who understood violence intimately.

Each swing of his sword was deliberate, each step calculated.

His pale face was splattered with blood that wasn't his own.

Even Einar and Levi — who had been locked in bitter conflict just days before — now fought back-to-back, their previous animosity forgotten in the face of a common enemy. Einar's ice-brass knuckles shattered a Warden's jaw, while Levi's curved blade opened a crimson smile across another's throat.

But it was Roran who commanded the center of the battlefield, and Thalia couldn't tear her eyes away from him.

He stood alone in a circle of scorched sand, his curly black hair rising with static electricity.

Lightning danced between his splayed fingers, arcing and snapping like living things.

His secret was laid bare for all to see — the storm magic that marked him as descended from the very enemies they fought.

Power radiated from him in palpable waves as he gathered the storm to his will.

With a guttural cry, he thrust his hands forward.

A spear of blue-white energy erupted from his palms, striking an advancing line of Wardens.

Their weapons vaporized in their hands, metal turned instantly to steam.

Bodies flew backward like rag dolls, some motionless before they even hit the ground.

Thunder boomed across the fjord, so loud that Thalia felt it in her chest like a second heartbeat.

Roran's face was a mask of fury and pain. Each burst of lightning seemed to cost him, his body shuddering with the effort of controlling power never meant to be contained. But he didn't stop. Couldn't stop. Not with so many lives hanging in the balance.

"Stay behind me!" Thalia ordered as a stray bolt of energy crackled too close to her huddled first-years. She angled her shield to deflect it, feeling the hair on her arms rise with the proximity of so much raw power.

A quick glance at the shoreline confirmed what she already knew — they were running out of options.

The remains of their skiffs burned in the shallows, sending plumes of acrid smoke into the night air.

The flames cast eerie, dancing shadows across the water, illuminating the sleek shapes that circled just beyond the breakers.

Storm sharks. The creatures were drawn to the magical discharge, their dorsal fins cutting through the waves like knives. Escape by swimming was suicide.

Thalia repositioned herself, shoulder to shoulder with Felah, whose young face was streaked with tears and ash.

Around them, the remnants of other squads had formed a ragged defensive line.

Fourth-years shouted commands to their terrified first-years, trying to maintain some semblance of order in the chaos.

But Thalia could see the truth in their eyes — they were making their last stand.

Then came a sound that vibrated through her bones — a deep, resonant boom that momentarily silenced even the thunder overhead. The air temperature plummeted so suddenly that Thalia's next breath emerged as a cloud of vapor.

Across the fjord, a lone figure stood on the southern dock.

Even at this distance, Thalia recognized Instructor Virek's slight frame.

He had his palms pressed together, a nimbus of blue-white energy surrounding him like a second skin.

As she watched, he separated his hands in a violent outward motion.

The effect was immediate and awe-inspiring.

A wave of cryomantic power surged from his palms, racing across the water's surface with impossible speed.

Where it touched, the black water froze solid in an expanding sheet of ice.

Jagged crystalline formations erupted upward, catching the light of fires and lightning in a thousand refractions.

The sound was deafening — the groaning protest of an entire fjord transformed in moments.

Thalia stared in disbelief as the ice spread from shore to shore, creating a bridge where moments before there had been only churning water.

It was the most spectacular display of cryomancy she had ever witnessed, far beyond what she'd believed possible.

The storm sharks, caught in the sudden freeze, thrashed frantically before being entombed in the advancing ice.

For a heartbeat, everything stilled. The fighting paused as both sides processed this unexpected development. Then, across the newly formed ice field, shapes began to move — dozens of figures sprinting toward them from the distant academy.

"Reinforcements," Thalia breathed, hope kindling in her chest for the first time since the attack began.

The instructors led the charge, their forms blurred with speed as they skated across the ice with practiced ease. Behind them came the third-years, armored and armed for war rather than training. And behind the students, moving with mechanical precision, came the golems.

Dozens of ice-metal constructs, their joints hissing with frost, their metal limbs gleaming in the pre-dawn light.

Among them, Thalia recognized a familiar silhouette — broader in the shoulders than the others, ice-brass rather than the usual ice-steel or iron, with blade-arms that glowed with residual heat from the forge.

Falchion. Her creation. Her golem.

The construct she had forged in her second year moved with deadly purpose, its steps leaving shallow imprints in the ice. Pride surged through her, momentarily displacing her fear. Her work was coming to their aid.

"Get the wounded ready to move," she ordered Daniel. "We're retreating across the ice as soon as they reach us."