The wind whispered through the steel corridors of Isvann Hold, a cold breath that seeped through seams and vents, reminding every wall-bound soul that Zephara's frost was never far.

Skadi pulled her coat tighter around herself as she walked beside the Hallvik family. Her steps were steady, but heavy.

The youngest child's boots tapped a soft, erratic rhythm against the frost-rimed floor. Davik kept close behind, a quiet murmur shared now and then with his wife, Lina. The kind of words you spoke to keep fear from settling too deep.

They turned past the mouth of the maintenance bay, and Skadi's eyes flicked toward it unbidden.

She could still see Akiko there, smirking like she had it all under control, even when she didn't.

"It'll throw up a shield around you. Just for a second. But that might be all you need," she'd said, pressing the panel into her hand like it was a promise.

Skadi's fingers curled inside her pocket. The panel was still warm. Warm energy buzzed faintly against her palm.

Lina's voice pulled her back.

"Thank you again," she said, gentle but worn. Her arm was wrapped around her youngest, holding them close. "I don't know what we would've done without you."

"You don't need to thank me," Skadi said. Quieter than she meant to. Her eyes didn't leave the corridor ahead. Frost clung to the windows like a second skin. Beyond them, the outer gates loomed, half-lit, rimmed with blue shadow.

"It's not safe to be alone out here."

Davik nodded. "Still. We owe you."

Skadi tried to smile. It didn't reach much farther than the corners of her mouth. "Let's just get you home."

The Hold stretched quiet around them. Corridors long and dim, overhead lights humming like distant insects. Skadi's boots scuffed softly. The kids' lighter steps kept to her left, their breaths short and white in the cold.

Lina glanced down at them. "Not much farther now," she murmured, voice tight around the warmth.

Skadi kept her focus forward, hand brushing the shield panel again. Its thrum vibrated up her wrist like a pulse not her own.

"You're quiet," Davik said, voice low. Careful.

She didn't look back. "Keeping watch."

He hesitated, then nodded. "Right. Sorry. It's just been... a long day."

Long didn't cover it. But she only gave a small nod.

The Hallviks' home appeared at the end of the corridor. A modest unit tucked beside a maintenance intake. Plain door, faintly worn edges, but clean.

Lina exhaled softly. Her shoulders dropped an inch, relief blooming visible across her frame. "Here we are."

She looked to Skadi with a small smile. "You've done more than enough for us tonight."

Skadi didn't answer at first. Her eyes lingered on the door. Her fingers hovered near her pocket.

"Go inside," she said. "I'll check around the outside."

Lina hesitated. "Is that necessary? We're in the Hold, and—"

"Precaution," Skadi said, her tone leaving little room for argument.

Davik stepped in, hand brushing Lina's arm.

"Let her," he said quietly. Then to Skadi, "Thank you. Again."

Skadi nodded. No need for more words.

The door hissed open. Warm light spilled out, soft and yellow. She watched them disappear inside, their voices fading into the stillness as the door slid shut behind them.

She stood alone in the corridor, fingers resting on the edge of her pocket.

The floor shifted, ever so slightly. A faint tremor. Gone before it could be named.

She turned, scanning the corridor. Lights flickered overhead. A rumble groaned through the Hold's bones. Distant, so low it could have been her imagination.

Her jaw tightened. She moved, steps light, rounding the outer corridor with eyes sharp and breath tight. Listening. When she returned, the hallway was still. The tremor, if it had been real, left no mark.

She knocked lightly. The door slid open at once.

Lina smiled. "Come in," she said. "You've paced enough for one night. Let us take care of you, just a little."

The inside of the Hallvik home was modest but warm, shelves tucked with blankets and small keepsakes, the faint glow of a heater casting long shadows against the walls. After the thin chill of the corridors, it felt like stepping into another world.

Davik was already at the small table, setting out mismatched cups and a scuffed old teapot.

