Chapter 34: White Without End

The engines roared steadily as we cut through the frozen sky.

For the first hour, none of us spoke.

The palace shrank into nothing beneath us — swallowed by snow, distance, and clouds. Antarctica stretched endlessly in every direction, a white ocean without landmarks.

I kept my eyes forward, hands firm on the controls.

Behind me, I could feel Ayara.

At first, I thought she was just exhausted.

Then I felt it.

A faint tremor against my back.

Her shoulders were shaking.

She wasn’t speaking.

She wasn’t making noise.

But she was crying.

Silently.

The wind outside howled against the fuselage, but inside the cockpit it was quiet except for the steady vibration of the engine and her soft, uneven breaths.

I didn’t turn around.

If I did, I might lose focus.

Instead, I reached one hand back briefly and squeezed her knee gently — just enough for her to know I was there.

The radio crackled to life.

Juliet’s voice came through, slightly distorted.

“Status?”

“Fuel is holding,” I replied. “Visibility is decent.”

A pause.

“Do you know where we’re going?” she asked.

I glanced down at the endless white below us.

No cities.

No roads.

No signs of civilization.

“No,” I admitted. “Do you?”

“Not a clue.”

We were flying blind.

Two World War II fighter planes over an endless frozen continent with no navigation systems beyond basic instruments.

“We need an airport,” Juliet said. “Or at least somewhere we can refuel.”

“I don’t see anything.”

Hours passed.

The sky shifted from pale blue to a deeper, colder shade. The sun moved slowly across the horizon. The white below never changed.

Ayara’s crying eventually stopped.

She leaned forward slightly, her forehead resting gently between my shoulder blades.

The radio crackled again.

“My fuel gauge is dropping faster than I’d like,” Juliet said.

I looked down at mine.

It was happening to me too.

“We should start scanning for somewhere flat,” I said. “A long stretch. Clear of heavy snowdrifts.”

“You’re thinking emergency landing?”

“I’m thinking we don’t have a choice.”

Silence.

Then:

“Copy.”

We flew lower.

The wind grew rougher as we descended.

I searched desperately for anything resembling stable terrain — a frozen lake, a wide hard-packed snowfield, something long enough for landing.

The fuel gauge dipped dangerously low.

Juliet’s voice came through again, tighter this time.

“I’m almost empty.”

“Same.”

A sputter.

My engine coughed.

Once.

Twice.

My stomach tightened.

“Now,” I said. “We land now.”

I spotted a relatively flat stretch of ice ahead — not perfect, but long enough.

I lowered the nose carefully.

The engine gave one final strained roar — then died.

Silence.

Just wind.

We were gliding.

Juliet’s plane descended slightly to my left.

The ground rushed up fast.

Too fast.

I adjusted the flaps manually, steady hands despite the pounding in my chest.

“Easy…” I muttered.

The wheels hit.

Hard.

The plane bounced violently across the ice. Metal screeched. Snow exploded upward around us.

For a second, I thought we were going to flip.

But the momentum slowed.

Skidding.

Sliding.

Finally—

Stillness.

My breath came out slowly.

Juliet’s Spitfire slid to a stop not far from us.

I turned back.

“Ayara?”

She was pale but conscious.

“I’m okay,” she whispered.

Outside, the world was quiet again.

No palace.

No wolves.

No queen.

Just endless snow.

And two grounded warplanes in the middle of nowhere.

We had escaped.

But now—

We had no idea where we were.

The silence after the landing felt heavier than the crash itself.

For a moment, none of us moved.

Then the cold began to creep in.

We climbed out of the Spitfires one by one, boots sinking into thick snow. The wind cut across the open ice field, sharp and relentless. There was nothing around us but white — endless, blinding white — and a pale sky that gave no sense of direction.

Juliet slammed her cockpit shut behind her. “Well,” she muttered, “this is bad.”

“Could be worse,” Daniel said.

I looked at him.

He was standing straight now. No dizziness. No nausea. His skin had regained color, and his breathing was steady.

“You okay?” I asked.

He flexed his fingers and rolled his shoulders. “Yeah. I feel a lot better now. I feel normal again.”

“Good,” I said. “Because we’re walking.”

Ayara stood quietly beside the plane, my shirt hanging loosely on her frame. She looked drained but stable.

I stepped closer. “Can you manage?”

She nodded. “I can.”

So we left the planes behind.

The wind erased our footprints almost as soon as we made them.

We walked.

And walked.

And walked.

At first, conversation helped pass the time.

Then it faded.

The cold seeped through layers of clothing. Snow crunched endlessly beneath our boots. The horizon never seemed to move. Every direction looked the same — flat, endless ice.

Hours passed.

The sun shifted slowly across the sky, casting long pale shadows behind us.

