Chapter Text
The sickening swirl of a dark portal gives way to bitter wind and flurries of snow and complete silence. Wild staggers forward as his boots sink deep into the growing snowbank, trousers already drenched through and starting to turn to ice. Gone is the summer warmth that paints Legend and Ravio’s home in dappled shadows. All he has now is the threat of freezing to death.
“Sh-hit!”
The curse hisses out through chattering teeth, his voice so shaky he barely recognises it as a word. His hands are burning in pain like he just shoved them straight into the River of the Dead. Then again, considering he is currently nearly waist-deep in snow, that is literally what he’s done. Before he can stagger upright, another blustering gale cuts through his tunic and sends goosebumps rising in its wake. He has been here for only seconds and already he knows his body temperature is getting dangerously low. Each breath in hurts as the cold air sears his throat and makes his lungs feel like they’re about to seize up.
With shaking fingers, he unhooks the Sheikah Slate from his waist and fumbles through the screens before dropping a bundle of firewood and his last flameblade onto the snow in front of him. Steam bursts up into the open air as the sheathed flameblade’s heat turns the snow into a bubbling pit of slushy water, but Wild can only sigh in relief as some of the chill is cut from his bones.
Shuffling a bit closer to the sword, he swipes at the Slate again. It takes a moment to find what he’s looking for amongst all the clothing he has amassed but finally he pulls King Rhoam’s old warm doublet from the Slate and yanks it over his head. The moment it’s in place, he fumbles through readjusting his baldric and quiver, a progress slowed by his freezing hands. The doublet’s thick woollen fabric may not provide any defence against attacks, but it does cut down the cold wind’s ability to sap his strength, at least for now. When the sun goes down and night sets in, there is little it can do to shield him from the plummet in temperatures.
As badly as he wants to stay here for a bit longer so he can warm up, he knows he has to find better shelter as soon as possible. Only once he’s hidden from the wind chill can he properly prepare himself for whatever lays ahead.
Plan in mind, he scoops the flameblade and the firewood up before scanning his surroundings for… well, anything really.
Barren, snow-covered trees, their bark frostbitten from the blistering winds, dot the open plain that stretches out to his left. Further along, a tall forest rises up, its woods dark and twisting. In the distance to his right a tall mountain reaches up for a sky so blue it’s almost painful to look at. While the mountain looks far away, there is a sheer cliff close to him that he definitely won’t be climbing until he gets his snowquill armour on. The cliff stretches on for miles in front and behind him, rising and falling in height but still standing proudly above the snowy meadow almost to say ‘the world ends here’.
Worst of all, there isn’t a single other soul in sight. No sign of a nearby village or civilisation, and no sign of his brothers. Wherever the portal had dropped the rest of the Chain, it isn’t anywhere around here.
“Great!” Wild hisses but he still spins in place and scans the snowfield hopefully like a second or third check will reveal Time or Twilight or anyone else stumbling towards him and he just missed them because he’s an idiot.
It doesn’t work. He remains entirely alone. That in itself is beyond concerning since now he has no idea if wherever they have ended up is better or worse than this. Sure, their group has a bountiful collection of fire rods to cast heat but his tiny flameblade is barely enough to stop him from losing sensation in his feet already, so he can’t help but worry about their fates.
Unfortunately, he also knows that he can’t do shit until he isn’t at risk of losing toes or fingers to frostbite, so his worry is going to have to wait its turn until he isn’t going to freeze to death. Cupping a hand over his eyes to shield against the bright snow, Wild desperately scans for any sign of a shelter from this wind. It takes a moment but finally there, a little ways in the distance, he thinks he can see a shadow against the rock-face.
From this distance, it’s hard to tell if he is seeing a cave, a tiny alcove or nothing more than a trick of the light, but the alternative is standing out here like an idiot, so he clutches his equipment close and starts trudging through the piles of soft snow. While there is a solid layer of frozen earth somewhere beneath his feet, the powder that comes up to his knees is determined to make his journey difficult and refuses to give way without a fight.
