Mabbit had disappeared in the night, and although Kershov understood that his subalterns each had rich inner lives of his own, the Ice King could not help but foster an aggressive sense of unease. Bright Moon—no, Uyaraut—had transformed significantly, violently in the amount of time it took to snap a deer’s neck, and the tundra gangster felt his hackles prickly ominously when he thought about the danger his packmates might experience in this new unpredictable version of Blossom Forest. Who was to say another horrifying tsunami of changes wasn’t waiting to sweep through the land? Their new beach territory might fall into the sea, or get swallowed by a monstrous wave; it might abruptly relocate to the mountains, all their dens falling into canyons. True, things had appeared to settle after their literally earth-shattering consequences . . . but Kershov had no desire to take unnecessary chances. If his wolves were to travel outside of their kingdom, he preferred them to leave with a partner should disaster strike. It was odd for any soldier of his to just go without informing him first. “Damn you, Mabbit . . .” The half-worried, half angry sigh tugged from Ker’s throat as he traveled, paws grudgingly stepping past Uyaraut’s invisible wall. A faint trace of the black warrior swept toward the center of Blossom; the frozen Emperor chose to follow it until he had a reasonable idea of what the hell Mabbit was up to.

A few times, the young gladiator’s signature disappeared completely—destroyed by the weather or broken into fragments by running water. Kershov refused to allow frustration to halt him; he carried onward, picking through other interesting markers and paths that strangers had carved through the land. Eventually he found himself traversing through a part of Fir Chilis . . . quite a few musks clung to the trees here, as if many varg had recently passed through. Ker wondered at this sudden influx of wolves—until he felt it. An odd humming in the air, a static energy, not unlike the aura of a lightning bolt about to strike. His heart instantly hammered faster, fine white hairs lifting along his spine and a low growl instinctively boiling in his throat. This wasn’t right. Something was about to happen—and he was too far from his pack now to ensure his soldiers were safe. “Damn it all! Where is Mabbit?!”

An earth-rocking explosion deafened the Alpha for a few heartbeats. Its aftershock slammed into him, rocking him on his feet. Black eyes scanned left and right, ears erect, prepared for whatever was to happen next—but nothing could have stopped Kershov from shouting aloud at the sight of a rainbow geyser of light shooting directly into the heavens. Power rippled from its center, reverberating in his very cells, and Kershov sensed a presence pushing at the boundary of his skin—prodding at his bones—testing his body for weak points or threads of resonance. A match? A host? Whatever this feeling was, it was testing him, and the winter dragon snarled even as he was locked in place. All at once energy COLLIDED into him, and he collapsed to the forest floor, unconscious.