The thin, bitter air scrapes in Asher's throat. He gasps at it anyways, struggling to get enough in his lungs as he barrels through the forest. His magic roars within him, fueled by the panic stinging through his veins. It tears at the edges of his fragile control, breaking free in the form of searing white flames. They swirl around his hands and forearms, slicing through the darkness around him.

The night is too thick. Asher needs the light to see by, but as he struggles up a steep slope, dead leaves slipping under his shoes, he can only think of how visible the fire makes him. His heart's desperate rhythm hitches, and another wave of adrenaline floods through him. He's such an easy target.

A rustle brushes against Asher's ears. He stumbles, choking on a scream. Risking a glance over his shoulder, he strains to hear anything beyond his ragged breathing. Nothing but shadows and the stifling silence of the woods.

Faster, Asher pleads to nobody in particular, grabbing a tree to propel himself forward. His muscles are screaming; terror drags at his feet. Move faster.

Another sound, close enough for Asher to identify it as a footstep. Magic flares at the edge of Asher's senses, and something tangles around his legs. He yelps as the world tips, barely managing to throw an arm out to catch himself. The rocky ground strikes him like a wall, shoving the air from his lungs and sending a sharp line of pain up his wrist.

Asher twists around, scrabbling at the dirt. The flames around his arms blaze higher as the icy fear coiled around his chest tightens. A slim chain is lashed around his ankles, glittering in the harsh light. He stares at them for a moment, tremors wracking his body.

A sigh. "Stop running, boy. We both know it won't do anything."

Asher sucks in a breath and peers into the darkness, straining his eyes for any sign of Rivas. The Valkir's voice, tired and tinged with annoyance, is difficult to pin down. Asher's control slips, and his magic surges again. He closes his eyes, trying to keep himself from exploding. The heat of his fire is growing wilder, trying to catch onto the brittle leaves around him.

A flash of lightning blazes to life before Asher. He gasps and rolls to the side; its jagged fingers just miss his neck and cheek, close enough to leave a searing trail of pain behind it. He thrusts out one hand before Rivas can attack again, allowing some of his inner magic to snap free. He feels more than he sees the shockwave blast from his fingers, filling the air with dangerous, icy energy.

Rivas appears from seemingly nowhere, barely visible in the thick shadows. He braces himself; a sharp ache flares to life in Asher's chest as the man pushes his power away. The magic slides from Asher's grip, becoming slippery and indistinct. Rivas slowly straightens and lifts his head. His eyes flash silver in the moonlight.

"Asher," the Valkir tries again, almost gently. "There's nowhere to run."

But I have everything to run from. Asher scrambles backwards, kicking his feet in a feeble attempt to loosen the chains around them. A part of him fears his heart will burst under the sheer weight of this dark, awful panic; it roars in his ears, drowning his thoughts.

Gasping a curse, Asher wrenches the energy of the forest closer. He twists it around himself, allowing the magic within him to add to its power. Get me away from here, he thinks wildly. No response. The command is too vague, his control too weak.

Rivas takes a step forward, more lightning crackling to life around his fingers. Asher grits his teeth, a painful prickling sensation tearing at his chest as he throws more effort into the magic. He tries again, willing it to bend with all his might. Anywhere but here.

"Teleportation is dangerous," Rivas warns, realization flashing through his eyes. "Don't."

Asher ignores the Valkir, clawing at the magic's resistance. Something cracks; he hurriedly widens the gap, trembling as Rivas' lightning surges forward. Move!

With a terrible jolt, everything stops. The world spins and fades; Asher feels a sudden rush of movement and nothingness all at once. Darkness swirls in the corner of his vision, threatening to consume him. Driven by pure instinct, he clings to the magic as tightly as he can, letting it carry out his order.

A strange crack; without warning, Asher is flung back into his own body. Solid land slams against his shoulders. He might've felt pain, but the heavy weariness that sweeps over him muffles any other feelings. It's too quick, too sudden. Asher tries to fight it, but there is no stopping the shadows from drawing forward. He feels a dull throb flare into existence at the back of his skull, and then nothing at all.

<><><>

Asher cracks his eyes open. The night sky greets him, sprinkled with stars and edged by swaying branches. The bark is bare, dusted with a thin layer of snow that almost glows in the dim moonlight. Damp cold presses against his back, easily seeping through his thin shirt. He twists his head, wincing as it pounds in protest. More snow coats the ground around him in ragged patches. Where it has melted, the grass is slicked with water.

Asher groans, trying to regain his bearings. He's still lying on his back, his feet trapped within the metal links of the chain. A thrill of fear runs through him as the memories rush forth, and he weakly shifts his feet. The metal clinks. Saev.

Get up, the sensible part of Asher's mind whispers. It's very aware of how numb he feels. Get up, or you'll freeze to death.

Gritting his teeth, Asher obediently collects his strength and sits up. Frost snaps under his fingers, and icy beads of water trickle down his back. Pain cracks the heavy ache in his muscles, and a sharp hiss flies from his tongue. He forces his body into reluctant motion, reaching for the chains. The links scrape against his raw fingers.

After a few seconds and a great deal of cursing, Asher finally manages to loosen them and pull his legs free. He rubs his ankles, wearily waiting for his head to stop spinning. Idiot. He'd given the magic no direction, no limits, and it had sapped nearly all of his energy in return. You could have killed yourself.

But he hadn't, and however long Asher had been asleep, he now feels more or less steady. He struggles to get his feet underneath him and stands. The world sways; he staggers towards a nearby tree, wrapping one arm around the trunk to catch himself. Chills rattle down his spine, and tremors wrack the rest of his muscles. As his thoughts thaw, Asher realizes just how cold he really is.