The strain makes his muscles burn, and he’s soon panting, taking big gulps of air that sear his throat all while sweat slicks his brow and freezes into tiny, very painful crystals. He takes to holding the flameblade out in front of him to melt his path forward into a slushy mess but, though it does help him keep up a decent pace, the wet snow cuts through his feeble clothing into his skin much faster.
It feels like he is walking through a field of glass; each step forward causes pinpricks of pain to flare to life beneath his skin. Numbness would be a blessing if he didn’t know it means he would die faster, so he clenches his jaw and pushes onwards.
About halfway across the snowfield with his destination in sight, Wild’s neck prickles. Every single hair stands on end as a shudder races down his spine, though this one isn’t caused by the cold.
Tightening his grip on the wood and flameblade, he cautiously glances around as innocuously as possible. Ice-breath lizals and snow octoroks like to use the deep snowbanks for their ambushes, a trick he is fairly confident that other monsters share, so if there is something sneaking up on his back, he wants to spot it early enough to take away the advantage of surprise.
But there is nothing.
The tree trunks sway back and forth as the wind picks up and the flurries fall harder, but no matter how hard he scans his surroundings, he can’t spot a single sign of life. No stalking wolves or hidden monsters in sight. He is the only thing that stands in this snowfield, completely cut off from the world.
Yet the feeling doesn’t go away; if anything, it grows stronger like whatever is watching him is getting closer to him.
“T-time to… to move.” Wild orders himself and tries to pick up the pace. The sooner he can get out of here, the better.
By the time he reaches what indeed turns out to be a small cave in the cliff-face, the sun is well on its way towards the horizon and he stopped being able to feel his feet ten minutes ago. That alone has him lunging across the last few metres of snow and into the cave, letting out a sigh as the rock walls block out the wind that had been determined to sap his body of what little heat it has left.
As the wind whistles against the cave’s entrance, Wild stumbles further into the tiny cave until he finds a nice flat area, where he promptly drops the bundle of firewood with an echoing clatter. While he wants to say that he squats down, in actuality his legs decide they’re too cold to support his weight and send him tripping forward onto his hands and knees. It’s only luck that has him keep hold of the flameblade with one hand but the heel of his left palm stings as the rough stone scrapes the skin.
Biting back a wince, he ignores the pain to instead organise the logs into the vague semblance of a firepit, a task made more difficult by his freezing hands and the blood that is definitely trickling from his palm. After stuffing a handful of dried twigs into the centre for kindling, he swings the flameblade and watches, relieved, as a fire fwooshes to life, crackling cheerfully in the tiny cavern. Scrambling as close to it as he dares, a sigh falls from his lips when the heat sinks into his cold bones. Fuck, it feels good to be warming up again.
Wild allows himself a minute or two of basking before returning back to the problem on hand. While he wants to check on the graze on his palm, there are way more important things to worry about right now so he instead starts yanking his drenched boots and socks off.
Steam curls into the air as he lays them beside the campfire and pokes nervously at his waxy toes. They haven’t turned blue or black but they are fucking freezing so he carefully inches his feet closer to the edge of the fire. If he hadn’t been watching just how close he is, the way near-agony starts to burn through his feet would honestly convince him he’d just jumped right into the middle of the campfire.
A moan of pain whistles out through his gritted teeth and he doubles over, pulling his knees close to his chest and wrapping one arm around them just to make sure he can’t flinch away. Even if it hurts, he knows he needs to warm his feet up now. Frostbite is not an option. Of course, this is all easier said than done as tremors of pain wrack his body and make tears leak from his eyes.
Determined to distract himself, he raises his left hand up and tries to focus on inspecting the graze on his palm. The skin is pretty torn up and some spots are deep enough to be weeping blood, all of which screams of the risk for infection. Great, more pain!
Groaning to himself, he fumbles for his waterskin and carefully dribbles some over the wound, doing his best to clean the deeper cuts before wrapping a bandage tightly around his palm and wrist. The bandage might limit how far he can move his wrist but it’s certainly better than nothing.
First aid completed and another distraction needing to be found, Wild turns his attention to his clothes.
