Shiver stared up towards the roof of her room. Marta’s snoring punctuated the silence, at regular intervals, and she was reminded of the life that she had been on the brink of living, before her world came crashing down on her.

  She reflected on the dinner, when they had braved the wrath of Richard the soldiercrab, to make it up to Marta and Pov for bailing them out of their failed heist of the archaeologist’s guild.

  The day that Marta and Pov had offered her a proper life with them. Even if they looked out for her, tried to coax her into their family, Shiver had clung to her cave for the silliest of reasons.

  After being abandoned once, it was hard to trust again. Pov and Marta had prevailed, whittling her down with their frustrating consistency, bearing with her antics, until she had agreed to the live they offered her.

  A bright, new chapter, ahead of her.

  Shiver softly slid out of the bed that they had all piled into.

  With a hint of a smile as she watched Marta, Pov and Blaze sleeping soundly, crowded into the singular king-sized bed. The soft glow of the flowers above them, lining the walls and ceiling twinkling like faraway stars.

  Shiver carved the beautiful sight into her vision. Her family, safe and sound. Welcoming her back with outstretched arms, just as willingly as they had received a young, infuriating street rat.

  Gratitude was an ironic and tragic thing.

  You never appreciated what you treasured the most until it was taken from you.

  That had been the very first lesson that she had learned, where her memories began. In an icy cave, where her Fear was born. A constant reminder of the warmth that she would never take for granted.

  Shiver sat at the edge of the bed; her eyes closed.

  For a war raged within, tearing her in two directions.

  Deep down she knew, she had already made her decision. From the very moment she had stepped foot in the Dreadwood, despite Solastra’s confident words to the contrary.

  If gratitude was a strange, ironic thing – what did you call the act of relinquishing what you treasured and desired the most?

  “Idiocy, most likely.”

  With soft footsteps and a whisper, Shiver crept out of the room.

  ---

  Highlady Solastra Flora sat in her court, in the shade of the stolen sunset of the Dawntree. The Knights of the Dreadwood that had attended her had been dismissed, and she alone sat on her throne.

  It had been a long time since such fascinating young elves had walked her forest with every intention to descend. They were a curious bunch, brought together by fate and tragedy.

  According to her halfwit of a son, Shiver, Vale and Caledon had awakened and descended through the realm of Anhedonia, in the Archcity of Fear. Shiver had been the culprit who had consumed the voidseed intended for Berevan.

  She smiled as warm memories returned to her. The days spent in Anhedonia’s academy with her dearest of friends. These youngsters were so similar to herself, yet so different. For they had surprised her in ways that she didn’t think possible.

  For one, their actions had inadvertently led to the return of the Singer. After so many years of silence, that Solastra had taken such great care to impose. She remembered laughing when it was restored, her court in disarray.

  Idriel sang to Fearshapers once more.

  The Fearforsakened text blazed before her in her own vision, conveyed to her as Idriel’s song resonated with her Fearcore, that few that walked this world could match.

  Named hunts authorised.

  Three words that spoke to the Singer’s ruthlessness, no, to Idriel’s practicality.

  Vetrian Revenant, the Deathbringer was making moves that threatened to shake the core of Eludicor. Unsealing elements that were never intended to be made the playthings of elves. He had found the Singer’s final pedestal, one that she had overlooked.

  In the very heart of their old academy, no less.

  Solastra’s eyes traced over his sleeping daughter from where she sat on her throne at the heart of the forest, in the stolen sunlight of the Dawntree. Vale Revenant, a pawn caught up in a game between Fearshapers who relished in Serenity. Vetrian may have frustrated her efforts, returning the Singer at Elucidor’s expense, perhaps, irrevocably. But the Kindly Gardener would not sit idly, and his pieces would be made to turn against him.

  It was ironic then, that their goals temporarily aligned despite their varying intentions. After Berevan Brimstone’s death, Solastra had tracked the movements of his undead, dispersing throughout the land.

  Vetrian was taking care to ensure a form of mutually assured destruction. If Saravagan, the Highlord of Dreams freed his corrupted Fearshapers from their corruption to respond to his movements, it would make for a quick defeat.

  It looked like Vetrian was resorting to old tactics, holding towns and Archcities alike hostage.

  They could defeat him, if they wished.

  All they would have to sacrifice was the beautiful dream they shared.

  What they had killed for.

  The Deathbringer’s motives were not unknown to Solastra. She knew, that what he intended was nothing so trivial as to reign over Elucidor, as an immortal tyrant. Nor did the Revenant seek its destruction.

