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Steve knows it’s cliche, but the last seventeen hours really do feel like a dream.
Well… A nightmare, but you know.
Only in his dreams would he be dropped on an exposed mountaintop in the middle of the night—no warning, no supplies, no rescue.
Like a dream, the stark details are already eroding; too painful to look at, like glare off the snow. He can recount every step, every section of the mountain, but it feels like it happened to someone else. Someone more single-minded and desperate.
For the first time since last night, Steve has the luxury of standing still and feeling the pain. He clumsily brushes ice from his eyebrows, tries to flex numb fingers, stamps frozen feet. The foothills are almost warm compared to the icy hell above, but Steve has heard that hypothermia can make you want to strip. He keeps his layers on for now.
“I can’t believe we did that! Holy Titan!” his friend Vinny exclaims, hands on his knees, still gulping air. He was the first to the bottom, aided in part by a hundred yard tumble down the final stretch. Steve could only watch as Vinny tripped, somersaulted, and gained speed, becoming a gray blur that flew down the mountainside. Any one of those impacts could have been his friend’s demise—a broken back or snapped neck—but in the end he glided to a stop and dug himself out. The relief he felt gave Steve a second wind.
Stragglers are still making their way to the rendezvous: those affected worst by the cold or the altitude, witches with weaker magic. Looking over the matching uniforms, Steve can tell they’re down a few people.
The airship would rescue anyone still on the mountain. He was sure of it.
“I can’t believe you’re part snowball!" he teases. It hurts to smile, his lips swollen and split.
“Guess my mom’s got some explaining to do.” They both laugh, but it rings hollow, bleeding into silence.
“Man, where’s the ship, though?” Steve hugs his elbows and eyes the horizon uneasily. “We’re not expected to hoof it all the way back, are we?” They’d be forced to forage or go hungry, and these foothills weren’t exactly abundant with game.
“No way! They’ll be here.” But he can see Vinny pale to consider it.
Without clear direction, everyone is gravitating towards familiar faces, huddled in threes and fours. Some talk quietly amongst themselves, others tend to injuries as best they can, while some simply sit on the ground with a haunted look about them.
One recruit stands out, though, drifting aimlessly through a sea of shoulders, cradling his mask in his arms. His magenta eyes are bright in the winter sun, sporting wind burnt cheeks to match. His mouth hangs ajar as he wanders, the bandage on his face comically big—but Steve doesn’t find it funny.
He knew the Emperor’s nephew was training to become a Scout, but he was still shocked that the kid would’ve been dropped unceremoniously on the mountaintop with the rest of them. The boy seemed as blindsided as they were, carrying nothing but the uniform he wore, some odds and ends in a hip bag. The questions he and the others had called out to Kikimora all went unanswered. She would only tell them that whoever made it down alive would officially join the Emperor’s Coven. And she turned the ship around, leaving them stranded with their rudimentary spells. No scrolls, no beasts to relay a message, no staffs for flight.
It made Steve miss Abigail. She wasn’t the prettiest palisman, but she flew like an arrow.
…Had.
Had flown.
While some of the older recruits lingered in denial, the Emperor’s nephew had proven proactive and stubborn from the start: digging a recess into the snow to sleep in, being the first up and trudging before dawn, even though he made abysmal progress with no one to break trail for him. The snow came up to his thighs.
He still managed to catch up with everyone when a broad cliff face hampered their progress. Those recruits in the best shape had spent an hour searching for another way down, to no avail. They were forced to remove their gloves for better dexterity, exposing digits already red and nearing frostbite. No one had known to pack rope or harnesses, but they soon devised a system where one witch would be supported with vines or abominations, freeing a hand to cast the same spell for a companion. This way, pairs made their way down in tandem.
Except when Steve peered up, himself not halfway down, he saw that the boy was suspended high above him, clinging desperately to the rock, no partner in sight. He convinced Vinny to go on without him, and made his way painstakingly up to where the boy was perched. His eyes were open but unseeing—blind with terror, fingers skittish. A recipe for disaster.
“Hey, little guy,” he said softly, as though afraid to spook him, which he was. “You gotta relax, okay? Don’t tense so much.”
“I— I can’t. I don’t…” He whimpered in his throat, eyes glistening.
“Look, I don’t know any plant spells…” Steve had to fight to keep his own voice calm. “But I can levitate you enough to—”
“No!”
Steve’s hand slipped sideways at the shout, but he regained his hold, heart hammering.
He sputtered. “What?”
“No magic. I can do this myself,” proclaimed the child frozen in place, practically kissing the rock in front of him.
“What?” Steve was confused by this self-imposed handicap. “You don’t have to do that. We’re all using magic.”
“I…” The boy squeezed his eyes shut. “I can’t, okay?” Pain, embarrassment, and challenge all warred as his voice cracked. The realization made Steve reel.
Emperor Belos had ordered his own blood into a death trap, knowing he was helpless.
Steve thought something very blasphemous just then.