Swapping the doublet and his Champion’s tunic for the packed Rito-down snowquill tunic is easy enough but a new problem quickly presents itself when he tries to thread the headdress’ ribbons into his bangs. His hair is stiff with sparkling gems of frost. Trying to towel the strands dry and comb his fingers through the thawing clumps has the joyous result of ice breaking free and trying to slide its way down his collar, so he sets the headdress aside and fits his ruby circlet to his brow instead. The magic isn’t as strong but for now it’ll be enough to help his core warm back up.
The effort it takes to get his wet trousers off, though, shall remain unacknowledged, and he lays them out on the cave floor next to the campfire and his lightly steaming socks to dry. Once he towels as much of his legs and feet dry as possible, he slips two pairs of socks on and shimmies his way into his snowboots. Sure, having the full snowquill set would give him better protection from the cold winds and any potential monsters, but at least with the snowboots, he’ll be able to travel and find his brothers far faster.
He hopes they’re okay, hopes they’ve found shelter, hopes they aren’t freezing to death somewhere nearby and he simply hasn’t noticed. Legend hates the cold since it always makes his joints ache like there is no tomorrow and, since Four and Wind have the least muscle mass of them all, they will be feeling it the worst.
At least Hyrule likes to set fires. It’s hard to completely freeze when he’s around to blow something up… which of course always has the effect of triggering everyone else’s love of explosives too. Sky is more used to cooler temperatures, though this might be a bit ridiculous even for him, so maybe he can corral them into shelter before it’s too late, before anyone freezes to death.
Aaaaand just like that, all it took to bring back the worry roiling in Wild’s gut was a single thought.
“Screw this,” he mumbles under his breath as the urge to move itches beneath his skin. There is no time to hesitate or wait. Every second that he spends camped out in this cave is a second his brothers might not have.
A cursory glance at the Slate’s map confirms what he already knew: this isn’t his era, something that’s pretty much only bad news. If he had been dumped in Hebra Mountains or even Gerudo Highlands, at least he would know which way to go to find safety or places the Chain might be sheltering. But being trapped in the unknown, any path he takes needs to be carefully considered and planned out. The last thing he wants to do is head in the wrong direction and put more distance between civilisation and/or his brothers.
Crawling over to the entrance of the cave, he peers out for a proper look around. It had gone unnoticed while he had been walking towards the cave but he’s closer to the edge of the forest now. The trees he had seen earlier seem to be thicker and closer together than the ones near where he had been dropped, becoming the sprawling forest of cedar, cedar and fir trees stretching on for miles and miles that he had seen earlier.
On the one hand, forests mean food—either through foraged roots and nuts or wandering game—but on the other hand, the densely-packed trees will make it harder to spot smoke signals or any chance of civilisation.
The alternative option is to ascend the cliff he shelters beneath now. For a solid moment, he actually considers it, since that will give him a far better lay of the land but the sight of softly packed snow sitting precariously along the ridgeline is enough of a deterrent. All it would take to bring a layer of snow down on him is one misplaced handhold.
With a sigh, Wild sits back on his heels and gnaws on his bottom lip. Shit, either climb up into what might be avalanche country and run the risk of suffocation, or wander into a forest of an unknown size and run the risk of walking in circles. Both options are just so wonderful.
His skin prickles again. The weight of unseen eyes settles atop of him but this time there is a hunger that hangs in the air.
Before he even realises it, the cavern wall is pressed against his back as he hunches down, doing his best to hide from whatever is watching him while keeping his own sightline of the forest as open as possible. His gaze flickers from tree trunk to tree trunk, scrutinising every single shape and shadow for the unknown watcher, though the search once again turns up nothing.
But his skin still crawls like it’s covered in bugs. Even though he can’t find whatever is watching him, the feeling of those eyes hasn’t left. Instead, it gets stronger, heavier. A noose tightens around his throat. Instinct yells at him to run, to move and get as far away from this place as he possibly can. It tells him that whatever is out there, that shape that he can’t see, is not something he wants to face.
