Chapter Text
(DANE)
War is loud everywhere except where it matters.
The clash of steel and screams fades the farther I push from the front line, until all that’s left is the hiss of my wings cutting the air and the dull thud of my boots against frost-bitten ground. The ice here hasn’t fully claimed the field—too scorched from earlier Ember strikes—but it still breathes cold, curling around my ankles like a warning.
I land hard, embers scattering.
Bad move.
A blade flashes where my throat was a second ago.
I twist, sparks flaring from my wings as I draw my own weapon, heat rippling down the steel. We circle each other without a word. He’s Ice Kingdom—no mistaking it. Pale armor etched with runes that glow faintly blue, frost blooming where his boots touch the ground.
And his wings—
Stars above.
White and silver, layered like carved glass, edges sharp enough to cut the air itself. They twitch behind him, tense, defensive.
“You’re a long way from your army,” I say lightly, because if I don’t speak, I might stare.
He swallows. I see it. His grip tightens.
“So are you,” he answers. His voice isn’t what I expect—softer, steadier than his hands betray.
We clash.
Steel meets steel, heat screaming against ice. Every strike sends shockwaves through my arms, through my wings. He’s fast—faster than he should be—and when I press, flames licking up my blade, he counters with a sharp, controlled precision that forces me back.
“Do you ever smile,” I ask between blows, “or is that an Ice Kingdom regulation?”
His brows knit. “Do you ever shut up?”
Oh.
I grin.
We move without witnesses, without banners, without orders—just instinct and something electric threading the space between us. He nearly gets me once, blade nicking my shoulder. I hiss, more surprised than hurt.
“Sorry!” he blurts immediately.
I blink. “You just apologized. In the middle of a duel.”
His ears go red. Red. Against all that frost.
“I—well—you left yourself open.”
“Careful,” I murmur, stepping closer, heat curling deliberately. “You’re starting to sound concerned.”
That’s when it happens.
A horn sounds in the distance. Orders shouted. The war surges back toward us like a tide.
We freeze.
His eyes flick past me, then back. Something shifts in his expression—conflict, calculation, regret.
“We shouldn’t—” he starts.
“I know,” I say, lowering my blade first. “But if we don’t finish this… I’ll wonder.”
“So will I,” he admits, barely audible.
We retreat in opposite directions, wings flaring simultaneously—fire and frost parting the air.
I don’t know his name.
I don’t know why my wings ache when I lift off.
I don’t know why, that night, tucked inside my armor, I find a scrap of paper I know wasn’t there before.
Three words, written in careful, slightly uneven script:
You fight unfairly.
I laugh quietly, flames flickering low.
And on the back, smaller, almost shy:
—Finn