Amarok's vision had narrowed to a dark, pulsing tunnel.
The cold had long since stopped feeling like an external force. It lived inside him now, threading through muscle and bone, slowing every beat of his heart. Breathing hurt. Moving was no longer an option. Heavy debris—splintered timber, broken stone, and a collapsed section of wall—pinned his lower body against the frozen ground. Each shallow inhale scraped his throat raw. He could feel consciousness slipping away in uneven fragments, the edges of thought growing soft and distant.
So this was how it ended.
