12-09-2025, 01:45 AM
Tristan stared at the radio as though his anger would awaken it. The old thing sat mute and inert on the warped desk, rimmed with frost and age. He could hear the wind outside, howling faintly around the building’s bones, a ceaseless murmur that reminded him they were still caged here, still at the mercy of a place neither of them understood.
Thalia’s voice slowed the drumbeat in his chest. He hadn’t meant to pace, but of course he was. Movement was instinct. When there was danger, you moved. When there were questions with no answers, you found them. You didn’t sit. But there was a can of food in her hand, warm, waiting, and the smell of beans was suddenly grounding. He took it from her without a word, his callused fingers brushing hers for half a second longer than needed, then sank down next to her, drawn into the heat she’d created with a quiet kind of awe. The ground beneath them was surprisingly warm.
That startled him more than the fire, somehow. A trick of her mageia, no doubt. It hummed under his palm when he pressed it to the floor. There was no visible glow, just a gentle, enduring warmth that soaked into his bones like a balm.
“I forget how powerful you are,” he said after a while, golden gaze locked upon her. His voice was low, dry, with the barest edge of warmth. “No one taught you how to use it, and you still managed to trap heat in stone.”
He ate quietly after that, the food little more than a paste, but it was hot and filling. His limbs gradually began to thaw, the stiffness leaving his joints, other than the injured shoulder. Only when he’d scraped the last of the can clean did he lean back against the wall, head tilted, eyes half-lidded.
“We’re not staying here forever.” It was a promise spoken more to himself than to her. “Tomorrow I’ll see what I can do with the radio.” He intended to slip into the dream and find wolves, but it was many hours before his body rested enough to allow it.
Tristan stood on a stretch of pale rock, his body cast in the light of nothing. He opened his mind, pushing outward like a pulse.
Sierra.
Silence.
Sierra, answer me.
Thalia’s voice slowed the drumbeat in his chest. He hadn’t meant to pace, but of course he was. Movement was instinct. When there was danger, you moved. When there were questions with no answers, you found them. You didn’t sit. But there was a can of food in her hand, warm, waiting, and the smell of beans was suddenly grounding. He took it from her without a word, his callused fingers brushing hers for half a second longer than needed, then sank down next to her, drawn into the heat she’d created with a quiet kind of awe. The ground beneath them was surprisingly warm.
That startled him more than the fire, somehow. A trick of her mageia, no doubt. It hummed under his palm when he pressed it to the floor. There was no visible glow, just a gentle, enduring warmth that soaked into his bones like a balm.
“I forget how powerful you are,” he said after a while, golden gaze locked upon her. His voice was low, dry, with the barest edge of warmth. “No one taught you how to use it, and you still managed to trap heat in stone.”
He ate quietly after that, the food little more than a paste, but it was hot and filling. His limbs gradually began to thaw, the stiffness leaving his joints, other than the injured shoulder. Only when he’d scraped the last of the can clean did he lean back against the wall, head tilted, eyes half-lidded.
“We’re not staying here forever.” It was a promise spoken more to himself than to her. “Tomorrow I’ll see what I can do with the radio.” He intended to slip into the dream and find wolves, but it was many hours before his body rested enough to allow it.
The Wolf Dream
Tristan stood on a stretch of pale rock, his body cast in the light of nothing. He opened his mind, pushing outward like a pulse.
Sierra.
Silence.
Sierra, answer me.