Fire. I need fire. Asher hesitantly reaches for the magic, ignoring the throb of protest in his skull. After a few attempts, he manages to wrench some flames to life around his hands. As their warmth slowly spreads around him, Asher lifts his head and looks around.

Mountains still rise up around him, their peaks gleaming white and sharp. But they are a different shape than those Asher had grown used too, and their snow has apparently managed to drift downwards to the forest. How far has he traveled? Shaking his head, Asher turns back to the trees around him. He's at the base of a steep hill; a stream cuts through the grass a dozen or so feet away, moving at a sluggish pace. Its surface is an inky black, gilded with silver starlight.

A faint rustle catches Asher's ear. He spins around, a new wave of adrenaline surging through him. A crash, louder, and a soft cry of pain. Not a second later, a boy splits from the shadows above Asher, tumbling down the hill.

There isn't time to react. The boy bangs against a tree with a sharp oof and topples backwards, crashing right into Asher. Everything tips; the rocky ground strikes Asher's back, sending another jolt of pain through him. Something black flickers before his eyes, weaving a dark line across his vision, but the night renders it impossible to make out.

Agony spears through Asher's arm, sudden and excruciating. Ice splinters through his veins, clawing towards his heart. It's nothing like the previous chill of the woods: this is serrated, bitter, unnatural. So cold, it burns like the harshest flame.

Asher's magic rises without bidding, welling within his heart in a sudden surge of warmth. He clings to it, gasping, instinctively reaching out to fuel the heat. Frost is already blistering through the entire length of his arm; it slows as it meets his barrier, but still steadily creeps forward. It's agonizing, driving away any semblance of thought. Asher can't breathe.

No. Asher grinds his teeth together, desperation carving a new fire in his chest. He pushes it outwards, straining against the strange, awful cold. Slowly, horribly, he starts to push it away. The ice falters, clinging to Asher's skin with jagged claws. He whimpers, feeling his magic blazing at his fingers. He lets it flow forward, warm and soothing.

The ice shatters as suddenly as it appeared. Asher jolts back to awareness, sprawled across the forest floor. He rolls over, a pained cry piercing his ears. It's not his. He lifts his head, swaying.

The boy stumbles away, clutching at his chest with one hand. He's horribly thin, with dark hair and paper-white skin. Fire blazes across his arms, reaching up to his shoulders. It's blacker than anything Asher has ever seen, licking hungrily at the air. As Asher watches, a few strands dart towards him.

"Stop," the boy whispers. His voice is jagged, edged with ice. The fire reluctantly curls back; most of it sinks beneath the boy's skin, though a few strands continue to flicker between his fingers.

Asher scrambles upright, checking his arm. It's whole, though for a moment he glimpses a few dark lines fade from his skin. Fear blazes through him as he realizes that the boy is radiating the same, awful chill that was tearing through him moments before. Asher lets his magic flare in protest. His flames, which must have flickered out when he fell, burst back to life around his hands. He takes a step back.

"Who are you?" Asher demands, struggling to force the words out. Another magic-user? No, it can't be. The wrongness twining through the boy's magic, the cold, the hunger... he knows of only one thing that can cause that. But the Raek he encountered felt different, somehow. This chill twists, but not in the same way.

The boy lifts his head. He's only a yard away; Asher can see the black of his eyes, just as dark as his flames. But there's no real malice in his gaze; instead, it's hazy, swirling with pain and terror as it flicks to the fire winding around Asher's hands.

"Y-you're alive," the boy gasps, something like wonder scraping through the fear in his words.

Asher clenches his hands, staring at those flames. They're the source of that awful, searing cold: they have to be. "No thanks to you," he replies, but the panic thrashing through him erases any scrap of anger in his tone.

"Please." The boy's voice breaks. He's shaking, still fixated on Asher's flames. As Asher looks closer, shock shoves aside some of his fear. The boy can't be more than fifteen years of age, and is at least a head shorter than Asher. "Please, I didn't mean... I never meant to hurt anybody. I don't... I..."

Even more confusion enters the fray of Asher's thoughts. The boy's scared. Of him. Yet moments before, his icy magic had been digging into Asher's chest. Asher hesitates, feeling the heat of his flames start to abate.

"Another Tía? Huh."

The new voice drags Asher's attention upwards. Another boy—eighteen or nineteen, so not much older than Wade—is standing atop the hill. A blue cloak hangs around his shoulders, vibrant and jarring in the darkness. He tilts his head and moves forward, skidding down the loose dirt and snow with practiced ease.

The boy with the dark fire gasps, taking a half step back. His breathing is ragged; terror is etched into his posture, and hangs plain in his eyes. Familiarity stings at Asher. He'd been in the same position so very recently, wild with panic but with nowhere to go. Hunted. Was the new stranger a Valkir? Asher takes a step back, alarm prickling across the back of his neck.

"I didn't expect to meet anyone else out here," the older boy says. His tone is light, something like a laugh dancing through it. When his azure eyes shift to the other kid, though, they flash with an intensity that sends a shudder down Asher's spine. "Making new friends already, Nathan?"

Asher falters, glancing back at the dark boy—Nathan. Those cold, black flames crawl up his arm in jagged streaks, slicing through the air. Asher glimpses a pair of gloves clenched in Nathan's hand. They hang limp, strands of silver thread glinting along their sides.

"Who are you?" Asher presses, turning back around to face the stranger. He instinctively moves between the other boy and Nathan, his heart jolting in his chest. He can't fight a Valkir. Not like this, with exhaustion still tugging at his body. "What's going on? And what's a Tía?"

"Ah, forgive me." The boy dips into an exaggerated bow, caution flickering across his face before being swept away by a bright smile. "Call me... Finlay. And my friend over there is Nathan, though you may know him by a different name." The end of the sentence trips into a question, expectant and coiled tight with some hidden emotion. "Have you heard of the Anathe?"