"Just keep the fire off the ground," he reminded himself, conjuring small black flaming arrows. He held them carefully above the ice, feeling the warmth spread through his fingers. The firelight flickered across the frozen terrain, the heat causing a slight mist as it met the bitter cold.
With the arrows illuminating his way, he approached the frozen grove, eyes scanning the frost-covered branches. He spotted something glinting, a dull glimmer buried beneath the ice. A key? He reached out, grabbing a branch and yanking it down, trying to shake the object loose.
Nothing. He pulled harder, the ice cracking beneath his grip, his hand stinging from the cold. With a sharp tug, the branch snapped, shards of ice spraying out. He reached into the mass of frozen needles, his fingers brushing against metal—a key! But as he pulled it free, he felt a sharp pain, like a thousand needles stabbing into his palm.
