The bridge stayed behind them longer than it should have.

  Not physically—stone obeyed distance just fine—but in the way the mind kept circling back, replaying shadows and words like unfinished sentences.

  Kael walked at the front again.

  No one argued this time.

  The snow ahead thinned into a brittle crust that cracked softly underfoot, each step sounding too loud in the hush. The Frostline stretched open into a wide, shallow basin where dark stone broke through the white like old scars.

  Nima finally broke the silence. “So. Hypothetically. If someone calls you an heir—”

  Eira cut him off without looking back. “Don’t.”

  Nima closed his mouth. Opened it again. “I was going to say hypothetically.”

  Eira stopped walking.

  The scouts halted with her, instincts sharp.

  Eira turned slowly and fixed Nima with a look that could cauterize curiosity. “Hypothetically, if you finish that sentence, I will push you into the nearest ravine.”

  Nima swallowed. “Hypothetically… understood.”

  Kael kept moving.

  He appreciated Eira’s restraint. He also knew it wouldn’t last.

  The word still rang in his chest.

  Heir.

  The Mist inside him hadn’t surged. It hadn’t lashed out or answered. It had done something worse.

  It had gone quiet.

  Not dormant.

  Attentive.

  Nyros sensed it too. He stayed close, flank brushing Kael’s leg every few steps, tail flicking with unease.

  They reached a break in the terrain where the snow dipped into a shallow bowl dotted with wind-carved stones. The scouts began to fan out automatically, checking sightlines.

  Eira fell into step beside Kael. Her voice was low, controlled. “You’re not going to keep walking forever.”

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  “I could try,” Kael said.

  She didn’t smile. “You don’t get called an heir by a stranger in the Frostline without consequences.”

  Kael exhaled slowly. “I didn’t choose the word.”

  “No,” Eira said. “But you reacted to it.”

  He glanced at her. “Barely.”

  She raised an eyebrow. “That’s what worries me.”

  They stopped near a cluster of stones that formed a natural windbreak. The scouts set camp with practiced efficiency, movements quieter than before. No fire again. Just tarps and shared body heat.

  Kael sat, back against the stone, and closed his eyes.

  The backlash returned—not sharp, not punishing. Just a persistent heaviness, like walking with a soaked cloak.

  He breathed through it.

  Iron Rhythm.

  In.

  Out.

  Count the beat.

  Nyros curled beside him, warmth solid and grounding.

  Eira sat opposite him, staff across her knees. She studied him openly now.

  “You didn’t deny it,” she said.

  Kael opened one eye. “I denied knowing what they meant.”

  “That’s not the same thing.”

  He closed his eye again. “It was the truth I could afford.”

  Eira leaned forward slightly. “Kael… that person wasn’t guessing. They were confirming.”

  Kael said nothing.

  Eira continued, softer now. “You’re hiding something bigger than technique. Bigger than talent. And I need to know if it’s going to get us killed.”

  That was fair.

  Kael stared at the snow between his boots. He chose his words carefully, carving them down to what he could give without breaking everything.

  “I don’t know who my parents were,” he said. “Not really. I don’t know what the Mist expects of me. And I don’t know what happens if I stop holding it back.”

  Eira listened. Didn’t interrupt.

  “What I do know,” Kael continued, “is that the outside world doesn’t understand Eldoria. And Eldoria doesn’t understand what’s beyond the veil. If people start putting names on me—titles—I become a problem.”

  Eira nodded slowly. “And problems attract solutions.”

  “Usually violent ones,” Nima said from inside his blanket burrito.

  Eira didn’t scold him this time.

  Kael glanced at Nima. “You should be afraid.”

  Nima blinked. “I am.”

  “No,” Kael said quietly. “You should be more afraid. But you’re still joking.”

  Nima considered this, then frowned. “That’s unsettlingly accurate.”

  One of the scouts approached, careful. “Tracks,” he said. “Old ones. Not ours.”

  Kael’s eyes snapped open.

  “Where?”

  The scout gestured to the far edge of the basin. “Half-buried. Heavy. Not recent.”

  Kael stood, joints stiff, and followed. Eira rose immediately.

  The tracks were massive—deep impressions pressed into stone where snow had long since been stripped away by wind. Whatever had made them hadn’t cared about concealment.

  Claws. Four-toed. Wide stride.

  Nyros growled, low and warning.

  Eira crouched. “This isn’t the watcher.”

  “No,” Kael agreed. “This is something that doesn’t need to hide.”

  Nima peeked over a rock and squeaked. “That’s… big.”

  Kael felt the Mist stir again—not curiosity this time, but recognition.

  Boss-class, a quiet part of him noted.

  He pressed it down immediately.

  Low profile.

  But the land had already shifted.

  The basin’s air felt heavier. Snow leaned inward again, not like before—this wasn’t listening.

  It was anticipating.

  Eira straightened. “We should move.”

  Kael nodded. “We’re on a path now. Whether we want to be or not.”

  Nima groaned. “I miss being unnoticed.”

  “So do I,” Kael said.

  They broke camp quickly and moved out, the weight of unseen eyes pressing closer with every step. The Frostline ahead narrowed, stone walls rising like ribs around a throat.

  Kael walked on, calm on the outside, tight within.

  Being seen had a cost.

  And the north had just sent him the bill.

  after you’re noticed.

  Others are activated.