章 7: Chapter 07: The Final Night

The cold had settled in Kaden's chest, an ever-present weight that tightened with every breath. Even with the storm behind them, the wind still carried a sharp bite, and the island offered little shelter from the elements. Kaden couldn't shake the feeling that they were being watched. The encounter with the cloaked figure lingered in his mind, gnawing at him like the black frost that had begun to pulse inside him more intensely.

The figure's words echoed through his thoughts.

You seek control, but you are bound by forces you do not understand.

Kaden sat by the edge of the rocky outcrop where they had anchored the boat, staring out at the gray sea. Geralt was nearby, his sword resting against his shoulder as he stood watch, but Kaden could feel the weight of his companion's gaze every now and then. There was no trust in those looks—just caution.

Kaden couldn't blame him. He didn't trust himself either.

The sky above was a dull, faded blue, and the wind had picked up again, stirring the sea into a slow, rhythmic churn. The island, barren and jagged, seemed to pulse with the same cold energy that Kaden now felt constantly in his bones.

"We need to get off this island soon," Geralt muttered, his voice cutting through the silence.

Kaden glanced up at him, nodding slightly. "I know."

Geralt shifted, his eyes narrowing at the horizon. "That figure—whatever it was—it knew something. More than it was telling us. I don't like it."

"Neither do I," Kaden replied, though he kept the rest of his thoughts to himself. He hadn't told Geralt about the dream yet, about the voice that seemed to follow him now, even when he was awake. There was no point in sharing his fears—not when Geralt was already wary of him.

The cold inside him stirred again, and Kaden clenched his fists, fighting to push it back. Every time he let the power surface, it became harder to rein in. The black frost was growing more eager, more demanding, and Kaden knew that his grip on it was slipping.

He stood abruptly, shaking off the cold that had settled into his limbs. "We should check the boat. Make sure it's ready when the time comes."

Geralt nodded but said nothing as they made their way down the rocky slope toward the small craft they had anchored off the shore. The boat bobbed gently in the water, its wooden frame weathered but still intact. Kaden could feel the cold wind cutting through his clothes as he approached, but he ignored it, focusing instead on the task at hand.

They worked in silence, inspecting the boat, tightening the ropes, and making small adjustments to the sails. The quiet between them wasn't uncomfortable, but it carried an edge—an unspoken tension that had only grown since their encounter with the figure.

Finally, Geralt broke the silence. "You think we'll be ready by tomorrow?"

Kaden nodded, though he wasn't entirely sure. The storm had done some damage, and the boat had held up better than expected, but the journey ahead was still uncertain. "We'll have to be."

Geralt didn't press the issue further, but Kaden could see the doubt in his eyes. There was no escaping the reality of their situation—their boat wouldn't hold out much longer, and they had no idea what awaited them beyond the island.

As they finished their work, Kaden glanced back toward the cliffs, half-expecting to see the figure standing there again, watching. But there was nothing—just the wind and the cold, both pressing down on him with a weight that made it hard to breathe.

That night, the wind howled louder than before, carrying with it the chill of the sea and the unmistakable sense of something approaching. Kaden sat by the fire they had built near the cliff's edge, his mind wandering as he stared into the flames. The warmth of the fire did little to ease the cold that had settled into his bones.

Geralt was quiet, sitting across from him, his sword resting by his side. The firelight flickered across his face, casting sharp shadows that made him look older, more worn. The battles, the storms—it was all taking its toll.

Kaden could feel the weight of exhaustion pressing down on him too, but it was more than just physical fatigue. The cold inside him was growing more restless, more insistent. He had tried to push it back, to ignore the whispers that tugged at the edges of his mind, but they were growing louder with each passing hour.

You can't control it. You never will.

Kaden closed his eyes, trying to block out the voice, but it only grew stronger. The black frost coiled inside him, tightening its grip, and for a moment, Kaden feared it would break free.

"You should rest," Geralt said, his voice cutting through the fog of Kaden's thoughts.

Kaden opened his eyes, the firelight flickering in his vision. "I'm fine."

Geralt studied him for a moment, then nodded slowly. "Alright. But don't push yourself too hard. We need you at full strength."

Kaden gave a short nod, though he wasn't sure if he had any strength left to give. The power inside him was consuming everything, and no matter how hard he fought to keep it under control, it was slipping through his fingers.

The night stretched on, the wind growing fiercer as the temperature dropped. Kaden could feel the weight of the cold pressing down on him, tightening its grip with each passing moment. He knew he should sleep, but the thought of closing his eyes only brought the dream back—the dark figure, the black frost creeping up his body, the voice that seemed to come from inside his own mind.

You are mine.

Kaden stood suddenly, his hands shaking as he tried to steady himself. Geralt looked up, his brow furrowed. "What is it?"

"I need to clear my head," Kaden muttered, his voice tight. "I'll be back."

Geralt didn't protest, though his eyes followed Kaden as he walked toward the cliffs. The wind whipped at Kaden's face as he climbed the rocky path, but he didn't care. He needed to get away, needed to be alone for a moment.

The island was barren, the rocks sharp and unforgiving under his boots as he climbed higher, the wind biting at his skin. When he finally reached the top of the ridge, he stopped, staring out at the sea below. The waves crashed against the rocks, their rhythm steady and unrelenting, but the world around him felt unnervingly still.

Kaden stood there, breathing heavily, his chest tight with the weight of everything he was trying to keep inside. The cold inside him was growing more insistent, more demanding, and for a moment, he considered letting it go—just for a moment. Just to see what would happen.

But he knew that once he let it out, there would be no going back.

He clenched his fists, feeling the black frost curl around his fingers, eager to be released. But he couldn't. Not here. Not now.

The wind howled around him, and for a moment, Kaden thought he saw a shadow moving in the distance—another figure, watching him from the cliffs below. But when he blinked, it was gone, leaving only the cold and the wind.

I have to get off this island, Kaden thought, his heart pounding in his chest. Before it's too late.

The next morning, the storm had all but passed, leaving behind a clear sky and calmer waters. The island was still, the wind no longer howling through the cliffs, and the sea stretched out before them, smooth and endless.

Kaden stood by the boat, tightening the ropes one last time as Geralt approached. "We should leave as soon as we can," Geralt said, his voice quiet but firm.

Kaden nodded. "I'm ready."

Geralt gave him a long look, his eyes searching Kaden's face for something—reassurance, maybe. But Kaden had none to give. The cold was still there, still pressing against the edges of his mind, and he didn't know how much longer he could hold it back.

They climbed into the boat, pushing away from the rocky shore as the wind picked up behind them, carrying them out to sea. The island grew smaller in the distance, the cliffs fading into the horizon, but the weight of the place still hung over them.

As they sailed into open water, Kaden sat at the helm, his hands steady on the wheel, but his mind was far from steady. The figure's words echoed in his thoughts, and the black frost coiled inside him, growing colder with each passing moment.