Book II: Chapter 14 – Fresh Snow No Longer

The broad fighter looks like he wants to test that, and for one long moment, I think he might.

Eventually, caution seems to win out, however reluctantly. His grip on his sword changes. He gives the blade a deliberate turn, making a show of it rather than preparing to strike. The sharp-looking fighter watches Bliss with open hatred now, no smile left to soften it.

At the edge of my vision, the rogue slowly relaxes his stance. His knife is sheathed, his hands empty, yet somehow he seems no less dangerous for it. His eyes never leave Kit.

Bliss keeps Nightcarver raised between them and us.

The Dark Paladin’s helm turns slowly, first toward the three of them, then toward Bliss, then toward us. I hate how much I want to know what he is thinking.

His metallic voice cuts through the standoff with the finality of a coffin lid slamming shut. “I’m not participating in this. We are done here.”

Bliss’s shoulders do not relax, but something in the set of them changes. Not relief, exactly. She is too angry for that. But she seems to arrive at the same arithmetic I do. Three against six is not a clean kill.

The broad fighter points his sword at the Dark Paladin, though there is little conviction behind it. “You cannot abstain from your own party.”

A low chorus of moans and sharp cries of pain begins to rise beneath the Dark Paladin’s helm. Unearthly voices that are not his.

Barrowcry.

The voices swell, but he holds them in check. His own voice carries over them, flat and cold. “I just did.”

The broad fighter’s face darkens, but he lowers his sword. “So that’s it? We let them walk?”

“We honor the terms.”

The broad fighter looks from the Dark Paladin to Bliss, then past both of them to me. His eyes linger on my shoulder, my ribs, the way I hold Stormcast with more determination than strength. He wants this. I can see it in him. Not just the loot or the profit, but the chance to prove his dominance. Unfortunately for him, the numbers aren't there.

The broad fighter finally spits into the snow. “Fine.”

The sharp-looking fighter turns on him. “Fine?”

The broad fighter's eyes return to Bliss. “Not here.” The two words carry enough promise to frost the air between them.

“You'll pay for this when we're back under the shackles,” the sharp-looking fighter says, turning his attention to Bliss.

The broad fighter steps closer to her, stopping just outside Nightcarver's reach. “Guildmaster's going to love hearing how you chose fresh snowflakes over your own colors.”

Bliss's smile slips for a moment. Then it is back in place, sharper, prettier, and more false than before.

“Then I suppose I'd better look charming for the telling.”

The broad fighter smirks and lets out a short, humorless laugh. “Keep smiling, Bliss. I wanna remember it when judgment is passed.”

Nightcarver hums.

The Dark Paladin steps between them, though not close enough to touch either. “Loot,” he says. 

The broad fighter turns away first, shoving his sword back into its sheath hard enough that the metal protests. The sharp-looking fighter follows, muttering something under his breath. The rogue moves last, and even then, his eyes stay on Kit for two extra heartbeats.

Kit shows him teeth. He looks away first.

Small victories. Ugly ones.

The looting begins again.

This time, nobody jokes.

The three hostile Jest members gather their shares with bitter efficiency. Coins vanish into pouches. Small drops are sorted and counted. Anything even faintly interesting gets checked twice. Their movements are sharp, angry, and practiced, like this is a ritual they have performed after worse things than goblins.

The broad fighter claims his two shares with the flat certainty of someone daring anyone to argue. The sharp-looking fighter takes his with a smile that keeps twitching at the edges. The rogue says nothing at all as he pulls an amulet from the neck of a dead ice goblin Raka cleaved in two.

A Rare drop?

The terms of our little deal come back to me.

We keep all the Rares. No fuss.

I feel the collective anger flare through the bond as he pockets it without so much as a backward glance. Enora's expression tells me she feels no differently.

The Dark Paladin takes only his agreed shares.

Frustration finally gets the better of me. I open my HUD and select [Leave Raid].

A chime echoes across the field.

[Raid Group Two has dropped]

No one comments.

When the division is done, the broad fighter shoulders his pack and looks at Bliss one last time.

“You made your choice.”

Bliss's smile turns lazy. “I usually do.”

“No,” he says. “This time you made ours.”

Both fighters step past her. One pauses just long enough to murmur something I do not catch, but whatever it is makes Bliss's mouth tighten. Then he keeps walking. The rogue follows without a word.

The three of them move toward the trees, back toward the safer route, their boots crunching through old blood and fresh snow.

The Dark Paladin lingers, his helm turning toward Bliss. “When we return, this becomes guild business.” 

Bliss rests Nightcarver against her shoulder. Her bravado falters beneath the weight of his words.

“I know. Hey, thanks for…” She pauses, considering her words before a small smirk returns. “…doing nothing.”

The Dark Paladin glances over all of us. “The Timberline remembers carelessness.”

