Dreaming of White ✔ [Completed]

Chapter 6 - Avalanche

The wind carried a howl with it. It twisted and turned in the icy current that swept through the gorge, threw itself against the steep rock walls on either side of the passage, rising, scrambling upwards, trying to escape. When it couldn't find a way out, it crashed back into the slowly rising storm, drowning in the wind's own whispers of frost and dread and despair. But before it faded completely, it broke through the surface of the sea of white winter noise one last time.

And became recognisable as a man's desperate scream of loss.

Then the wind caught a very different sound and carried it off into the darkening day.

Laughter.

One down.

One to go.

Judging from the apparent distress the remaining one was in and the way the wind now whipped up snow and ice and moulded it into an impenetrable, freezing wall of mist, he had a real chance of making this plan work. He only needed the right incentive, the right bait to get his quarry moving in the right direction. And then…

The man would never know what hit him. Literally.

And then all would be well again.

He'd fixed it. All on his own. He felt proud.

The man held up his hand, letting the wind play over his skin, stretching out his fingers to caress it. Then he set the hand carefully down on the rock beside him, the warmth of his skin burning into the snow, turning it into water under the palm of his hand.

Air. Earth. Fire. Water.

It still amazed him how he could have lived so many years not understanding that it all came down to this. That it was this simple. That he could do anything, be anything, have anything, as long as he understood this. After his journey was complete. He knew he had to be careful now. He was almost there. The ritual almost complete. And once he'd gotten rid of the FBI-guy, he would finish it. And finally be the man he always wanted to be. A clever man. A strong man. A man of flame and ice and storm and stone. A man of the elements. And once he was that, he didn't need to rely on anyone anymore, not even on the one who had started him on this journey.

He longed for night to fall. He longed to complete his transformation.

He raised his head, closing his eyes, letting the wind stroke his face one more time in a wild caress, understanding that this was a reward for the work he'd already done and accepting it with gratitude.

Flattening himself against the rock, he listened, knowing that the wind would bring to him what he needed. For a moment there was nothing. Then scrambling noises, choking sounds, frantic and wild and out of control. Then a thud and a crunch, like someone falling to his knees on the snowy ground. Then another howl, this time louder, a mixture of despair and pain and rage and guilt.

"I know you are out there you son of a bitch! You'll pay for this! I'll kill you! You hear me? I'll kill you!"

The man frowned.

Her knew this guy was air. Pure air. Highly intelligent. Full of knowledge. Someone with excellent mental powers. A man full of tricks and trickery. Someone who kept his own self hidden, but unlocked everyone else's secrets. Someone you couldn't catch, just as you couldn't grasp a summer's breeze. Someone you couldn't stop from getting inside your head, just as you couldn't stop air from getting into your lungs. Air. He was sure. Vansh was air.

So why was there so much fire in his screams and in his words? The man thought about it for a while. Then he understood. And smiled. The fire came not from Vansh himself, but from the dead woman. The woman was fire and she was in Vansh's soul. She had been part of him.