Chapter Text
White.
It breathed. Lifeless, but still it pulsed. In it, wisps coalesced into giant pillars that collapsed under their own weight. With each breath, the toothless maw swallowed the landscape whole in a silent wail. The bottomless gorge spat out the cloudy remains, freezing them mid-flight. Around these glacial effigies danced and swirled impossible ghosts. Specters that had ridden hurtling comets only to become trapped here, beneath the ice.
It spun. Vast. Indifferent.
White.
The woman was locked in place, lost in time. Her hazel eyes stared unblinking at the endless snow dunes below. Yet her thoughts traveled far beyond the horizon of Rime 3. On its surface, braving the frozen desert, was her son. She pictured him battling the elements. Howling squalls strong enough to knock the wind out of you, to send you hurtling into a ravine, powerless… then plunging through the darkest depths as he broke frozen lakes.
She watched the fathomless void spin timelessly. Her breath fogged the observation window, and nothing thawed. With a delicate hand, she palmed the glass, feeling the cold below snake through her palm and into her bones. And wiped it clean.
Her long ornate braids swayed, the ends tickling her bare thighs. ‘So impractical.’ She huffed. Her station demanded decorum. She couldn’t cut them now, she wasn’t the inexperienced huntress who had left Earth all those years ago. Besides, her husband would never let her hear the end of it if she did.
To break the unnatural chill, she threw them over her left short shoulder, and tucked her chin in the makeshift scarf.
Scar had always reminded her how her braids were the envy of all aboard the clanship. A ghost of a smile tugged at the corners of her mouth. She took a deep breath, letting warm thoughts of him flutter through and distract her.
With a languid stretch, her stiff joints cracked and the knots in her muscles unwound. A small hum of satisfaction escaped her lips when she rolled her shoulders.
“You worry too much,” her husband’s gruff voice startled her. ‘Speak of the devil.’
“Worried? Me?” she mocked. His heavy footsteps stopped right behind her. His thick arms encircled her, and she melted into his protective embrace with a deep sigh. He nuzzled her neck, and the small tusks on his mandibles brushed her nape; his hot breath caused her to shudder. Her own hitched in anticipation.
She flushed, reaching for one of his thick tendrils. Innocently, she stroked it and felt a deep rumble in his chest. “Gotcha…” She smirked.
He nipped her skin with love, and a bit of insistence. “Scar…” Alexa pleaded. Silence, save for his customary purring. Then—a last playful bite before he pulled back, but still held her at the hips.
“You’ve been here since the launch.” He spoke with obvious restraint. ‘Arctic…’ Her anxiety crept back. She turned to face him, searching his eyes for something—anything. But her husband’s steady brown gaze betrayed neither doubt nor fear for their youngest son. His confidence calmed her again.
“I still think she would be down there,” she looked back at the planet below. She sighed, struggling with the words. “I just have a bad feeling. I can’t put my finger on it.” She looked back at her husband. “I’m losing it, aren’t I?”
He croaked in amusement.
“You still underestimate him?” She felt his clawed hand move from her hip to squeeze her shoulder. Irritated, she closed her eyes and fought the urge to slip free of his touch.
“No, I don’t.” She enunciated forcefully. “It’s against tradition that we’re still up here.” He must have felt her tensing up as his purring intensified.
“The humans—”
“Are a problem, yes.” She snapped, then exhaled, backing out of his touch. Yet her alien mate took it in stride. ‘As usual.’ Alexa pinched the bridged of her nose before giving him a sad smile. “Sorry.” She managed. Scar snorted dismissively.
“Arctic could be leading mutts and they would all come back blooded—twice over,” he boasted. Alexa chuckled. But beneath Scar’s usual swagger, she could tell he was worried, too.
“I think you’ve forgotten what’s down there in your old age,” she teased.
He puffed with mock indignity at the accusation which earned him a soft laugh. She looked down at the planet over her shoulder. Scar’s fingers on her chin gently stopped and forced her to look at him. “Do you not trust our son, Little Dagger?”
She chewed her bottom lip, fighting herself.
