Let Them Kneel (kaelani and Julian) novel Chapter 129

The cold was relentless.

Not the kind that nipped at skin and faded with motion–this was the kind that clung, that crept past fur and flesh, embedding itself in the marrow. For days now, Julian and Jace had trekked through a landscape stitched from ice and silence, where wind howled like a starving predator and the sky stayed the color of old bones.

Slopes iced over with jagged frost. No roads. No signs of life. Just endless white, broken only by the brittle silhouettes of black trees–dead, clawed things that watched them pass.

The wind hadn’t let up in hours. Snowdrifts waist–deep. It slashed sideways through the jagged mountain corridor, seeping through layers of insulated gear, numbing even the primal warmth their Lycan blood offered.

They felt it in their fingers, stiff even beneath gloves. In their bones.

Even Lycans had limits.

And here–in this forgotten, frozen corner of the mortal world–they were walking right up against them. Their boots cracked through crusted snow with each step, the rhythm as punishing as it was necessary.

Jace didn’t speak. Neither did Julian. There was no point in wasting breath when the air itself fought to take it from them.

Julian’s pace slowed first.

He lifted his head, squinting through the pale curtain of flurries. Just ahead, jutting from a mound of ice like a skeletal limb, stood a blackened, gnarled tree–leafless, lifeless, its twisted branches clawing at the

sky.

Julian stopped.

“That’s the Widow’s Reach,” he muttered, reaching for the zipper of his jacket. His stiff fingers dug beneath and pulled out the folded map he kept tucked close to his chest.

The paper crackled in the wind as he unfolded it, eyes scanning the inked lines.

“We’re close,” he murmured. “Bridge is ten miles from here.”

Jace squinted toward the horizon, where the sun hung low and hazy behind a curtain of drifting snow. He raised his hand, measuring the sinking light with the spread of his fingers.

“Two hours,” he said. “Maybe less until sundown.”

Julian didn’t respond, still scanning the distance beyond the Widow’s Reach.

“We should find shelter,” Jace added, voice firmer now. “We need rest. Clear heads. Especially before crossing that thing.”

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Julian gave a slow nod, the memory surfacing like a shadow behind his eyes. No one crosses the Ravenspine without leaving a piece of themselves behind.

That’s what Lazarus had said.

And he hadn’t been exaggerating.

People were known to go mad trying to cross it.

Julian exhaled through clenched teeth, a puff of vapor vanishing into the wind. He didn’t want to stop. Every instinct in him screamed to keep moving–if not for warmth, then to quiet the thoughts clawing at the back of his mind.

But Jace was right.

He gave a terse nod. “Fine. Let’s find shelter.”

They pushed forward through the mounting drifts, boots crunching against the crusted snow until the terrain shifted–sloping jaggedly into a wall of rock streaked with frost and shadows.

It was Jace who noticed it first. “There.”

Nestled in the cliffside was a narrow recess–just wide enough for a man to slip through sideways. Its mouth was half–obscured by a curtain of ice, glittering like spun glass. If not for the way the snow broke around it, they might’ve missed it entirely.

Julian ducked low, brushing aside a veil of icicles. The passage opened into a hollowed cavern, curved like the inside of a ribcage, its walls glistening with pale blue ice. The floor was mercifully dry–smooth stone beneath a light dusting of snow.

The wind didn’t follow them in.

The silence was instant. Heavy.

lian stepped deeper inside, glancing around warily. No tracks. No scent. Just the cold–and something else he couldn’t quite name. A stillness that felt too… aware.

Jace dropped his pack near the far wall and rolled his shoulders. “We’ll stay here tonight. Get some rest. Clear our heads.”

Julian didn’t respond at first. His eyes were still on the cavern walls, watching the way the ice seemed to shimmer faintly, almost like breath against glass.

He finally muttered, “We should eat.”

Jace gave a short nod. “On it.”

He dropped his pack and unzipped the outer flap, pulling out two vacuum–sealed cuts of meat–frozen solid and rimmed with frost. “Last of the steaks,” he said, holding them up. “After this, we’ll have to hunt.”

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Chanteipa

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