Wild doesn’t like to run from things. This has gotten him into many stupid situations in the past, situations he only just made it out of by the skin of his teeth. Facing down his first Lynel had resulted in a broken arm and his shoulder resembling a pincushion. Being stalked by a pack of wolves in Akkala had resulted in sprains, cuts, more than one bite mark and a very stressed out Wolfie. Hell, the first time Mipha had to use her Grace was when he had walked into a fight with a silver bokoblin instead of sitting and watching and coming up with a strategy outside of ‘swing sword and hope for the best’.
The thing is, all of those situations had been with an enemy he could see. This? He has no idea what this is, and that is all the motivation he needs to shove his still damp clothes into the Slate and secure his flameblade to his waist next to his quiver. After kicking a pile of snow onto the fire to douse it, he slinks back to the cave’s entrance but falters right at the edge.
Standing here, the same dilemma as before confronts him. He can’t stay here, which means now he has to choose. One final glance upwards confirms that the climb to the ridgeline would leave him too exposed to ranged attacks from whatever is watching him, so with his shoulders set and one hand on his sword, Wild hurries into the forest.
Despite looking sparse from the outside, the trees close in around him quicker than he expected. The forest floor begins to dim as the afternoon light struggles to make it through the wide pine needles spreading out overhead. As frustrating as the faint light can be, the branches do come with their own advantage: the snow here isn’t as high and cumbersome as it is in the open air. It gathers in large clumps on the wide branches of the pines, occasionally shifting in the winds and spiralling to the ground in an ethereal eddy, or bears down on the younger and more flexible saplings, curving their trunks and leaves over dangerous wells.
Keeping as close to the denser copses as he dares, Wild trudges forward with the sinking sun as his guide. Dread sits in his gut like a river stone. His whole body is so tense he can feel a headache building against his brow. His stalker is still watching him, still following him. He does his best not to look around, already accepting that as a fruitless endeavour. Right now, he just needs to put one foot in front of the other and remain on the path he has chosen until either shelter or any sign of his brothers appears. If he starts glancing behind him or around him, it will be too easy to lose his way.
He keeps his ears pricked the whole time, praying to hear the sound of familiar voices or maybe snow crunching under the feet of his pursuer, anything to tell him he isn’t alone out here, but there is nothing. Aside from the soft whisper of falling snow and the occasional crack of branches breaking from the weight resting on them, the forest is completely silent.
No forest should ever be this quiet.
There should be animals all over this place, taking shelter from the cutting wind or huddling in the snow. At the very least, he should be able to see paw prints of wolves prowling their territories or the occasional bear shuffling out of its warm cave for a mid-hibernation snack. It’s almost like the whole forest is holding its breath and shying away from the thing that stalks his footprints.
The lack of animal life is… well, more than a little disconcerting. What predator could make a bear or wolf pack cower and hide? What kind of place even is this? He doesn’t want to know. He just wants to get out of here and finds the rest of the Chain as quickly as possible.
Incentivised, he picks up the pace. As he walks deeper into the silent forest, his hand doesn’t leave the handle of the flameblade. Something tells him he is going to need it.
Twilight usually doesn’t mind the cold.
The winters that hit Ordon Province can be brutal and harsh despite the usually tepid climate, so he has spent many long nights bundled up in woollen clothing and watching as flurries of snow gently fall outside the window. As a kid, winter was a lot of fun. He and Ilia would chase each other around trying to shove handfuls of snow down the other’s back, make snowmen and have snowball fights before staggering back home to flop in an exhausted pile in front of the fire. Even as he had gotten older and become more aware of the strain winter puts on food stores and the essentials that keep the village running, his fondness for snow and winter hadn’t truly abated.
But this? This is just bullshit.
Snow stretches out in all directions, covering everything from a rocky hill to the frozen trees to the towering mountaintop far above in a deceptive layer of white. Even after changing to his warmest pair of gloves and wrapping his pelt as tightly around him as possible, the wind still cuts through all his layers and leaves him shivering violently. This is ridiculous; he has been here for three minutes. How did they get dropped somewhere that feels even worse than Snowpeak and Hebra Mountains combined?!
