KamiKowa: That Time I Got Transmigrated With A Broken Goddess

Xavier narrowed his eyes, trying to discern shapes through the relentless curtain of snow. The dark forms among the trees shifted—or seemed to. A trick of the wind, perhaps, or his mind conjuring threats from shadows.

"Those aren't rocks," Efler confirmed, her voice dropping to barely above a whisper. "Don't stare directly at them. They track eye movement."

Naomi pressed against Xavier's side. "How many?"

"I count seven. Maybe more hidden by the trees." Efler reached for her crossbow, checking the tension . "They're waiting for something."

"For what?" Xavier asked.

"For us to be vulnerable." She nodded toward the guards clearing debris. "Like now."

Outside, men grunted as they dragged shattered wagon parts from the path. Each movement sent clouds of snow into the air, further reducing visibility. The wind carried their voices in broken fragments.

"—spine went clean through—"

"—never seen this many—"

"—frozen solid, poor bastards—"

Xavier assessed their options. The narrow path cut between steep slopes on either side. Snow piled high in drifts that would swallow a horse to its chest. Going around wasn't possible—the wagons would founder in deep snow. Going back meant traveling through territory these creatures had already claimed.

"We need to help clear the path," Xavier decided, reaching for his new ironwinter steel knife.

Naomi grabbed his arm. "Are you insane?"

"More hands means we get moving faster." He pulled his scarf up over his nose. "Every minute we sit here is another minute they have to surround us."

Efler nodded, her eyes tracking something beyond the canvas. "He's right. But stay close to the wagons. Don't venture near the tree line."

Xavier turned to Naomi. "Stay with Efler."

"No." Her jaw set in that stubborn line he'd come to recognize. "I'm not sitting here while you're out there."

"Nessa—"

"We stick together." She pulled her own knife from her belt. "That was the agreement."

Xavier wanted to argue but recognized the futility. Instead, he addressed Efler. "Watch our backs?"

She positioned herself at the wagon's rear, crossbow loaded. "Got it."

They stepped out into the biting cold. The wind had picked up, driving snow horizontally across the path. Xavier kept one hand on the wagon for orientation as they moved toward the blockage.

Dalen directed the clearing effort, pointing and shouting over the wind. Guards and travelers worked together, dragging debris to the edges of the path. Xavier noted how they avoided touching certain pieces—wagons parts impaled by massive crystalline spines that glittered even in the dim light.

"Take that end," a guard instructed, pointing to a broken axle. Xavier and Naomi positioned themselves on opposite sides, lifting on Dalen's count.

As they carried it to the edge of the path, Xavier caught movement from the corner of his eye—a dark shape shifting among the pines.

"Did you see that?" Naomi whispered, her breath fogging between them.

"Keep moving," Xavier replied, maintaining a steady pace. "Don't look at them."

They dropped the axle and returned for another piece. The work continued for what felt like hours but was likely only minutes.

His headache worsened, vision blurring at the edges. The cold numbed his fingers despite the gloves, making each load more difficult to grip. Beside him, Naomi wasn't faring too well.

"You okay?" he asked between loads.

She nodded, but her eyes betrayed her fear. "They're getting closer."

Xavier didn't need to look to know she was right. He could feel them watching, calculating, waiting for the perfect moment. The pressure in his skull built until each heartbeat sent fresh pain lancing behind his eyes.

"Almost clear!" Dalen called from the front of the caravan. "Everyone back to positions!"

The workers began retreating to their wagons. Xavier placed a hand at the small of Naomi's back, guiding her toward Efler's red wagon. They were halfway there when a high, keening sound cut through the wind.

Xavier froze. The sound came again—a whistle that seemed to vibrate in his bones.

"What is that?" Naomi clutched his arm.

"I don't—"

Another whistle answered from the opposite side of the path, then another, and another—a chorus of eerie signals surrounding the caravan.

Dalen's voice cut through the whistling. "Everyone in! Now!"

The caravan erupted into frantic motion. Travelers scrambled for shelter while guards formed a protective perimeter, weapons drawn. Xavier pushed Naomi ahead of him, urging her toward the red wagon where Efler stood ready with her crossbow.

Ten steps. Five.

Something dark moved at the edge of Xavier's failing vision—a shape detaching from the trees, low to the ground and unnaturally fast. Not running, but gliding over the snow.

"Faster," he urged Naomi, fighting the impulse to look directly at the approaching threat.

They reached the wagon just as the whistling reached a fever pitch.

A guard's voice cut through the chaos. "INCOMING!"

Xavier's world narrowed to a single moment of perfect clarity. Through the swirling snow, he saw them—sleek bodies covered in crystalline spines moving with impossible speed. Not the lumbering beasts he'd imagined, but something more akin to wolves made of living ice.

One broke from the pack, heading straight for the red wagon. For Naomi.

Time seemed to stretch as Xavier watched the creature's back arch, its spine rippling as it prepared to launch its deadly projectiles.

"GET DOWN!" he shouted, lunging for Naomi.

===

Calypso Valentine stood at the window of her chambers in Hearthome, watching snowflakes spiral down from a leaden sky. The pain in her head had worsened—a persistent ache that pulled her gaze eastward.

Tears formed in her eyes without warning, trailing down her cheeks in silent streams. She touched her face, confused by the wetness there.

"Lady Selene?" Margaret's voice came from the doorway. In this world, she was Margot, a healer's apprentice with practical hands and a sharp mind. "Are you unwell?"

Calypso quickly wiped her cheeks. "I'm fine."

"You don't look fine." Margaret closed the door behind her, moving to Calypso's side. "You're crying."

"Am I?" Calypso stared at the moisture on her fingertips. "How strange. I don't know why."

The pain in her head intensified, a hollow ache that seemed to resonate with something beyond herself. She pressed a hand against her heart, feeling its quickened rhythm beneath the fabric of her gown.

"Something's wrong," she whispered. "Something's happening to him."