Snow fell in slow, soundless sheets.

  It muffled the world—deadening wind, swallowing footprints, hiding the scars Kaelen left behind as he moved through the frozen ravine. His breath fogged the air beneath the high collar of his cloak. The Veil Lord attire stayed folded and bound across his back, untouched, patient.

  His weapons, however, were warm in his hands.

  The obsidian katana rested loose at his side.

  The whip coiled at his hip.

  The twin daggers sat reversed for quick draw.

  They never chipped.

  Never dulled.

  They drank force without complaint.

  The snow shifted.

  Kaelen stopped.

  The ground ahead bulged—then exploded upward.

  A Ni-beast burst free in a spray of ice and stone. It was massive, quadrupedal, plated in frost-crystal and black sinew. Steam rolled from its jaws as Ni condensed around it in visible arcs—cold so dense it burned.

  A Glacier Mauler.

  Kaelen exhaled slowly.

  “Alright,” he muttered. “Let’s finish this.”

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  The beast charged.

  Kaelen moved first.

  Lightning flickered—not wild, not explosive—controlled, running along his nerves, sharpening reaction and balance. He slid under the first sweeping claw, snow erupting behind him, and carved upward with the katana.

  The blade bit deep.

  The Mauler roared.

  Blood—thick, dark, steaming—splashed across white snow.

  Shadow Ni surged next.

  Kaelen stepped into the beast’s blind spot as shadows bent, pulling him sideways faster than muscle alone could manage. He reappeared at its flank, daggers flashing, severing tendons with surgical precision.

  The Mauler bucked violently, frost spikes detonating outward.

  Kaelen took the hit.

  Ice slammed into his side, cracking ribs, sending him skidding across the ravine floor. Pain flared—but his Constitution held. Blood Ni answered instinctively, heat blooming beneath his skin, sealing damage as fast as it formed.

  He rose through the snow.

  The beast reared back for a killing charge.

  Kaelen didn’t retreat.

  He planted his feet.

  Blood Ni surged outward—not reckless, not draining—just enough. Shadow wrapped around his legs, anchoring him. Lightning threaded through his arms and into the katana.

  He swung once.

  The strike split frost, hide, bone, and Ni-core in a single arc.

  The Mauler collapsed mid-charge.

  Silence returned.

  Blood spread across the snow in long, branching veins—dark red against blinding white. Steam curled upward, carrying the sharp metallic scent of victory and exhaustion.

  Kaelen stood there, chest heaving.

  Then—

  He felt it.

  Not danger.

  Not Ni.

  Presence.

  Kaelen turned slowly.

  Someone stood at the edge of the ravine, where stone met snowfall.

  A young man—about his age. Dark hair dusted white with snow. Long coat hanging open, unmoving despite the wind. His hands were visible.

  Empty.

  Relaxed.

  Watching.

  Not hostile.

  Not friendly.

  Just… measuring.

  Kaelen tightened his grip on the katana.

  Their eyes met.

  And for the first time since exile began—

  Kaelen Volkov was no longer alone in the wild.