Grumbling curses under his breath, he wraps a hand around his Twili crystal and drops down onto all fours, thick fur taking the brute of the wind. Instantly, he feels much warmer so, frostbite successfully averted, Twilight plants his ass down into the snow and tries to take stock of whatever is going on.
None of the landmarks nearby are familiar, either from repeat experience or passing glance, so it is safe to say he has no idea where he is or whose era he has ended up in.
Great. Fantastic. This is the best way to start the day.
Snorting out a cloud of warm air, he looks behind him at a large empty snowfield, then in front of him to the imposing pine forest, and then, just for good measure, to the side where the mountain rises up. Since it is safe to say the only person crazy enough to try to climb that is Wild, Twilight decides that heading up is the last direction he wants to go right now. While the open field may offer better sightlines, he is more confident thinking the Chain would likely head into the forest to look for shelter.
But there is something about the forest that… just sets him on edge. His hackles bristle at the sight of it and his gut squirms like larva on the end of a fishing hook. Every instinct warns him to circle along the outskirts instead of passing into the tree-line. Nervous, he pads closer to the forest’s edge and sniffs the air, trying to figure out what his subconscious is picking up but refusing to share.
Unsurprisingly, the scent of trees is the strongest. The sharp smell of pine, cedar and fir bark fills his nostrils. It smells… healthy at least, with no sign of the strange decaying tang that accompanies wood rot, but aside from that, the forest seems empty as though it’s completely barren of life. Animal scents should be all over this place: there should be deer trails winding through the trees, mice and rabbit burrowing beneath the snow, birds nesting in the trees, and the territorial markings of nearby wolf packs, but all of that is missing.
It doesn’t make any sense. There isn’t an animal or monster alive that can completely rid an area of wildlife. Even the Guardians that stalk Wild’s Hyrule Field can sometimes be seen with heron perched on their heads.
Whatever roams this forest is not something he wants to meet but he needs to find the others. He may be protected from the cold for now, but that is a luxury few members of the Chain have. The sooner he finds them, the sooner he knows for sure that everyone is okay.
With a reluctant huff, he starts off through the sparser sections of the trees, keeping himself as close to the forestline as he can. The slowly setting sun acts as his compass marker as it sinks closer to the horizon, causing the deeper parts of the forest beside him to darken with dusk’s gloom. The whole trek is oddly reminiscent of travelling to Snowpeak Mansion and he finds himself keeping an eye out for shifting winds in case a pack of wolfos decide to stalk behind him.
With nothing to occupy his attention, the walk is lonely. His only companions are the whistling wind that picks up light layers of powder from the snowbanks and the creaking of trees as they sway back and forth. Like this, who knows how far from his brothers or the nearest settlement and without a single animal in sight, he feels like the only living thing walking across this frozen era.
Loneliness isn’t really something he has gotten used to, especially not like this. Not when it’s so oppressively solitary. He is used to feeling lonely and out of place in a room full of people like there is a wall of glass standing between him and everyone else that stops him from truly belonging. After Midna, he at least had Epona by his side when he travelled the lands, then he had Wild, and then the Chain. It hadn’t felt like much before but now, as he trudges through deepening snow, he realises that the intense solitude of this desolate place is… nerve-wracking.
Wanting to find someone as soon as possible, he quickens his pace, even going so far as to venture a little further into the forest to avoid the deepening snow.
The sun dips lower, the temperatures grow colder, and the shadows stretch further as night draws ever closer. Frost collects along the tips of his fur. His paws are drenched from hours of walking through the snow and he’s actually starting to shiver. Shit, he’s going to have to stop soon to find shelter. Maybe within the trunk of a fallen tree would be a good idea. If push comes to shove, he can always wriggle his way into a shallow tree well and get a few hours of sleep.
Back in Wild’s era whenever they would go somewhere colder than a witch’s tit, Wild would take to securing some kind of flameblade or fire rod to Twilight’s side to stave off the effects of wind chill and hypothermia. What he wouldn’t give for a fire rod right about now. Sure, he can withstand the cold more than most thanks to this curse, but there comes a point when you really miss being warm. Also he kinda can’t feel his paws.
