Invisible String - Cregan Stark

Twenty two~ Talion

I cross the chamber without thinking, my steps quiet, almost reverent, as if approaching something that might break if startled.

I lift it.

The wood is warm beneath my fingers. Wintertown returns to me at once—pine smoke and fresh bread, cold air filling my lungs, the sound of distant laughter, snow crunching beneath my boots.

Cregan stood beside me then, steady as the ground beneath the frost.

I turn the wolf slowly in my hand, tracing its lines with my thumb.

When I think of him, it is not ache that answers, but steadiness. He is not loud in my thoughts. He does not press or demand. He arrives the way the strongest things do—patient and certain. Like roots beneath snow. Like earth that holds even while the world above it burns.

I imagine him beneath this same moon, far to the north, silver light caught in his hair, in his eyes.

Perhaps he is bent over maps by candlelight, measuring days and distances, weighing the cost of every promise. Or perhaps he is asleep at last, the kind of earned rest granted only to those who carry duty like a second spine.

I press the wooden wolf lightly to my chest.

For a moment, the moon brightens, bathing the chamber in shining silver. I turn back toward the water, still holding the wolf, feeling its quiet strength in my hand.

And beneath the watchful moon, with grief settled deep in my bones and love steady in my heart, I let myself believe—fully, fiercely—that we will find each other again.

Then the cold came.

Not from the window. It slipped beneath the door.

I felt it before I understood it—an abrupt tightening at the base of my spine, a prickle climbing upward as if something unseen had passed too close. The warmth of the chamber fractured unevenly, and a thin, sharp chill uncoiled itself along the floor. It did not rush. It advanced.

Dragonstone does not do this.

The air behind me shifted, disturbed though nothing had moved. The hairs along my arms lifted at once, my skin answering faster than thought. The cold wrapped my ankles, climbed my calves, spread upward in slow, deliberate tendrils, as though the keep itself had exhaled into my chambers.

Like breath.

Like spirits passing through stone.

I turned sharply, heart striking once—hard. The door stood closed. The corridor beyond was silent. Still the chill lingered, pressing close, circling in a way that felt aware.

This was not weather. This was a warning.

Within my chest, Merrax stirred.

The bond snapped taut between us, sudden and bright. Her unease struck me squarely, a heavy thrum that stole my breath. I could see wings shifting against rock. Talons scraping. Her tail struck stone once—deep and resonant, a sound meant to be felt rather than heard.

The cold brushed my throat, light as fingers, raising goosebumps along my neck and jaw. My instincts sharpened, clean and ancient. This was the moment before a hunt turns deadly—when the forest goes too still, when even insects know to fall silent.

I pressed my palm flat against the stone wall, grounding myself in its heat. The rock thrummed faintly beneath my touch, ancient and powerful. My fingers tightened to a white knuckle grip on the wooden wolf.

"I feel you," I whispered, my voice low, steady despite the chill coiled around my ribs.

The words crossed the bond at once. Merrax answered with warmth, with weight, with certainty. Her presence wrapped around me like a living shield. I felt her coil tighter upon the mountain, wings mantled, body angled toward my chambers in wordless defense.