“Of course I do!” She jabbed a finger playfully into his pectoral for emphasis. “It’s the humans I don’t trust.” She shook her head before walking away, unable to stand still any longer. Scar gave a low grumble and clicked his tusks in amusement. He caught up to her in just a few steps.
“You’re human, too.”
Alexa stopped mid-stride. “A long time ago.” Her voice sounded distant even to her. “After everything we’ve been through—everything they’ve put us through…” She felt a new fire blazing in her chest as buried memories resurfaced. “Never again.” She could barely contain it.
Her husband’s mandibles clicked in agitation.
“They’re not here by chance, Scar.”
He approached carefully, and leaned his forehead forward. She closed the distance, their heads touching.
“Neither are we,” he said. She felt the anger evaporate from her veins. She sneaked her arms around his back and buried her face into his chest. She felt his tusks comb through her hair as took in her scent like they had just met again after a long Hunt. She shivered in delight, loving this side of him he only showed to her.
“Neither are we,” she agreed.
“Come, they should have arrived, now.” She nodded wordlessly. “He will be fine,” he continued.
“I know.”
He extended his clawed hand to her, leading her out of the observation deck. The doors slid closed behind them. The observation deck fell silent.
And beyond the glass, Rime 3 spun.
Vast. Indifferent. White.
***
The planet was covered in snow and ice as far his eyes could see from behind his biomask. He dropped into a crouch and made a fistful of it. It was compact and cold. It registered as a dark and ominous blue on the biomask's sensors. He let it go as it began to burn his hand uncomfortably. He remembered his mother’s stories about her old life back on Earth as a guide. He couldn’t understand why she would ever want to be in such an unpleasantly cool place. Or why would anyone for that matter, really. He turned his gaze back to the valley below his perch. The snowy dunes hugged the curvature of the horizon, and Arctic couldn’t help but feel a profound sense of longing for the lush jungles back on Yautja Prime.
The crunching of snow to his left and right brought his mind back to the task at hand, and he was grateful his featureless mask hid his forlorn expression from his peers. The otherwise vast, empty dunes were punctured by a massive cylindrical hole some hundred or so meters away. 'It's time,' he thought and clenched his fists. It was finally his Chiva.
Somewhere below that hole nested his prize: a Serpent Queen. He hadn’t been making empty promises back on the clanship; his parents had killed one together during their own Chiva, and he would not let himself and his hunting party accomplish any less.
Taking a deep breath, he made sure to remind himself to not make the same mistakes as his his father's half-brothers. They had underestimated the Serpents during the rite. Arctic had been trained to never take prey lightly since glory meant little if its pursuit distracted him and got him killed. Paya, he knew his mother would probably find a way to bring him back to life just to kill him again for it. He shuddered at the thought.
“<Enough sightseeing,>” a gruff growl came from his left.
Arctic turned to the other Yautja. It was Tempest.
He was big. Even for a pureblooded Yautja—and especially so for a male. Even standing at his full height, Arctic barely reached Tempest's chin. The pureblood was at least seven and three-quarter feet tall, if not eight. The young half-human lifted his right hand in a placating gesture when he saw, out of the corner of his eye the third and last of his hunting party—Fang—take an aggressive step forward at the massive young blood’s provocation.
Arctic ignored Tempest’s obvious jab, instead choosing to begin leading the hunting party down the enormous iced-over rock shelter in silence. He saw, to his satisfaction, the larger hunter bristle over the half-human's lack of reaction, doubly so when Fang also walked past, following their hunting party leader’s example.
Arctic's relationship with Tempest was complicated, to say the least. He was told it mirrored his mother's with Tempest’s sire. Apparently. She had never told him the full story between the two, only that Tempest’s father had died a long time ago and that there hadn't been any love lost between the two. Even his father had been tight-tusked whenever the young half-human would ask about it. He remembered how he had tensed and would glance over at Lex whenever Arctic poked and prodded, as if for permission. While it was complicated, the main difference seemed to be that Arctic was more than comfortable calling Tempest his friend. And he knew Tempest felt the same, in his own way. Their rivalry meant a lot to the both of them. And it helped keep both hunters focused on their training. They continually pushed each other's limits. And despite his parents' concerns, he wouldn't have it any other way.