Keeping an eye out as he walks, Twilight studies the darkening forest beside him for any sign of shelter. Finally, a fir tree wreathed in layers of snow comes into view, the perfect candidate for a shallow tree well. He bounds over to it as quickly as possible before dropping to his belly and crawling beneath the needles, only to count snout-to-snout with another wolf hidden in the shadows.
Letting out a surprised yip, Twilight throws himself back away from the tree with his tail already tucked between his legs and ears pressed flat against his skull. The last thing he wants to do when he is entirely alone is start a territorial fight with a pack… but the other wolf never emerges from the branches. No growling fills the air, no gleaming eyes glare out at him, no shifting branches.
Something isn’t right here.
He takes a hesitant step forward and sniffs at the fir needles. Nothing. It doesn’t smell like a wolf. Confusion building, he wriggles back inside the tree well and when he looks properly, his heart drops at the sight before him.
There sure is a wolf under here but it’s been dead for who knows how long, its whole body frozen solid.
Twilight stares at the scene, dread swirling in his gut. The wolf looks the same as he just did: its ears are flattened against its head and its tail is tucked up and every single part of it screams submission and don’t hurt me. Once again, he is hit with the incessant gnawing thought that something is wrong here.
Against his better judgement, he reaches for the Twili shard, letting fur become skin and fabric and hair. Hylian once again, he shuffles back until the fir’s branches rest against his shoulders just to make sure he doesn’t sink into the well, and pulls his lantern from his pouch. In the darkness of the tree branches, his lantern’s flickering flame is almost painful to look at, but it puts everything on display.
He has to swallow back a lump in his throat at the sight.
This wolf is dead but… but it didn’t die of any injuries.
Its grey fur is almost entirely blood-free, save for a few deep scratches around its shoulders that, when he looks closer, have no sign of infection. Judging by the size of its snout and ruff, this poor thing was barely more than a pup. There should be a pack to protect it and keep it close, but somehow it ended up here cowering in fear under this tree, frozen like it is nothing more than a statue carved from ice.
The fear radiating off the young wolf’s frozen corpse pins Twilight in place, commanding all of his attention. He can’t stop staring. It doesn’t make sense. This doesn’t make sense. He’s… he’s missing something, likely the same thing that hangs over this forest and makes it feel so wrong.
He needs to get out of here. Now.
Mind made up, Twilight shoves himself free of the branches and staggers to his feet, swinging his lantern around to brighten up the dark. The cold hits him at full force and he is shivering in seconds, teeth chattering together so loudly he swears his temples pound. In the few minutes he spent underneath those branches, the wind has changed direction and grown stronger. Flurries of snow skim across his cheeks and leave what feels like raw welts in their wake.
Overhead, the sky is painted with softening hues of pink and purple—a sign night isn’t far away—but the forest is already dark with shadows. The small flame cast by his lantern may provide a tiny bit of warmth but it can’t do much against forest’s gloom. A strange feeling has settled on his shoulders, one he has never been able to name but knows means danger is near.
“O-okay, Link.” He pants to himself as he spins around again just to make sure nothing is sneaking up on him. “Move your ass.”
Dousing the lantern, he drops back onto four paws… and freezes. Something wafts on the winds, a scent he has never smelled before. It’s musky and harsh almost like a grizzlemaw bear but there is something wrong about it. He sniffs again and this time the odd sickly undertone hits, one that makes his hackles rise up and his lip curl back over his sharp fangs. The closest name he can put to the smell is a strange mix of a grizzlemaw and a ReDead, but wrong. Worse.
He is already about to turn tail and run when another scent carried on the wind reaches him, a scent he knows by heart. Herbs, fletching feathers, biting steel, well-worn fabric and something unique to Wild and Wild alone wafts past him, entangled up in the smell of the thing that is wrong.
Panic spikes in Twilight’s heart. He is downwind to both Wild and this strange unknown creature, but more importantly, the creature is downwind to Wild. The young wolf frozen where it cowers flashes through Twilight’s mind and he takes off into the woods without a second thought.
