The world vanished into a roar of white. It wasn't just snow; it was a physical weight, a suffocating, freezing tidal wave that tore through the clearing with the force of a falling moon.
When the thunder finally subsided, the silence that followed was more terrifying than the noise.
The avalanche had carved a jagged scar through the center of the camp, but the destruction was more than natural. The clashing residue of Soren's ice spears and Eris's dragon fire had fused with the slide, creating a gargantuan, vertical barrier. A wall of magically reinforced ice, translucent and shimmering with a sickly blue light, now bisected the forest. It stretched fifty feet into the air, a jagged, impassable monolith that cut the party in two.
On one side, the Emperor stood in the churned-up debris. Beside him, Ryse and Jorel were already pulling guards from the drifts, while Bjorn paced the base of the wall, letting out a high, fractured whine.