Once he recovered, he said, “Well, I can.” Not a brag, but a simple statement of fact. “So let me help you.”
“N-no magic,” he repeated. Steve could feel the frustration rising in him, egged on by fear, but he squashed it. There wasn’t time to argue.
“Okay. No problem,” he lied. “Then we do this the old fashioned way. You gotta find the footholds.”
The boy peeked down at the dizzying heights, not looking convinced.
“Look,” he said, indicating with a nod. “There’s a handhold to your right, diagonal and down. And a foothold straight down from your right foot. Secure your hand first, then move your foot. Can you do that?”
Another whimper, but the boy said, “O-okay…”
Steve held his breath, half-expecting him to slip into the sky the second he moved, but he found the outcropping of rock and clung with blue fingers.
“Okay, foot next. It’s not far, you can reach it.”
He felt tentatively, closing his eyes until Steve told him, “Don’t do that. You need all your senses.” The toe of his boot tapped the ledge once, then settled gently. “There you go. You’re doing great.”
He probably knew it was empty praise, but it was enough to keep him listening, the two of them climbing down in inches, the minutes crawling by. All the while Steve’s exposed hands grew stiffer, more numb, but he knew the same was true for the kid. He willed his appendages to work, to just get them to something like solid ground again.
With only six feet to go, the boy slipped and tumbled into a snowbank. Steve jumped in after him.
“You okay?” Steve helped him up and saw there were tears streaming down the boy’s cheeks, the fear and relief shocked out of him. He nodded, tight-lipped. Steve gave him an encouraging pat on the shoulder, sending up a puff of powder.
From there, they eventually got separated when Steve was recruited to help someone with a twisted ankle, and the boy became another witch’s charge.
Steve had kept one eye on his progress all the same, and now here he was, safely at the bottom and appearing to be in one piece.
Just then, another friend of theirs walks up, going, “Vinny! What was that, man?”
Steve holds up a finger, excusing himself, and intercepts the Emperor’s nephew before he gets too far—catching his attention by throwing arms up over his head and shouting, “You did it!” The kid just blinks at him, caught off guard, as Steve goes to smack him on a shoulder blade. It’s enough to make him lurch forward. “Great job, little guy!”
A smile flickers across his face as he says, “Thanks.” Then his brows pinch. “But I wish you wouldn’t call me that. My name’s Hunter.”
Oh, yeah. That rings a bell. “Of course!” Steve says with equal enthusiasm. “Hunter!” He flexes a bicep to mirror the boy’s prowess. “Strong name for a strong Scout!”
Hunter inhales, bloodshot eyes widening. A smile lights up his face for the first time that day. “I did it, didn’t I?”
“Heck yeah, you did!” He jostles the boy playfully, earning a surprised chuckle. Steve remembers something then and reaches into a pocket. “I don’t have much for a toast, but—” He pulls out a partially crushed drink carton and, with a small spell circle, detaches the straw and sticks it in the spout. He holds it out to him. “Apple blood?”
Hunter just stares.
Steve wiggles the carton enticingly. “Go on, take it.” He had been saving it for himself, but the boy looks like the next gust of wind might reduce him to mist.
Hunter returns his mask to his frosty mop of hair and cups the drink in wooden hands, trying to slosh the contents experimentally. Steve shrugs. “I think my body heat melted it a bit.” On the bright side: “It’s like a smoothie!”
Hunter maneuvers the straw into his mouth and takes a sip. His eyes fly open, overwhelmed by the strong flavor after hours of eating nothing but snow. All inhibitions vanish as he sucks the rest down, collapsing the carton as he goes. Steve smiles. Something about the sight reminds him of Matty.
Not the first time he’s thought of him today.
As Hunter finally releases the straw, gasping for air, a dark object turns everyone’s attention to the east. It’s the airship, breaking through a cloud bank and heading their way. A chorus of cheers erupts around them, but not everyone has the desire or strength to join in.
“He’s here!” Hunter chirps, perking up at Steve’s side. The boy stands taller as the ship comes in for a landing, tucking the empty carton away and brushing snow off his uniform. He smiles to himself, firm and proud, but as the ramp lowers to reveal only Lilith, he blinks in confusion.
Steve shuffles his feet, stamping them for good measure. He can’t wait for a healer. “I'm sure he’s just busy with important emperor stuff. You know how it is.”
“Yeah,” Hunter replies, softly.
But the boy’s disappointment makes his own insides twist. Hunter deserved to be greeted by his uncle after all he went through—what he almost didn’t survive.
“Well,” Steve says, grinning down at him like his face doesn’t hurt. “I’m gonna tell the coven head how amazing you were up there, how about that? I’ll tell the Emperor, too!”
Hunter’s too burned for a blush to stand out, but Steve can tell by the twitch of his lips. “You— you don’t have to do that—”
But Steve is already marching towards the ship, cheering, “All hail Hunter, am I right?”
Hunter covers his face with a groan, trailing behind.