Snow crunches beneath his paws as he flies through the deep shadows, his nose guiding the way. Trees whip past. Flurries of snow blind him. His heart pounds in his ears and the bitter cold burns his throat but he doesn’t stop running. It doesn’t matter how often the forest floor dips and rises, doing its best to trip him up. It doesn’t matter if a fallen tree appears out of the blinding snow. He keeps running and running and running.
The scents grow stronger, and they also grow closer to each other. The creature in these woods closes in on Wild as Twilight closes in on them both.
Up ahead, something bright breaks the pattern of shadows and tree trunks. Brilliant firelight cuts through the forest, lighting up Wild’s tense face as he presses his back to a sturdy cedar trunk, a steaming flameblade held high. Each panicked breath fogs the air in front of him. Fear sours his scent as he scans the darkness all around him desperately.
What he doesn’t see is the large pale hand that slides around the tree trunk, just above his head. Long claws the size of daggers glint in the flameblade’s light. Eyeshine glows in the dark of the forest as something looms over him.
Twilight lets out a furious snarl as he bursts from the depths of the forest, the sound tearing through the tiny clearing. He has enough time to see Wild’s own eyes widen before he leaps up for the creature’s arm and buries his teeth into its flesh. Blood hits his tongue—the taste bitter and rotting—as the creature lets out a bone-rattling scream that pierces the night and makes Twilight’s ears ring.
Beneath the noise, he hears a panicked yell of, “Twilight!” but doesn’t take his attention of the creature, not when it’s still a threat. If he looks away to check on Wild, he is only going to let his guard down.
Still screeching, the creature staggers away from the tree and begins to thrash its arm madly, trying to dislodge Twilight’s teeth. Growling, Twilight bites down harder. He isn’t letting go! He isn’t letting it get past him!
The creature answers with a howling snarl of its own and the whole forest shakes from the sound.
In the light cast by Wild’s flameblade, Twilight sees the outline of the creature’s other arm rise up before sharp claws dig into the muscle of his shoulder, sending pain streaking through his whole body. A keen rises up but he doesn’t get the chance to react or try and free himself because he’s suddenly air-borne, thrown clean across the clearing.
The snow softens his landing, but only just. Something in his chest snaps and white-hot pain floods his side. Twilight lays there for a moment longer, panting through the tremors and trying to work out what the fuck just happened. Every twitch of his shoulders cause his own blood to hiss in the frigid air, making the feedback loop of pain just that little bit worse.
It takes him exactly two seconds to realise that being a wolf right now is more like to get him and Wild killed than do any good, and he reaches for the Twili shard by his heart. Dark squares of magic ripple across his form and, while he immediately starts shivering violently, the heavy weight of his chainmail and tunics help to shield some of the wounds from stinging environment, abating the pain just a little bit.
The sounds of a skirmish echoes around the clearing, quickly accompanied by Wild letting out a pained yelp then grunting as he hits the ground. Worry swirling in his gut, Twilight shoves one elbow underneath him and pushes himself up onto his knees, but he doesn’t get the chance to see if Wild is okay.
The only warning he gets is a terrified scream of, “Twilight, move!” before footsteps thunder towards him, shaking the ground. A too-large hand wraps around his throat and yanks him high up into the air to bring him face-to-face with the creature’s snarling maw.
It is a horrifying sight: the creature’s skull is somewhat bear-shaped but entirely hairless. Its skin pulled tight over its bones like a mummified corpse, like that poor dead wolf. A split in its skin stretches from one side of its jaw to the other and, when its lips open, Twilight stares at the rows and rows of dagger-shaped teeth that fills its mouth. Malevolent, hungry eyes grin at him as it pulls him closer and closer.
Gurgling in panic, Twilight scrambles to grab onto the creature’s thick fingers but no matter how hard he tries, he isn’t strong enough to snap the bone and free himself. He can barely get enough air to breathe!
Thinking quickly, he tries a new tactic and kicks one of his feet out at its chest, its thigh, its hips, anything he can reach, but he would make more headway kicking a wall. The creature doesn’t even flinch.
“Twi!” Wild screams again, racing towards them with his flameblade in hand, but he’s too far away to help.
All Twilight can do is watch in horror as the creature’s throat begins to glow.