He tried to push the tangent thoughts aside for now, focusing instead on the many lessons his mother had taught him which had all been to prepare him for today.
Her lessons had both been pleasant, and less than so. But they had been necessary. He remembered her speeches on finesse, and how a sharp mind was as dangerous as any yautja weapon. It was also a rare gift among young bloods.
Inevitably, his mind wandered to less pleasant memories again.
“<They’re always making fun of me!>” A younger version of Arctic stomped his foot angrily as he glowered at his mother. The human woman in front of him crossed her arms across her chest at his outburst, frowning disapprovingly. She knew her only son would have trouble integrating Yautja culture at times, just as she had. But she expected more from him than his ever increasingly frequent tantrums.
“Little Bird—” Lex started, staying calm.
“Stop calling me that!” Arctic thundered, scowling. “Can’t you see this is why no one takes me seriously? You're always treating me like a helpless mutt!”
The young boy regretted the words the second they left his mouth. While a Yautja mother might have knocked sense into him for his impertinence, Lex knew if she gave in now, it would only prove the boy’s point: that her version of parenting was weak, and that the Yautja way was the only way.
“Arctic Hunter Woods,” she chose and approached her son menacingly, causing him to visibly shrink just from the look in her eyes. Her voice was steady, and he knew he went too far. He could see how much he had disappointed her just then. “You want respect? You need to earn it.” The words scathed, and he averted his gaze, ashamed.
After a brief moment, she placed her hands on her son’s shoulders, firmly, making him look back up at her. “Keep it together.” She said softly.
“Make it to the surface.” Arctic smiled as he whispered his mother’s catchphrase to himself from behind his mask. It was their way of apologizing to each other whenever one of them went too far.
Of course, he didn’t agree with everything she had said or done. But he didn’t need to either. With time though he saw the wisdom in her lessons just like with all of his teachers — from his parents to their friends Bruiser, Vah’kea, Fugitive, and of course, his personal mentor Wolf.
It had been shortly after that last fight, that his mother had sent him to his first training camp with the old Yautja. The elder Elite had apparently made her an offer a long time ago, and she was finally taking him up on it. Little did the young blood know what was in store for him at the time, and he foolishly accepted it without so much as a second thought.
Wolf’s training had been brutal, to say the least. But lessons hard earned were never forgotten. All his previous training alongside his family had been nothing compared to what Wolf would put him through on a daily basis.
Even his father’s personal lessons paled in comparison.
It had made Arctic question a lot of things. Had they been giving him special treatment because he was the youngest? Or worse, because he was just a half-blood? The doubt crept in and kept him up at night despite his exhaustion for the first few weeks. The thought hurt. It hurt a lot more than he would have ever thought it could. If his family didn't believe in him, then what hope did he ever have of becoming a hunter of his own right?
But then there was a change. Gradually, he began to look forward to Wolf’s training. Despite how difficult it was and the thoughts that haunted him, it became his raison d'être. He saw it more and more as the perfect opportunity to prove everyone wrong. He would show them all; he wouldn't just survive Wolf's training and become a hunter, but he would also become the youngest Elite in his clan's history.
The grueling training quickly became his new normal. And, suddenly, months had gone him by and he couldn’t help but marvel at how quickly he had adapted to his new situation. Even Wolf seemed to approve of his progress every now and then, which as his mother had shared with him, was very impressive.
But it wasn’t until he had begun training for his Chiva with his young blood clanmates that he noticed the fruits of his labor; that his mother's lessons really began to sink in. He was much further along than he had thought. He had easily closed the gap in skill and strength between himself and the older purebloods. Where he had always been at a disadvantage due to his lankier frame, his speed and prowess had increased far more than anyone could have anticipated.
