For many days they walked the white desert. The ancient sun did not return, and the heavens remained sealed in iron. The world was cold and dead, but upon the distant edge of the earth, the gray sky began to churn. It moved with an unnatural life.

Curiosity drew Puck from his sanctuary. He crept to the crown of the Tyrant’s head to watch the shifting horizon. The beast of fire turned her heavy gaze to follow his sight. She saw the churning gray, and beneath it, dark shapes scattering across the snow. A sound rode the bitter wind—the terrified, broken roars of the Three-Horned Beasts. The remnants of the herd were running for their lives.

Then, the wind carried a herald of the storm. A single flake of black snow drifted from the dead sky and settled upon Puck’s hand.

He touched the dark frost. It did not melt. It bit into his flesh like a shard of glass, drawing a sudden bead of bright red blood.

She knew the shadow of death was upon them. With a sharp toss of her massive head, she threw Puck back to the safety of her shoulders. She turned her back to the fleeing herd and broke into a thunderous run. Puck clung to the jagged obsidian, terror gripping his heart as the unstoppable mountain of flesh and fire tore through the wastes.

He looked behind them. The churning gray had thickened into a towering wall of black mist. From the dark clouds, a heavy veil of black snow began to fall. The fleeing herd of Three-Horns slowed as the dark flakes rained upon their hides. Their great legs failed them. They collapsed into the frost, dead and motionless before the black wall even swallowed their bodies.

Death was rushing toward them. Puck threw his arm over his face to block the wind, his eyes desperately searching the endless white for salvation, but he saw only the encroaching dark.

In his despair, the memory of the green world returned. He thought of the two pillars of light. As the memory flared, the phantom warmth of the green earth touched him once more, a ghost of heat cutting through the wasteland's chill.

Then, a single glint of light pierced the white distance.

Puck cried out over the howling wind. He scrambled forward, rushing down to the brow of the Tyrant. He leaned over her great right eye and cast his small hand toward the sudden spark of light in the dark world.

The Tyrant turned her path toward the distant spark. She ran with the weight of an avalanche, and Puck held fast to her stone. Behind them, the wall of death woke. The black mist gathered, taking the shape of a great beast’s head, and it rushed upon them.

The dark snow became as the claws of a hunting cat. The wind lashed the Tyrant. Her hide was mountain-stone and iron, but the black frost was relentless, carving a hundred small wounds across her flesh. Puck’s fur was soft against the storm, and though he was but a small shadow against her back, the bitter wind found him. The dark flakes grazed his skin, and the white of his fur was stained red.

A single drop of Puck's blood fell upon the Tyrant's cheek. The beast of fire felt it, and a great roar tore from her throat. A pillar of flame erupted from her back, and the shadow in the wind recoiled in agony. But the Tyrant drew her fire back into her belly, fearing the heat would consume the small one she was bound to protect.

The shadow of the clouds surged forward and swallowed them whole. The Tyrant halted. The dark winds spun into a howling wall around them, trapping the fire and the fur within the eye of the storm. The Tyrant roared her defiance, and Puck clung to her in terror. From the spinning wall, a whip of black frost struck the Tyrant, tearing a deep gorge into her side. She snapped her massive jaws at the wind, seeking to crush her foe, but her teeth met only the freezing air, and blood poured from her lips.

Puck dug his claws deep into her scorched hide. He closed his eyes and called upon the vision of the green world. He remembered the soft breath of the wind and hungered for its peace. In the heart of the howling dark, Puck opened his eyes. A single green leaf floated upon the calm air before his face.

He looked to the heavens. The beast of the wind stared down at them, a cruel master claiming his prize. But its triumph broke. The shadow turned its gaze away, its cruelty turning to sudden fury at an unseen thing. The howl of the wind was drowned out. A sound like the breaking of the world shattered the sky. A terrible force smashed through the iron clouds, striking the beast of the mist and tearing its head from its body. The world went silent.

A mighty gale cast the Tyrant back. She braced her heavy legs against the earth to keep from falling. Puck gripped her with all his might, nearly cast into the void by the shock. When the violent air grew still, the dark clouds were gone. A new sound reached Puck's ears—the beating of wings. He looked to the high sky and saw a figure cloaked in shining white wings ascending into the heavens.

Puck cried out in wonder, waving his small hands at the light. The Tyrant did not understand the sky-creature, but she saw the distant spark shining clear on the earth. She stepped forward once more. As she walked, the fire within her flesh rose to the surface. Her wounds burned shut, sealing the gashes in smoke and heat, leaving her red hide scarred and bright.

In the distance, the glint of light grew. Figures cloaked in thick ice stood waiting, watching the beast of fire approach. They had seen the Tyrant endure the black snow, but they knew the truth. She marched toward a greater doom. High above the earth, hidden within the gray sky, a pair of piercing blue eyes watched her every step.