The phoenix leapt from Bjorn’s shoulder, wings flashing like shards of ice in the stormlight. It opened its beak, and a strange light spun in its throat, sparkling like starlit frost. With a rush, the glow spiraled upward in a stream of icy wind, glittering as it climbed.

Then, SNAP!

The stream tightened into a beam. A blazing comet of frozen brilliance erupted from the phoenix’s mouth and slammed into the Burlok’s chest. Frost exploded across its rocky hide, cracking scales like shattered pottery. Veins of ice crawled down its wings and shoulders, spreading fast as it shrieked.

Rowan’s jaw dropped. “I didn’t know the Frost Phoenix could do that!!”

The Burlok thrashed, wings beating in wild jerks. Chunks of frozen stone ripped free and tumbled to the ground. Steam hissed from its jaws as it clawed higher into the clouds.

Bjorn raised his axe, pointing after it. “That’s right! Go back to the mountains, rock-face!”

The dragon-beast gave one last furious roar, then fled. Its wings hammered the air as it vanished beyond the northern peaks, leaving only smoke and shards of glowing ice in its wake. 

A small boy peeked from behind a barrel, clutching a wooden spoon like a sword. His eyes darted from the sky to Rowan and Bjorn, as if waiting for the next disaster. An older man shuffled out of a doorway, leaning on a cane. His soot-streaked beard trembled as he whispered, “It’s gone… the beast is gone.”

One by one, villagers emerged—hesitant, blinking, testing the air as if the monster might swoop back at any second.

CLAP! 

Someone began to cheer. Another joined in. Soon, the square erupted in applause and laughter. Relief rolled through the crowd like a wave. A baker tossed flour into the air so it drifted down like white confetti. A blacksmith waved a dented frying pan overhead. “Victory breakfast is on me!” he bellowed.

Rowan’s shoulders sagged as relief washed over him. Ash and snow dusted his cloak, his hair tousled by the storm, but he was still standing.

He turned to Bjorn, who leaned against his axe. “Did that bird just blow ice?”

Bjorn let out a rough laugh. “Saw it with my own eyes. Still don’t believe it.”

Overhead, the Frost Phoenix let out a soft coo and, with a graceful sweep, it landed back on Bjorn’s shoulder.

Rowan looked over at the phoenix. “You saved us.”

The phoenix blinked once, slow and solemn as if it understood.

Bjorn tilted his head. “Maybe it’s more than just magical. Maybe it’s a guardian. Like the ones in the old stories.”

“A real-life legend?”

Bjorn chuckled, rolling his shoulder with a wince. “At least this legend was on our side. And it didn’t try to eat us. That’s already better than most.”

Rowan laughed, but before he could reply, a gravelly voice cut through the square.

“You two!”

An older man shuffled toward them, his long white beard bouncing with each careful step. He leaned on a crooked staff carved with tiny, worn-down symbols. A young woman walked beside him, steadying his arm as he crossed the uneven stones.

“You fought for us,” the old man said. His voice was rough but strong, carrying over the crowd. “You protected this village when no one else could.”

Rowan’s cheeks flushed. He scratched at the back of his neck, staring at the ground. “We just… did what we could.”

The older man’s mouth curled into a sideways grin. “Maybe so. But doing what you can when it matters most—that’s what makes heroes.”

Bjorn straightened at the words, pride flickering across his soot-streaked face. “Thank you, sir.”

The older man reached into his cloak and drew out a small silver charm. It was no bigger than a pebble, round and smooth, with a snowflake etched deep into its center. He placed it in Rowan’s palm. The metal gleamed faintly, cool against his skin.

“This has been in Stormreach for generations,” the man said. “A token of guidance. And luck. You’ve earned it.”

Rowan curled his fingers around the charm. It pulsed with cold at first, then grew warm, as if recognizing him. “We’ll take good care of it,” he promised.

The young woman smiled warmly before guiding the older man back into the waiting crowd.

Rowan reached into his pocket and pulled out the compass. It spun one, then clicked into place, pointing straight toward the mountains. Bjorn stood beside Rowan in silence, staring at the horizon. The Stormreach Peaks rose in the distance, jagged and tall, their summits cloaked in drifting mist. Somewhere beyond those mountains, the Burlok had fled. And farther still, something else was waiting.

The Frost Phoenix hopped down from Bjorn’s shoulder and landed with a soft thump. It ruffled its feathers, the faint glow of frost rippling through them, then let out a gentle coo. Turning, it padded a few steps ahead, talons leaving neat prints in the dirt. After a short distance, it paused and looked back.

Rowan and Bjorn exchanged an uncertain look, neither quite sure what the bird was doing.

“Are you… coming with us?” Rowan asked carefully.

The phoenix tilted its head, then dipped it in the faintest of nods, as if it had understood.

Bjorn grinned. “Good. We’ll need all the help we can get.”