Arctic acknowledged his mother had shown him how his unique skills would distinguish him from any other hunter. Her unwavering faith in him fueled his desire to reach Elite status, like she and Scar had before him. She had taught him that while his speed would always be an advantage, he needed to train his brain to keep up with his body. It meant he had to plan better, faster. Be more flexible, and durable enough mentally to adapt when things went—inevitably—wrong.
He would be lying if her praises and his own ambition hadn't gotten to his head at times. But his father and Wolf made sure to bring him crashing back to reality whenever he got a little too lofty for their tastes. Where Lex was sometimes frustratingly forgiving—and protective—of Arctic, his father Scar on the other hand never held back. He had high hopes for his son, and Arctic quickly learned that it came with a lot more responsibility than just being honorable during hunts or bringing glory to the Clan.
Scar was the next heir apparent to assume the mantle of Clan Leader once the current Elder passed. And due to the position being filled solely based on merit, Scar wasted no time in grooming Arctic to be his own eventual replacement.
Arctic had scoffed at the time, since he expected his father to live for centuries still. Scar’s reprimand had been swift and sincere:
“<You never know what can happen on the Hunt. Hope for the best, prepare for the worst, as your mother would say.>”
At the time, he had mistaken the statement for doubt and cowardice. But when he fought his first Quatza-Rij alongside Fang and Tempest—he finally understood the importance of his parents' lessons on adaptability. The memory of the fight came crashing back.
Arctic had been the first to notice. What they had mistaken as solid ground had been in fact the massive hide of their prey. The hunters had barely registered the dire nature of their situation when the ground began to collapse out from under them.
The emerging beast was massive. Far larger than what the holos had suggested. It reared on two of its four hind legs, an earsplitting roar escaping it before it swung two pairs of clawed limbs wildly at the trio of young hunters it had successfully ambushed.
Arctic just managed to leap back out of its reach, but his companions weren't quick enough. While none had been impaled by their prey's attacks, Tempest had been caught midjump and flung into the far wall of the nearby cave they had begun exploring. He hit the stone structure with a horrifying crack, and lay on the ground, motionless.
Fang, on the other hand, had managed to latch onto one of the beast’s sweeping claws as it arced down at him and he now desperately clung to the Quatza-Rij's hook. He sank his wrist blades into the soft meat beween its chitinous plates for better purchase, but the wound only seemed to enrage the creature further. It thrashed and snapped its mandibled jaws at the Yautja, making the task of keeping himself from being thrown off even harder. And, somehow, above the raging beast, Fang could be heard clicking his tusks in laughter and excitement.
‘Unbelievable. The crazy bastard is actually enjoying this,’ Arctic thought in disbelief and laughed quietly to himself.
However, the young half-human's attention wasn’t distracted for long.
Another clawed limb came streaking through the air, and his reflexes and positioning were poor. The Quatza-Rij managed to pierce through his chest plate, sinking its curved claw deep in his torso, nicking a rib or two before tearing through his side. He grimaced uglily and it took him everything to not scream out in pain and anger.
He clearly misjudged its reach and took a few more halting steps back but stopped when he felt his balance thrown off and he tittered uncomfortably. The narrow valley they now shared with the abnormally large Quatza-Rij cut off in a massive drop. One wrong step and he, or any of his hunting party for that matter, could be sent hurling towards the chasm’s yawning abyss.
With a curse, Arctic ignored the protests of his side and focused on regaining his footing. He looked up to see Fang still being swung around madly by their mantis-like prey, then back down at Tempest who had yet to move from his prone position. An impatient growl escaped his lips, and the half-human knew they needed to find a way to keep the creature's attention away from the wounded Yautja until he could get his bearings back. He reckoned they only needed to buy him a minute or two at the most what with how exceptional Yautja recovery time was generally.
Despite the dire nature of the situation at hand and with his heart pounding mercilessly in his ears from excitement, Arctic felt himself grin wildly. He took as deep a breath as his injured ribs allowed him and let out an bellowing roar, challenging the Quatza-Rij to catch its attention.
Immediately, it stopped its erratic attempts to shake Fang off its left foreclaw and swung both towards Arctic instead, its intention clear to the half-human—if it couldn’t rid itself of Fang, then at the very least he would be made useful as it tried to batter one of its opponents with his friend’s body.
