Chapter 16: The Codex's New Vessel
The mist swallowed Everly whole.
One moment she was there—frost crackling around her fingers, eyes burning with that impossible red light—and the next she was gone. The black ice wall stood between them, twelve feet of jagged obsidian that hissed with cold and reflected Fox's face back at him in distorted fragments.
He slammed his fist against it.
The ice didn't crack. Didn't even tremble. It just drank the impact and gave nothing back.
"Everly!"
His voice bounced off the cliffs and died in the fog. The sea answered—waves slapping against the pier below, gulls crying somewhere in the grey distance—but nothing else.
Nothing human.
Fox hit the wall again. Felt something pop in his knuckles. Didn't care.
"Everly, you don't know what you're doing!"
Silence.
Arielle's hand found his shoulder. He flinched. Almost swung. Caught himself just in time to see her face—pale, streaked with blood and salt spray, eyes wide and wet.
"We have to go after her," she said.
"Can't." Fox gestured at the ice. "That's not normal frost. That's—"
"Codex magic." Arielle's voice was barely a whisper. "She took it. She actually took it."
Leliana stirred.
The sound was small—a soft moan, a shift of fabric against stone—but Fox heard it. He turned. Knelt. Leliana's face was slack, peaceful in a way he hadn't seen since childhood. Her chest rose and fell. Her fingers twitched against the ground.
Alive.
Still alive.
"We need to move her," Fox said. "The ice won't hold forever. And when it breaks, whatever Everly's becoming—"
"She's not becoming anything." Arielle's voice cracked. "She's still Everly. She's our—"
"She was never ours."
The words came out harder than he intended. Arielle recoiled as if he'd struck her.
"You don't know that," she said.
"I know the Codex. I know what it does." Fox lifted Leliana—she was lighter than he remembered, bonier, as if something had been eating her from the inside—and cradled her against his chest. "We need to find shelter. Somewhere defensible. Then we figure out our next move."
Arielle stared at him for a long moment.
Then she nodded.
The cliffside camp was a corpse.
Everly's spell had done more than freeze the air—it had cracked the foundations of the wooden platforms, splintered the railings, sent crates of supplies tumbling into the sea. The tent where Leliana had held court was now a collapsed heap of canvas and broken poles. The braziers still glowed, but their light was weak, guttering, as if the fires themselves were afraid.
Fox carried Leliana past the wreckage.
His legs ached. His chest was a map of scratches and bruises, some old, some fresh, all throbbing in time with his heartbeat. His cock still carried the ghost of her—wet, warm, clenching—and he hated himself for noticing.
Hated himself more for not regretting it.
Arielle walked ahead of him, throwing daggers ready. Her shoulders were tight. Her steps were careful. She was scanning the fog for threats, for movement, for anything that might leap out of the white.
Fox watched her.
He remembered the way she'd looked at him in the cavern—the way she'd touched his arm, brushed against him, found excuses to stay close. She was young. Young and lonely and desperate for something that felt like safety.
He was none of those things.
"Where are we going?" she asked.
"North. There's an old watchtower about two miles up the coast. Abandoned. Solid stone."
"How do you know about it?"
"I grew up here." The words tasted like ash. "Before."
Arielle didn't ask anything else.
They walked in silence.
The mist thickened as they climbed. It coiled around their legs, their waists, their throats. Fox could barely see ten feet ahead—just Arielle’s silhouette, just the grey path, just the occasional glint of dark water below.
His arms burned.
Leliana shifted. A small sound escaped her lips—something between a sigh and a whimper—and Fox's grip tightened.
"Hang on," he muttered. "Just hang on."
She didn't answer.
She wouldn't.
Not for a while.
The watchtower appeared out of the fog like a memory.
Round. Stone. Ancient. Its roof had caved in decades ago, and ivy crawled up its walls in thick green ropes, but the base was intact. The door hung open—rusted hinges, splintered wood—and the interior was dry, dusty, littered with the bones of birds and the remnants of old fires.
Fox laid Leliana on a pile of his own bedroll and checked her pulse.
Steady.
He exhaled.
Arielle stood in the doorway, watching him. Her eyes were still wet.
"You love her," she said.
Fox didn't look up.
"That's not—"
"You do." Arielle's voice was flat. "I saw the way you looked at her. Back at the camp. Back at the tent." She swallowed. "You're still in love with her."
Fox's jaw tightened.
"I was in love with her when we were kids," he said. "When the world made sense." He pulled the blanket up to Leliana's chin. "That's not the same thing."
"Isn't it?"
He finally looked at Arielle.
Really looked.
She was trembling. Not from cold—from something deeper. Something that had been building for days, weeks, maybe since the moment they'd first met in that tavern on the coast.
"I'm not him," Fox said. "Whoever you're looking for. I'm not that."
"I'm not looking for anyone."
"You are." He stood. Crossed the room. Stopped just short of touching her. "You're looking for someone to save you. Someone to tell you that it's okay. That the world isn't as dark as it seems." He shook his head. "I can't be that. I don't know how."
Arielle's chin quivered.
"I never asked you to be."
"You didn't have to."
She turned away.
Her shoulders shook. Silent sobs—the kind that come from a lifetime of learning to cry without making noise. Fox watched her, and something in his chest cracked open.
He reached for her.
She turned back. Her face was wet, her eyes red, her lips parted. She looked at him like he was the only thing keeping her tethered to the earth. And maybe that was true.
"Arielle—"
"Don't."
She grabbed his shirt—what was left of it—and pulled him forward.
Their mouths collided.
It wasn't gentle. Wasn't the kind of kiss he'd imagined when he thought about her—which he had, more than once, more than he'd ever admit. It was desperate. Hungry. She kissed him like she was drowning and he was air.