Cold explodes from that yawning mouth and envelops him in an instant. He feels like someone just shoved him into a bath of ice water and is holding him under the surface. Instinct makes him suck in a ragged gasp of air but the cold burns his throat, tiny shards of ice scratching the flesh raw. Every single muscle seizes up, limbs stiffening and lungs refusing to draw in air. All he can hear is his heart racing in his ears as everything gets colder and colder until it aches.
Frost races across his skin and his clothes before seeping through his flesh down to his bones and organs. He’s never been so cold before in his life. The world narrows down as the darkness presses in, leaving nothing but a dizzying mix of snowflakes and glowing teeth. His hands fall limp by his sides, covered in a layer of crackling ice.
The warmth of unconsciousness beckons him. He can’t muster the effort to push through the cold and stay awake, not when the cold digs into his very soul and starts to pull him down. Eyelids fluttering closed, he starts to sink.
It’s warmer here at least. When he falls asleep, he’ll be warm again.
Heat sears across his face, sending a bone-deep shudder rippling through his body. Something very close to his ear screams and then he’s collapsing into the snow, staring up at the darkening sky. Swirling flurries of snow fill his vision. Flakes gather on his eyelashes, coating the edges of his vision in white. He can’t move. He can barely breathe. Tiny bits of air force their way down his throat but he can’t feel anything.
An explosion shakes the ground beneath him and the forest glows with tongues of flame. Another wave of heat hits him, burning his skin away. Fear spikes in his gut and Twilight moans weakly, but all he’s able to do is twitch his head slightly to the side. He doesn’t want to burn, doesn’t want to feel fire on his skin, not again. Not when it hurts so bad.
Crunching snow echoes in his ears as something races over and drops down beside him. Hands grab his face and tilt it up. The heat searing into his flesh makes him flinch and try to break free but whatever is holding him doesn’t let go. Finally, Twilight’s eyes start to work again, allowing him to see Wild leaning over him, face white with panic. Four long gashes are carved across his cheek, still bleeding freely and staining the collar of his snowquill tunic.
“Oh fuck,” Wild blurts out as his eyes dart across Twilight’s face. “Twi, can you hear me?! Twi!”
Strands of his hair are falling loose from his ponytail but even though Twilight knows they are brushing his face, he can’t feel them. Huh. That’s probably not good.
Wild lets out another series of curses before flying into motion, wrangling one of Twilight’s limp arms around his shoulders and hauling him upright. The change in position sends Twilight’s head spinning and anxiety floods what parts of him aren’t entirely frozen. His heart flutters in his chest like a fledgling trying to escape a cat. Huh, that… that does not feel good.
Refusing to hold his weight, his knees buckle beneath him and he topples sideways. The only thing that stops him from ending up a crumpled heap in the snow again is Wild shouldering his way beneath Twilight’s body. The contact hurts. Wild’s body heat presses against Twilight’s side but instead of the usual comforting warmth of a living, breathing person beside him, Twilight feels like he is leaning into a fire. Yet another thing that really isn’t good. Oh, well, not like he has the strength to pull away.
Somewhere in the back of his mind, he thinks he should help, should try to move his legs or at least hold some of his own body up, but nothing responds to the faint pulses of panic his freezing brain sends out. He’s stuck where he is, head lolled awkwardly into the crook of Wild’s neck as Wild hauls him forward.
“You’re okay, Twi.” Wild pants out, his warm breath burning Twilight’s ear. The fear in his voice is agonising. “You’re gonna be okay. We… we’ll get you warmed up soon, just hold on, okay?! Keep those eyes open, yeah?”
Listening to Wild beg honestly hurts more than the heat does. If all he has to do to not hear that tone again is stay awake, then Twilight can at least try. He manages a tiny nod, and Wild’s body shudders beneath his cheek.
“I got you,” he promises fiercely, holding Twilight closer.
Behind them, the creature’s eyes stay fixed on their backs. The weight of its presence doesn’t go away. It’s still here, still watching them, and Twilight can’t do anything but try to cling to consciousness as Wild pulls him into the darkening forest.