As the blow came, the unblooded ran forward ignoring the sharp protests of his torn side and gripped the extended Yautja's arm as it came sweeping past. Fang had reached out as he was being swung and used their prey’s momentum to help fling Arctic onto the beast’s hide. Their prey stared dumbly at the space where Arctic had been, giving the half-human the time needed to extend his combistick and pierce the back of its neck viciously.
The creature reared with another vicious roar, but the spear had embedded deeply and Arctic, despite his wounds, had no trouble holding on from this vantage point. He could see out of the corner of his eye Tempest slowly coming to on his right. He just needed to buy a little more time for him to get back in position.
Fang had somehow managed to latch a net onto the beast’s face shutting it up momentarily, but the reprieve was short-lived and Arctic let out a loud curse as the Quatza-Rij reared backwards even further, almost falling. Suddenly, he recognized its intentions: it was attempting to smash Arctic between its hide and the wall opposing the chasm. He needed to jump off, otherwise he’d be crushed. He tried to wait for the right moment, but as soon as he leapt, he realised the trap the beast had laid out: it had been waiting for that and with another sickening crunch it caught the young hunter right out of the air in its clapperclaw and squeezed mercilessly. Stuck in its grip, Arctic gasped and felt himself lurch backwards with a grunt as it wound its arm and catapulted him towards the chasm, and time slowed for the half-human.
While he braced himself for the inevitable, the beast’s clawed hand never released him and it took him longer than it should have for him to realize that its arm had been cut off at the joint from which Fang had been hanging moments earlier.
He could see Tempest who had thrown a shuriken at the perfect angle to slice through the appendage, detaching it from the main body. He was standing unsteadily one hand outstretched and the other leaning against the cave wall for support.
Arctic snapped out of his reverie as the cliff’s edge came fast at him, the beast’s throwing motion still carried enough momentum and it was going to send him over the lip. The vice grip had barely loosened and it was with grim acceptance that the half-human acknowledged his loss. He would never free himself in time before the arm carried him over. Tempest had been barely a second too late.
‘No,’ he corrected himself bitterly. ‘I shouldn’t have jumped at all.’
“<Arctic!>” he then heard Fang roar. The unblooded re-opened his eyes to see his friend leaping through the air, combistick fully extended and stabbed it through the severed limb, anchoring it into the valley’s floor.
The half-human blinked stupidly at the sheer dumb luck of it all. He didn’t care that they weren’t blooded yet—he was getting both Fang and that sourpuss Tempest some c’ntlip when this was over!
As Arctic drew his wrist blades to cut his way through the claws, the Quatza-Rij, staggering from its most recent wounds and mourning its lost limb, turned its focus on the guilty party—the injured Tempest.
“<You have to save Tempest!>” He shouted at his best friend. He knew Tempest would never forgive them if they did. But he wasn’t about to let the burly unblooded’s attempt to save his own life go to waste. He didn’t care in that moment about the Code. He knew for a fact, despite Tempest’s inevitable denial, that he had thrown that shuriken in a desperate attempt to save him, too.
With fervor, Arctic cut through the clawed fingers that imprisoned him as their prey approached Tempest, seething. The muscular yautja pushed himself gingerly off the wall. He spread his arms wide in challenge, and roared.
“<Finally.>” growled Tempest, startling Arctic back to reality again.
The hunting party had arrived at the massive tunnel entrance that had been melted through the ice all the way to the temple below.
The young blood tried his best to shake the haunting memory, but couldn’t help but steal a glance at Tempest and that massive four-clawed scar that covered his torso from shoulder to waist. Steeling himself, Arctic swore he wouldn’t let him down this time. This was it. In just a few minutes he would be in the hardest fight of his young life. The Quatza-Rij would inevitably become a footnote of the past.
He gave a subtle nod to Tempest, who returned it curtly. And another to Fang who replied in kind.
‘Mother, Father. Witness me.’ Arctic thought before beginning his slide down the tunnel.