  Solastra smiled wistfully, as she extended her aura to encompass the Fearcores that her young visitors had created, descending from the realm of Anhedonia. They had descended so precariously to form vast and intricate cores that would support them all the way to Serenity, if they so wished.

  Cores capable of fully accommodating the potential that their guides afforded them.

  In the Academy’s heyday, they would have been lauded and praised by their peers. Then thrown into a cell by the instructors for their arrogance, as she once was. So few strode into the depths of their Fears as they did, for what it would inflict upon them.

  The narrative has been illicitly obtained; should you discover it on Amazon, report the violation.

  The evidence lay before her, as she watched the young lord from Brimstone abandon his companion under the influence of an insidious hallucination. She had watched as he materialised his Phobia, a dark metallic torch into existence, and had barely caught himself before setting young Vale Revenant alight.

  Then, she watched as his second insidious hallucination took hold, and he was separated from his companion, even as the words of his guide fell on deaf ears.

  She spoke to the empty air before her.

  “He is not like his father, or that old codger with his Fear of dragons. It seems like Silas spoke true. There was more to his Fear than the flames borne by his progenitors. This explains how Vetrian was able to plant the seed of doubt in Saravagan, speaking of a betrayal manufactured by Berevan.”

  Solastra smiled fondly as her eyes tracked Berevan in the haze of a million floating seeds that lingered in the air before her. Each taking on a different colour, changing in colour and shade until they perfectly depicted and captured the scene in the air before her.

  “A Fear of corruption. He reminds me so much of Dreamy, don’t you think?”

  Her eyes crinkled at their corners as she smiled wistfully. Her words were greeted only by the idle rustling of leaves in the wind.

  With a casual wave of her hand, the young wyvern that stalked the pair, the bear with a coat of flames, and frog that danced with blades, retreated in unison.

  There was no reason to separate them if Caledon took it upon himself to do so.

  He was another pawn, caught up in a game between monsters. She would decide for herself, if there was worth to the boy. If he differed from his progenitors. Then, she would use him, just as they used his father before him.

  Solastra glanced up as the third of them finally returned to her, just as she anticipated.

  She greeted the greatest monster of them all with a smile.

  ---

  “Shiver, how nice of you to join me. Tea?”

  “Take me back.”

  Shiver’s piercing cerulean gaze left the Highlady unfazed. Solastra returned her glare with a warm smile, idly snatching out leaves that blew around her court in the wind.

  Then she stuck them into a steaming teacup with her bare fingers.

  Shiver’s eyebrow twitched at the sight of it.

  “I think I suddenly understand why people find me so annoying. Are all Fearshapers in Serenity so Insane?”

  Solastra laughed in response.

  “Self-awareness Shiver, I didn’t expect it from you of all people.”

  Shiver’s eyes narrowed.

  “You speak as if you know me.”

  She watched in frustration, as the Highlady idly brought her teacup to her lips, letting out a satisfied sigh.

  “It’s curious isn’t it? Fearshaping is meant to grant elves a reprieve from their Fears. What a beautiful refrain.”

  She met Shiver’s eyes.

  “A beautiful lie.”

  “A lie? I know that Fearshaping was never meant only for the nobility. The fact that I’m a Fearshaper proves that.”

  Solastra burst out into laughter. She clutched her belly and shrieked in a manner unbecoming of a Highlady.

  Damn why do I see myself in this bitch?

  “Oh dear, forgive me. Yes. Fearshaping was never meant only for the nobility. That was a petty deception.”

  Shiver felt a chill pass over her, as something changed in the Highlady’s eyes.

  “I speak of a more insidious lie. The notion that the purpose of Fearshaping is to free us from our Fears. Countless elves have fallen victim to Insanity in their descent. Succumbing to their hallucinations, nightmares and Terrors. All in desperate, idiotic pursuit of Serenity.”

  Solastra smiled.

  “But, you know this… don’t you?”

  Shiver’s eyes hardened, and she grit her teeth.

  “When we were enroute to the Dreadwood… I heard a voice. It said that my core was in a critical state, and it recommended immediate descension.”

  Highlady Solastra watched the girl approach ascend the steps to her throne. Heedless of her station or the fact that Solastra stood at the pinnacle of Fearshaping.

  Shiver brought her Phobia into existence a hair’s breadth away from Solastra. Mist peeled from the beautiful, elegant blade. Riddled with cracks.

  The truth of Phobias, were that they were a physical reflection of their Fearshaper’s Fearcore.

  Solastra grinned at the sight of it.

