The Tyrant halted. Before her rose a towering cliff of polished ice, a sheer face that shone like a diamond under the false, gray sun. High upon her crest, Puck shielded his eyes from the blinding glare. To his small gaze, the frozen wall had no end, stretching into the heavens and across the white earth.

The Tyrant turned, marching parallel to the frozen cliff, seeking a gate where there was none.

Boredom found the small one. Puck gathered loose shards of obsidian that had crumbled from the Tyrant’s spine. He cast them against the polished ice, but the black stones merely bounced away, leaving no mark. Vexed by the unyielding frost, he hurled his final shard with all his strength. The stone struck the wall and held fast, buried in the ice. Puck threw his hands up in a small victory, and the Tyrant rolled her burning eyes at his foolishness.

In his triumph, Puck lost his footing as the Tyrant stopped dead. He caught himself upon her scales and looked down, wondering what obstacle had blocked their path.

In the distance, a glistening figure stood upon the snow.

It was a hound of the endless winter. Its flesh was not meat, but the pale rime of the grave, and from its spine grew jagged spears of ice, sharp as broken glass. It bore no living blood. Within its hollow ribs burned a cold blue star—a light that gave no warmth, only the freezing breath of the dark. It watched the Tyrant with eyes blind and white as the deep frost. It did not roar. It was as silent as the falling snow.

The creature of winter turned its head, a silent command to follow.

The beast of fire rumbled deep in her chest. She knew the nature of the frost-born thing and was wary. But Puck felt no fear, only the pull of his unending curiosity.

The creature walked toward the solid cliff and passed into the ice as if stepping through calm water. A passageway appeared where there had been only solid frost. The Tyrant stepped into the breach, her fire held close to her bones. She kept the ice-hound within striking distance, ready to crush it in her jaws if it turned to betray them.

But the frost-born creature showed no fear. It merely led them deeper into the maze of the wall. The path was a labyrinth of twists and turns, a cage of mirrors. Without the silent guide, the fire and the fur would have been lost, doomed to follow their own reflections into an endless walking sleep.

The false sun reached its highest point as the silent guide led them from the labyrinth. The diamond walls broke away, revealing the heart of the frozen maze. From the deep shadows of the ice, two more creatures of winter emerged. Puck searched the high frost, seeking more of their kind, but he saw only empty nests. Of the great pack, only three were seen. He shrank down against the obsidian, burying himself in the fire and shadow.

The three hounds of winter spoke to the Tyrant. Their voices were the grinding of glaciers, a tongue of ice that Puck’s ears could not hold.

He closed his eyes and remembered the green world. He remembered the pillars of light, and how their words had burned his mind like fire. Suddenly, the burning returned. The pain struck his skull, fierce and bright, but as quickly as it came, the agony faded, leaving behind understanding.

“Join us,” an unseen voice echoed, carried upon the cold air. “Together we can break the Glacier. Together we can cast down the Maw. Together, we can be the pieces of Rahab once more.”

The words were strange to Puck’s mind, heavy with an ancient history he did not know. But he held his breath and listened.

The beast of fire answered. Her voice was not a roar, but a deep rumble that shook the earth—a voice of wisdom, wrapped in smoke and ash.

“The Titans hold this endless winter for nothing,” the Tyrant spoke. “You are the Shard Pack, yet only three remain of twelve. The Glacier bleeds itself dry for the sake of memories. The Boiling One, once proud, hides in cowardice. The Maw is madness, devouring its own flesh. And I slowly die within my own flames. We are but pieces of a broken world, holding fast to nothing.”

Puck trembled at her words. He felt the immense weight of the names she spoke. Who are they? he wondered. And what was Rahab?

The Shard Pack circled. Two moved to the flanks, boxing the beast of fire in from the sides, while the leader stood before her. “So,” the leader spoke, its voice crackling like thin ice. “Does our age end by force?”

“Yes,” the Tyrant answered. “And I bring the Witness.”

She turned her great, scarred head and bowed, gesturing for the small one to be seen. Puck’s heart hammered against his ribs like a trapped bird, but he found his courage. He stepped forward, standing tall upon the crown of the fire-beast.

The Shard Pack stared in confusion.

“This is the Witness?!” one of the hounds cried out. “It is not even of our blood! You are the Tyrant of Nothingness, you are the Witness!”

The Tyrant shook her heavy head in disagreement. But before her deep voice could answer, Puck opened his small jaws.

“I saw the green place!” he cried.

Silence fell upon the frozen heart of the maze. The hounds of winter and the beast of fire were stunned, for the small creature of the burrows had spoken in the tongue of the ancient ones.

Puck did not stop. “The green place was warm! The trees were thick, the grass grew beneath my feet, and the snow was kept upon the mountains! It was beautiful.”

A tear of frost formed in the empty, white eye of the Shard Pack’s leader. “How…” it whispered. “How do we reach the green place?”

Before Puck could answer, the air was ripped apart. A violent gale of black snow burst into the sanctuary. A voice of pure wrath rode the wind.

“It shall never return!”

The black wind spiraled into a howling vortex, trapping them within. Over the roar of the storm, Puck heard the agonizing screams of the Shard Pack. He looked to the dark clouds and saw them—the piercing blue eyes, staring down with absolute malice.

The Tyrant did not wait. She swung her massive tail, a club of stone and fire, carving through the wall of wind and snow. The impact shattered the gale, and the blue eyes vanished into the gray.

The violent shock threw Puck from the Tyrant’s head. He tumbled through the air, but the deep snow caught him, soft and cold. He scrambled to his feet and looked to the Shard Pack.

They stood frozen in place. The white of their eyes was gone. In its place burned the piercing, cruel blue light of the storm. The three hounds turned to Puck as one. Their jaws opened, and their claws of glass were raised to kill.

They spoke in unison, but the voice was not their own. It was the voice of the black snow.

“Death to the Witness.”

Before the hounds could leap, the Tyrant roared. A forest of flame erupted from the jagged stones upon her back, pushing the winter away.

“Death to us Titans!” she bellowed.

She lunged forward, her jaws wide and her fire burning, as the three hounds of winter turned to meet her fury.