Chapter Text
Snow crunched under Grian’s boots as he stepped out from the relative warmth of his house. He stared up into the gloomy sky, sighing internally.
“How is it only this bright in the mornings?” he muttered to himself, pulling his hood up against the freezing wind.
Carefully, he made his way along the snow-ridden paths snaking between the buildings that made up the small town. Near the newly built kennels, Skizz trudged through waist-deep snow toward the squat building pressed against the barely visible treeline. Grian raised a gloved hand in greeting, earning one in return before dropping his gaze back to the packed snow and ice beneath his feet.
As he drew closer to the centre of town, the sounds of people going about their day slowly reached him through the biting wind. Generators hummed. Axes split wood. Someone shouted a greeting from somewhere out in the white haze.
The sounds of a group of people trying to survive.
Grian bent to toss a fallen branch off the path, his thoughts drifting as he walked. How ironic that the thing responsible for this never-ending winter was volcanoes. The things that produced molten lava had also created this frozen hell. Turns out, when enough large ones erupted at once, enough ash reached the stratosphere to plunge the world into an icy grip.
He shook his head at the absurdity as he reached his destination.
The rhythmic thunk of axes hitting wood echoed beneath the lean-to as he ducked under the cover. Joel and False were already there, neat stacks of split logs piled beside them waiting to be chopped smaller.
“Hey guys,” Grian greeted, adjusting his frost-covered scarf.
“Hi Grian,” Joel replied, glancing up briefly from his work.
“How’s it going?” False asked, not taking her eyes off the log balanced on the stump.
“As well as it can for the situation we’re in.”
He moved over to the completed pile and started stacking wood against the back wall while Joel and False continued chopping.
They worked in relative silence for a while. False and Joel split wood while Grian stacked it, and every now and then Martyn or Ren appeared through the snow carrying fresh armfuls to replenish the dwindling pile.
A muttered curse sounded from Joel after another missed swing.
“How does Gem do this so easily?” he grumbled under his breath before glancing over his shoulder. “Hey Grian, heard anything new about Gem?”
Silence stretched for half a second before Grian answered.
“Nope.” He shook his head. “She’s been sick for the past couple weeks, so I haven’t seen her much, but she should be on the back end of it by now. I’m checking in on her today.”
Joel only grunted in response.
It was understandable. In these conditions people caught colds easier than ever. Stay outside too long, get careless once, and suddenly half the town was coughing for a week. With how much Gem insisted on helping, it was honestly a miracle she’d lasted this long before getting sick.
Eventually Grian straightened with a groan, rolling aching stiffness out of his back after hours bent over stacking wood. Beside him, Joel and False lowered their axes, flexing fingers that looked half frozen around the wooden handles.
“See you guys later,” Grian said, tugging his hood back up.
Two goodbyes followed him as he stepped back out into the cold.
By the time he reached Pearl’s house, snow had already begun collecting across his shoulders again. He banged the snow from his boots a few times before pushing the door open and stepping inside. Nobody bothered locking doors anymore. Everyone trusted each other, and there was nobody else stupid enough to survive out here.
Warmth immediately wrapped around him, carrying the smell of soup and woodsmoke.
Pearl and Impulse stood in the kitchen beside a pot simmering quietly on the stove. A few quiet greetings passed between them before Grian moved further into the house, turning the corner into the living room.
And stopped.
Gem lay curled on the couch beneath a pile of blankets, sleeping fitfully. Her red hair spilled across the cushion behind her, framing a face far too pale against the dim light of the room.
Even as he watched, a harsh cough wracked her body.
Something twisted uncomfortably in his chest.
Slowly, carefully, he backed out of the room without waking her.
It was hard seeing Gem — stubborn, capable Gem — reduced to this.
When he stepped back into the kitchen, he finally noticed Etho leaning silently against the far wall.
“She’s gotten worse,” Grian said immediately, skipping any attempt at small talk.
Pearl nodded tiredly. “People usually start getting better around this point, but she just keeps getting worse. High fever, can barely keep food down…”
Impulse ran a hand through his hair. “And whatever it is, it’s not letting up. Could just be a bad strain of flu, but we’ve all dealt with that before.”
Grian frowned, mind racing. He knew Gem. Knew how much she hated sitting around doing nothing. Knew she would rather work herself into the ground than admit she needed rest.
“How did she even get this bad?”
Etho answered before anyone else could.
“Knowing Gem? She probably had it for a week before anybody noticed.” His voice was calm, matter-of-fact. “She’d work herself into the ground if you let her.”
Pearl sighed. “Looking back… she was leaning against walls a lot. Showing up late to things. Getting winded faster.”
“She kept saying she was fine,” Impulse muttered.
A heavy silence settled over the kitchen.
Grian stared down at the steaming soup pot, unease twisting tighter in his stomach.
“What are we supposed to do?” Impulse finally asked quietly. “We don’t have the medicine for this. And if she gets any worse…”
Nobody finished the sentence.
“We need supplies we don’t have,” Grian murmured. “So where do we even get them?”
Another long silence.
Then Etho sighed softly.
“There’s a city south of here,” he said. “Kilometres away, but if we can reach it…” He hesitated briefly. “They should have what we need.”
Grian looked up immediately. “Well then it’s simple. A few of us make the trip, grab supplies, and bring them back.”
Etho was already shaking his head before he finished.
“It’s too far.”
The room went still.
“If she keeps getting worse at this rate,” Etho continued, “none of us will make it there and back before it’s too late.”
Pearl folded her arms tightly across her chest. “So what are we supposed to do?”
This time it was Impulse who answered.
“We take her with us.”
Grian stared at him.
Pearl’s eyes widened slightly, while beside them Etho only gave a small nod, like he’d already reached the same conclusion.
Impulse leaned forward against the counter, jaw tight.
“Think about it,” he said. “If we go there and back, she dies before we return. If we stay here…” He exhaled shakily. “She probably dies here too.”
“But the chances out there aren’t any better,” Grian protested. “It’s the middle of storm season, Impulse. The chances she survives that trip—”
“Are better than her chances staying here,” Impulse interrupted quietly.
Silence.
Outside, wind rattled faintly against the walls.
Etho spoke next.
“Let’s face it. She’s in danger either way.” His gaze flicked toward the living room. “At least this way there’s still a chance.”
Grian grimaced, dragging a hand down his face beneath his scarf.
Every instinct screamed that taking Gem out into storm season was insane.
But staying suddenly felt worse.
“Fine,” he muttered finally. “If this is the only option…” He looked between the others. “How do we even get there?”