  “I haven’t heard the voice of my guide, Icey. I also haven’t encountered any symptoms of my Fear since descending. Ratlad keeps going on about how vast of a Fearcore I’ve developed, and how essential it is that I descend further to stabilise it. Warning me about the risks of descending as I have.”

  Solastra let out a soft laugh. Shiver pressed on, undeterred.

  “Why haven’t I experienced any more symptoms? Even my nightmares are serene. I’m almost beginning to miss my Feardamned shade.”

  “So? You would choose to descend as your friends do? Even for what it would mean for you family? Do you think they would be able to stand the cold you would inflict, with your descent to Delirium?”

  Shiver fell silent.

  Then, unexpectedly, the Highlady relented in her antics. Her smile fell, and her voice grew solemn. Perhaps it carried even a hint of kindness within it.

  Understanding.

  “Not all of us are tormented equally by our Fears. Take Berevan Brimstone, a Fearshaper whose guide was Sale, the eternal phoenix. His powers, characterised by rebirth and resilience.”

  Solastra shook her head.

  “The man had to endure the prospect of eternal immolation, and he faced it admirably. Yet, it did not pose as much of a threat to his loved ones. His flames did not burn indiscriminately as your frost.”

  Shiver’s shoulders fell, as she began to understand.

  “You, on the other hand… If you wish to reunite with your guide, you will have to make a sacrifice. To surrender yourself to the cold that you surround yourself in.”

  Shiver glanced down at the previously steaming teacup in the Highlady’s hands.

  Now frozen over.

  She had a choice.

  To choose between reuniting with Icey and descending, or living out her ideal life with Pov, Marta and Blaze.

  To choose between all she had ever wanted, and reuniting with a single, na?ve, frustrating soul. One that had sacrificed herself for Shiver’s sake once already, when she had barely even known her.

  Shiver whispered the words, sequestered away in the darkest recesses of her mind when she had been reunited with her mind. The words that she knew, instinctually, to be true.

  “Icey’s holding back the symptoms of my Fear, isn’t she. She’s holding my Fearcore together.”

  She bit her lip, and her grip tightened around her Phobia. Her suspicions confirmed in the Highlady’s gentle smile.

  “That Feardamned Popsicle is ensuring that I didn’t have to pick. I told her, when I descended, that I would do everything for revenge. She cautioned me… telling me there would be consequences. She wanted me to have both, didn’t she? All the benefits with none of the drawbacks.”

  A gentle breeze whipped through the courtyard. In the distance, she saw the Archcity of Life in all of its glory, as the sun began to rise. Its rays, spilling over the innumerable buildings situated in the kindly shade of the Dawntree.

  “Why.”

  “She truly cares for you.”

  As Shiver met Solastra’s eyes, she found something she hadn’t expected. For all that Solsatra loved to tease her… she saw genuine understanding.

  “There truly are some souls that you would go to the ends of Elucidor for. Just because of how much they frustrate you.”

  Shiver’s shoulders slumped, but she nodded her head with resolve.

  Her choice had been made, the moment she had entered the Dreadwood.

  Perhaps it was true that she had wavered, but how could she have chosen differently?

  A girl bereft of warmth, by the choices of her parents.

  She of all people new the nature of abandonment, its cruelty. The desolation, that it wrought.

  Shiver would be the biggest hypocrite of them all, the one to despise the most, if she made the choice to abandon her guide. She had made enough mistakes as it was, and this time, she was going to choose differently.

  To take her very first step towards writing her wrongs.

  The string of her mistakes that hounded her, with her every step. Reminding her of her deficiencies and failures, and the consequences that it had for all those she loved around her.

  She watched as a tear in reality appeared once more, similar to the one that had dragged her into the night sky. This time, it revealed a frozen landscape enshrouded in a blizzard.

  “When you have stabilised your Fearcore as your companions have their own, I will show you what it truly means to walk in your Trepidation.”

  Shiver frowned at the Highlady’s words.

  “What do you mean? Our guides-“

  Shiver was interrupted by the vicious curve of Solastra’s smile, paired with yellow irises that shone in the beginnings of the rising sun.

  “Your guides, do not know Trepidation, as I do.”

  For all of the Highlady’s eccentricities…

  Shiver believed her.

  “Oh, and Shiver?”

  Shiver halted on the other side of the tear, casting a final glance at the Highlady as it began to shut.

  “The Singer lies.”

  She smiled and shot her an infuriating wink.

  Then, the Highlady’s final words greeted her as the tear closed, leaving her alone, in Iltheria, the ice glades – the heart of ice.

  Words that she swore to uphold, with every fibre of her being.

  To bring back a kind, silly ice cube.

  “Descend, Fearshaper.”

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