"Figured you could use something to settle your nerves," he said, nodding toward the empty chair. "Lina swears by this stuff."

Skadi hesitated in the doorway. Her coat clung to her, cold damp seeping into her sleeves. She stepped in slowly, like her presence might disturb the peace.

You might be reading a stolen copy. Visit Royal Road for the authentic version.

"Thanks," she murmured, easing down into the chair with care.

Lina moved quietly through the room, gathering stray toys into a corner. The kids trailed her like shadows, their chatter subdued, half-swallowed by the room's stillness.

The teapot hissed, steam curling into the air. Davik slid a cup across the table toward Skadi, the scent earthy and unfamiliar.

She curled her hands around the ceramic. The warmth soaked into her fingers. Steam brushed her cheek.

Skadi took a slow sip. The taste was mild. Bitter on the back end, but clean. It settled somewhere low in her chest.

"It's good," she said after a pause, her voice steadier than she expected.

Davik grinned. "Told her it wasn't just in her head."

Lina rolled her eyes, but the smile that followed was real. "You've done enough running around for one night. Stay a while. You're safe here."

Skadi didn't answer. She nodded once, fingers tightening slightly on the cup. For a moment, it held. The quiet. The illusion of calm.

Then one of the kids lifted a hand. "Can I turn it on now?" they asked, clutching a small holo-projector to their chest.

Lina turned. "Go ahead," she said, soft. "Keep the volume low."

The child darted to the center of the room, thumbs working quickly. The device flickered to life with a soft chime. A splash of bright color bloomed into the air. Some cheerful intro animation, a cartoon world spinning in place.

But the image stuttered. The music stopped. The feed cut sharply to static, then resolved into the hard-edged banner of a government override.

"This is a prioritized broadcast," said a voice, tense and breathless. "All citizens are urged to remain calm."

The children froze. One slowly backed away.

"Reports continue to come in regarding the unidentified vessel now in orbit above Zephara."

Behind her, an image resolved. A vessel rimmed with starlight, too sharp, too angular. Glowing veins traced its frame like circuitry bleeding through armor.

Skadi's breath caught. She stared at the projection, the edges of her vision narrowing as the shield panel in her pocket hummed against her thigh.

"Could it be Haven?" Davik asked, leaning forward.

The anchor spoke before anyone else could. "Sources within Haven's orbital command deny any connection to the vessel. Its design does not match any configuration in their fleet."

Skadi's pulse ticked fast under her skin. Her jaw worked once, no sound escaping.

"What's it doing up there?" Lina asked, her voice thin.

Skadi's answer was quiet, barely louder than the projector's hum. "Not sightseeing."

The feed continued. "Reports from Isvann Hold indicate disruptions to vital systems, including seismic activity detected near critical infrastructure. Officials urge residents to remain indoors."

Lina's hand curled tight around Davik's. Her eyes flicked to the children. One of them had stopped watching, turning toward her instead.

Skadi set her cup down carefully.

"Stay inside," she said. "Keep the kids close. If anything feels off, anything, head for the shelters."

Davik turned toward her, tension surfacing beneath his words. "What about you?"

Her fingers brushed the shield panel in her pocket. Still pulsing. Still warm.

"I'll be fine," she said. There was no warmth in her tone.

She crossed to the door without another word. The cold met her like a breath held too long. The warmth of the Hallvik home clung to her coat like memory, but it didn't follow her into the corridor.

Her steps were brisk. Focused. The silence was thinner now. The lights overhead flickered. Something deeper rumbled beneath the steel.

She didn't look back.

She reached the corridor that bordered the Hold's outer edge, a narrow artery flanked by tall observation windows. Beyond the glass, Zephara's surface sprawled in all directions, a frozen white wasteland under the sallow haze of distant sunlight.

Skadi paused, breath fogging faintly against the window. For a heartbeat, the stillness outside almost calmed her, something unchanging in the endless ice. A silence that didn't ask questions.