At the moment, I’m not sure whether he means ours or theirs.

Then he turns and follows the others.

Bliss watches him go, holding that smirk until he is far enough away that only we can see what it costs her.

Nightcarver dissolves into black-violet smoke around her hand.

Bliss stands with her back to us for another breath, tail low now, shoulders falling as her chin dips. She remains that way while I send a message through the bond, repeating it in a whisper for Enora.

“Let’s grab our share and get out of here quickly.”

Bliss barely moves as we collect what remains of the loot. When we're finished, I approach with a small pouch holding her double share and extend it toward her.

She glances over her shoulder at the pouch, then turns away again with a deep breath.

I watch her rebuild herself piece by piece. Posture first. Chin next. A playful tilt of her hips. Then the bright little mask that makes people underestimate how much she sees and overestimate how little she feels.

When she finally turns around, none of it is quite back in place.

“I did not know.” Her eyes flick toward the pouch in my hand. “And keep that. It'll probably do you a lot more good than it will me.”

For some reason, I believe her. On both counts.

It surprises me how quickly that happens.

Kit's suspicion shifts through the bond. Bending, not breaking. Even Raka, who trusts slowly and judges by action, has lowered Frostreaver. She is no longer looking at Bliss like prey wearing lipstick.

“I know,” I say.

Bliss’s eyes search my face.

“You should not,” she says.

“I probably shouldn’t.”

That earns the smallest breath of a laugh.

The wind catches her curls and pushes them across her cheek.

Perri shifts beside us, one hand still gripping her staff. “What happens now?”

Bliss’s smile returns on instinct, fast and bright.

“Oh, don’t you worry your soft little ears over that.” Her eyes flick to Perri’s ears, and the old Bliss almost makes it through. Almost. “I’m a girl who can handle herself.”

Perri does not look reassured and neither do I.

Bliss notices and rolls her eyes with theatrical offense. “Really. Bruised egos. Guild politics. A few boys upset I spoiled their little snow-day robbery. I have survived far worse.”

Kit’s voice is cool. “Have you?”

Bliss looks at her. The two of them hold each other’s gaze for a moment.

Something passes between them. I feel the change in Kit through the bond, but I cannot quite put a name to it. Not trust. Not friendship. Something sharper and more honest.

Bliss’s smile softens a fraction before she straightens and glances toward the trampled path back.

The Dark Paladin waits near the edge of the pines, black armor half-lost among the trunks. Not close enough to hear. Close enough to remind her that she is leaving with them.

My chest tightens as I echo Perri’s question. “What happens when you get back?”

Bliss waves one hand as if brushing away smoke. “A lot of shouting. A lot of dramatic speeches about loyalty. Someone will say I embarrassed the guild. Someone else will say I endangered profits. There may be pointing.” Her smile brightens. “I am excellent under pointing.”

“Bliss.”

The use of her name makes her pause.

My voice is rough, but I am too tired to wrap concern in anything softer. “What happens?”

For half a second, the mask slips again, and there is fear beneath it.

Then she buries it beneath a wink.

“Fresh snowflake or not, Vincent, you made enemies today.”

I look toward the trees. “So did you.”

“I never would have really called them friends anyway.” She shrugs. “Look, take your share. Get back to the safe zone. Do not linger. Do not follow us. Do not try to be heroic about this.”

“I wasn’t planning to,” I answer a little too quickly.

Her eyebrow lifts, and for an instant, I think I've actually hurt her feelings.

I sigh, then manage a quick smirk of my own. Kit catches my intent through the bond, and her lips twitch.

“Not much, anyway.”

Bliss tilts her head. “There he is.”

For one heartbeat, her usual grin returns.

Then it fades.

Bliss turns toward the trees and the carnage surrounding us. “Vincent?”

I look at her.

“Your party did well.”

The words are quieter than before, stripped of their usual teasing.

Then she starts walking back.

The Dark Paladin waits until she reaches him. I cannot hear what he says or what she answers. Then both of them disappear into the frost-heavy pines after the others, toward the safe zone.

A moment later, we start back toward the safer edge of the Timberline as well.

Alive, paid, bloodied, and colder than before.

Fresh snowflakes no longer.

The path feels different on the way out. The trees lean close, their branches heavy with frost, their shadows layered deep between the trunks. Earlier, the danger had teeth and hooked spears and blue-pale hands reaching through the snow.

The ice goblins were not the only predators in the Timberline.

Maybe they were not even the worst ones.

At the edge of the safe zone, I stop and look back.

The pines swallow everything quickly here. Blood. Footprints. Bad decisions. Already, the falling snow is covering the tracks. By tomorrow, it might look as though nothing happened here at all.

Somewhere ahead of us, Bliss is walking back beside the Dark Paladin toward a guild that may decide her truth does not count.

She said she could handle herself.

I tell myself she can.

For one breath, I almost believe it.