Fox's hands found her waist. Her hips. Her ass. He pulled her against him, and she gasped into his mouth.
"I hate this," she whispered. "I hate that I want you."
"Then stop."
"I can't."
She dragged him down.
The floor was hard—stone and dust and the bones of dead birds—but Fox didn't care. Arielle was beneath him now, her legs wrapped around his waist, her hands fumbling with the ruined clasp of his belt.
He kissed her throat. Her collarbone. The soft hollow between her breasts—already exposed, her tunic torn in the earlier fight. She arched beneath him, and her hips rocked against his, and Fox felt himself harden against her thigh.
"Fox," she breathed.
"Yeah?"
"Just fuck me."
He stopped.
Raised his head.
Looked at her.
"Are you sure?"
"I'm sure." Her voice shook.
Fox held her gaze.
Then he nodded.
He pulled her tunic up. Over her head. Her breasts were small, round, pale in the grey light—pink nipples already hard, already aching. He lowered his mouth to one, sucked it between his lips, and Arielle cried out.
Not pain.
Not quite.
His hand found her other breast. Squeezed. Kneaded. She arched into him, and her fingers dug into his shoulders, and she moaned—a low, filthy sound that went straight to his cock.
"You like that?"
"Yes—"
He sucked harder. Bit down. She screamed.
He didn't stop.
His hand slid down her stomach. Over her hips. Between her legs. She was soaked already—fucking dripping—and his fingers slid through her folds like silk.
"Fuck," he muttered. "You're so wet."
"Don't stop."
He pushed two fingers inside her.
Arielle's back bowed. Her mouth fell open. Her pussy clenched around his knuckles, warm and tight, and Fox's cock throbbed with the need to be inside her.
"That's it," he said. "Take it."
She bucked against his hand. Rode his fingers like she'd been doing it her whole life—instinct, not experience, the pure animal need for release. He curled his fingers inside her, found the spot that made her gasp, and pressed.
"Fox—"
"Yeah?"
"I'm—I'm close—"
"Already?"
"Fuck you—"
He grinned.
Then he pulled out.
Arielle whined—a high, frustrated sound—and grabbed at his wrist.
"No—!"
"Not yet."
He stood. Unbuckled his belt. Unlaced his trousers. His cock sprang free—hard, thick, the head already leaking. Arielle stared at it. Licked her lips.
"I want it," she said.
"I know."
He knelt between her legs.
Her trousers were still on—ragged wool, damp from the walk—and he tugged them down. Her undergarments came with them. And then she was bare—golden curls, pink pussy, slick and swollen and waiting.
"Spread your legs," he said.
She did.
Wide.
Fox positioned himself at her entrance. The tip of his cock touched her lips—just touched—and Arielle's whole body shuddered.
"Please," she whispered.
"Beg better."
"Please fuck me, Fox. Please put your cock inside me. I need it. I need you. Please—"
He pushed in.
Arielle screamed.
Not pain—she was too wet, too ready—but the sound was raw, animal, broken. Her nails raked down his back, and her cunt clenched around him like a fist, and Fox had to stop. Had to breathe. Had to fight the urge to come right then and there.
"Fuck," he ground out.
"You're—oh gods—you're so big—"
"You can take it."
"I know."
He thrust.
Hard.
Arielle's scream dissolved into a moan—low, throaty, obscene—and her hips rose to meet his. He pulled out. Thrust again. Faster. Harder. The room filled with the wet slap of their bodies, the creak of old stone, the harsh rhythm of their breath.
"You feel so good," he rasped. "So fucking tight."
"Don't stop—"
"I won't."
He pounded into her. Ruthless. Relentless. The way he'd wanted to fuck her since the moment she'd walked into that tavern and smiled at him with those too-bright eyes. Her tits bounced with every thrust. Her mouth hung open. Her eyes were glassy, unfocused, lost in pleasure.
"I'm going to come," she gasped.
"Then come."
"I want you to—inside—"
Fox's brain stuttered.
"What?"
"Inside me." Her legs locked around his waist. "I want to feel it. Please."
He should have said no.
Should have pulled out.
But he couldn't—not with her looking at him like that, not with her cunt squeezing him like that—and when she came—Gods, when she came—her whole body convulsed around him, her pussy milking his cock with violent, perfect pulses, and Fox lost his mind.
He drove in deep.
Once. Twice. Three times.
And then he emptied himself inside her—hot, thick, flooding her cunt with everything he had. Arielle moaned as she felt it. Pulled him closer. Kissed him—soft this time, almost tender—as his cock twitched and pulsed and finally, finally went still.
They lay there.
Tangled.
Breathless.
The fog pressed against the tower walls like a living thing. Somewhere far away, thunder rolled. Leliana slept ten feet away, and Fox's come dripped from Arielle's thighs onto the dusty stone, and nothing—nothing in the world—felt right.
But for a moment—just a moment—it felt real.
"What happens now?" Arielle whispered.
Fox closed his eyes.
"I don't know."
He felt her nod against his shoulder.
Then she pulled away. Sat up. Reached for her clothes. Fox watched her dress—the pink of her cheeks, the mess between her legs, the way she avoided his gaze—and felt something twist in his chest.
Not love.
Not quite.
But something.
"We need a plan," she said. "Everly. The Codex. All of it."
"I know."
He stood. Pulled up his trousers. Looked at Leliana—still sleeping, still pale, still the girl he'd failed a hundred times over.
Then he looked at the door.
At the fog.
At the world beyond.
"Tomorrow," he said. "We go after her tomorrow."
Arielle nodded.
Neither of them slept.
The night stretched on—cold, black, infinite—and somewhere in the darkness, Everly's laughter echoed across the cliffs.