Thera frost's Arc

Chapter 2 of 2

The courtyard filled with smoke before the first of them spoke. Thera watched the fire catch in the stone circle, blackened rocks holding back wind that tried to tear the flames apart. Twelve people pressed close to the heat, their faces pale and cracked from cold. The man with ice in his beard asked when they could go inside. Thera told him two weeks, maybe less if the weather held. She did not mention that three of the side rooms still had gaps wide enough to let snow through, or that the main hall could only hold six people safely overnight. He nodded once, then turned back to the fire without arguing. That frightened her more than anger would have. By the third day, she knew they would not all survive outside. The children had stopped complaining about the cold, which meant they were past the point of fighting it. Thera pulled together every scrap of metal she could find from the collapsed buildings nearby, weathered steel and iron fragments that still held their shape. She and the younger woman built a rough shelter against the fortress wall, hammering the pieces into a patchwork frame and covering the gaps with furs. It looked like something pulled from a scrapyard, all exposed edges and uneven joints, but it blocked the wind. She moved the two children and the four oldest inside the fortress, then helped the rest crowd into the makeshift structure. It would keep them alive, but it would not keep them whole. On the seventh night, the man with the frozen beard stopped her by the fire. He asked if she was sure the fortress would be ready. Thera looked at him and saw the question he was actually asking: whether she was lying to keep them from panicking. She walked to her pack and pulled out a supply box, the kind she had been saving for the first real winter. The metal container was still cold to the touch, frost patterns running across its surface like veins. She handed it to him and said the fortress would be ready in one week, and if it was not, they could keep the box and everything in it. He took it without speaking, then carried it back to the fire and set it down where everyone could see it. No one opened it. They did not need to. It was proof that she had something to lose if she failed. The rooms opened on the thirteenth day. Thera walked through each one, checking the walls she had sealed and the floors she had cleared of ice. The younger woman stood in the main hall, counting blankets and dividing them into piles. Nine people waited in the courtyard, the other three having left two days earlier when the cold became too much. Thera stepped outside and called them in. They moved slowly, testing the warmth like they did not trust it to last. The man with the frozen beard was the last to enter. He handed her the supply box without opening it, then walked past her into the hall. Thera stood in the doorway and watched them settle into the rooms, their voices low and uncertain. The sanctuary was no longer something she was building. It was something she had to keep running, and she had no idea if she was strong enough to carry that weight.