Then the flash caught her eye. A sharp streak of light sliced through the upper haze, too fast, too controlled. Skadi stepped closer, squinting. The flare brightened as it dropped, a trailing spear of fire knifing down from orbit.

Her stomach dropped.

Fusion drive.

No one lit that kind of fire near the Hold. Not unless they meant to boil half the moon.

The shape behind the flame resolved as it fell. Angular, sleek, a descending predator wrapped in ion flare. A construct, all blurred edges and impossible angles.

It twisted midair, deliberate and graceful, then flared again.

The drive screamed to life, sending a plume of white-hot exhaust crashing downward. Even behind reinforced glass, the brilliance made her wince. Then the horizon ignited. A roar, deep and distant, rolled through the Hold. The floor trembled beneath her boots, a low shudder that hummed through the walls and into her spine.

She staggered back a step. The tremor faded. The dread didn't.

Skadi turned and ran. Her boots pounded down the corridor, breath burning in her throat. Lights flickered above her. As if the systems didn't trust their own stability.

Her mind reeled. She'd seen power before. Had seen constructs tear through reinforced plating like it was foil. But this, a fusion plume fired this close to civilian infrastructure, was more than a show of strength. It was a warning. A line being crossed.

And it had landed too close to home.

She turned a corner hard, her shoulder brushing the wall. Another corridor. Another flicker. Her lungs strained with every breath, the air sharper than it should have been.

Please be okay.

The words repeated in rhythm with her footfalls. Not spoken. Just there.

Please be okay.

She hit the door panel with a shaking hand. The seal released with a soft hiss, and she slipped inside before it had finished retracting. Cool air met her, still and unmoving, the kind that lingered in rooms left untouched for too long.

She closed the door behind her, let it hiss shut. Her back pressed against the frame.

Silence.

"Mom?" she called out, voice sharp, cutting through the quiet.

A pause, then a familiar voice. "In here."

Skadi let out a breath, shoulders dropping slightly. She moved into the main room. The scent of vegetables and salt hit her, something warm simmering on the stove.

Her mother stood in the kitchen, hunched slightly over the counter. A knife tapped softly against the board.

"You're alright," Skadi said, stepping closer.

Her mother glanced up, brow knitting. "Of course I am." She set the knife aside and wiped her hands. "What's going on? You're pale as snow."

Skadi hesitated. Her hand brushed the edge of her pocket, the shield panel humming quietly beneath the fabric.

"It's nothing," she said. "Some trouble in the Hold. Just wanted to check on you."

The lie was thin. She didn't dress it up.

Her mother held her gaze a moment longer than was comfortable. Then nodded once.

"Well, I'm fine. You're the one running around like someone lit your coat on fire."

Skadi gave a weak laugh. "Yeah. Maybe."

She drifted toward the small couch in the corner. The cushions were worn and familiar. She sank down into them slowly, one hand brushing the edge of the holo-projector.

The screen flickered on with a soft chirp. The anchor's face appeared mid-sentence.

"—surge detected from the unidentified vessel now stationed above Zephara."

Behind her, a projection unfurled. The same ship Skadi had just seen through the glass.

The anchor's voice was too calm. Too practiced.

"Orbital sensors confirm a fusion-powered object has entered the upper atmosphere. Design remains unidentified."

The image changed, grainy footage of something falling fast, streaking through Zephara's sky like a blade dipped in fire.

Skadi stared. Her fingers curled tight.

"Experts are calling the maneuver reckless," the anchor continued. "Potentially catastrophic."

A commentator appeared. Pale, wide-eyed, speaking too fast.

"That kind of drive plume this close to the surface? It could destabilize crustal pressure systems."

Skadi didn't blink.

The afterimage of the falling construct burned behind her eyes, that impossible shape, the fusion flare, the hunger in its precision. She stared at the projection, as if watching it long enough might change what she saw.

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