Daniel, surprisingly, kept pace easily. His strength had fully returned. He even walked ahead at times.

Juliet’s breathing grew heavier but steady. She refused to complain.

Ayara stayed close to me, silent, her face unreadable.

After what felt like an eternity, I began to wonder if we were simply walking in circles.

Then Daniel suddenly stopped.

He narrowed his eyes.

"Can you smell that? Gasoline"

He ran up ahead and we went with him and all of a sudden he stopped.

“Do you see that?”

We all followed his gaze.

At first, it looked like a mirage — a faint dark shape breaking the white horizon.

We kept walking.

The shape grew clearer.

A structure.

Tall antennas.

A long flat stretch of cleared snow.

A building.

Juliet’s voice lifted slightly. “Is that…?”

Daniel broke into a run.

“It’s a research airport!” he shouted back.

Energy surged through all of us at once.

We ran.

Not gracefully. Not carefully.

Desperately.

As we got closer, the details became clear — a small runway carved into the ice, metal hangars, satellite dishes, fuel tanks, and a modest research facility structure with flags whipping violently in the wind.

Civilization.

Real civilization.

I let out a breath I didn’t realize I’d been holding for hours.

“We made it,” Juliet said quietly.

For the first time since the dungeon… since the queen… since the wolves…

We weren’t running blindly anymore.

We had found something.

Hope.

We didn’t slow down as we approached the runway.

By the time we reached the edge of the cleared airstrip, a few mechanics and ground crew members had already noticed us.

Four figures emerging from a white wasteland on foot.

Clothes torn.

Faces pale.

One of us still wearing a pilot helmet.

Another covered in dried blood.

They stared at us like we had crawled out of a nightmare.

One man even took a cautious step backward.

The cold wind whipped across the runway, carrying the smell of fuel and metal. Off to the right sat a small ultralight transport aircraft — compact, narrow-bodied, clearly built for cargo rather than comfort. Its propellers were still, but the rear hatch was open as crew members finished final checks.

Daniel muttered under his breath, “We must look insane.”

“We do,” Juliet replied quietly.

We walked straight toward the ultralight.

As we approached, a member of the ground crew stepped forward to intercept us. He looked young. Blonde. Nervous but trying to remain professional.

“Excuse me,” he said cautiously. “Who are you? Where are you headed?”

I didn’t answer immediately.

Instead, I glanced past him at the aircraft.

“Where’s this plane headed?” I asked calmly.

He blinked, slightly thrown off. “France.”

“Are the pilots already in the cockpit?”

“Yes… but why are you asking all these questions?”

I ignored that.

“How many passengers are on board?”

He frowned. “There are no passengers. We’re shipping a fragile product to our headquarters in France.”

I stepped closer.

He didn’t step back.

I placed my hand gently around his neck — not squeezing, not threatening. Just firm enough to hold his attention.

His eyes widened at first.

Then I smiled.

“You know,” I said smoothly, “you have remarkably sharp features. Very symmetrical. Strong jawline. You must get that a lot.”

He blinked.

Then he smiled awkwardly. “Uh… thank you?”

That was all I needed.

I let my voice soften.

Slow.

Measured.

The world around us seemed to fade as I locked eyes with him.

“You have very kind eyes,” I continued quietly. “Very easy to trust.”

His pupils dilated slightly.

His breathing slowed.

“You want to help us.”

“Yes,” he murmured faintly.

“You’re going to open that plane door for us.”

He nodded immediately. “Yes.”

“You won’t ask any more questions.”

“No.”

“And after we board, you’ll forget this conversation entirely. You’ll return to your duties and continue your work as if nothing unusual happened.”

A blank calm washed over his face.

“Yes.”

He turned, walked to the side door of the ultralight, and unlocked it without hesitation.

Juliet raised an eyebrow at me.

“Show-off.”

We climbed inside.

Before stepping fully in, I looked back at the crew member.

“Thank you,” I said softly. “Now forget.”

His eyes blinked once.

Confusion flickered.

He turned and walked away, adjusting his gloves like nothing had happened.

Inside, the ultralight was tight and industrial. The walls were lined with strapped cargo crates labeled FRAGILE in bold lettering. The interior smelled of oil and insulation foam. There were fold-down seats along the sides, thinly padded and secured with basic harnesses. Overhead wiring ran along the ceiling panels, partially exposed.

Not luxurious.

But functional.

I walked forward toward the cockpit door and knocked twice.

A voice responded from inside. “Yes?”

The door opened slightly.

The pilot stared at me.

His expression shifted instantly from confusion to alarm.

“Who are you? You can’t be in here—”

I stepped inside calmly, closing the door behind me.

The cockpit was cramped — two seats, instrument panels glowing softly, navigation screens flickering with coordinates.

The co-pilot turned in his seat, eyes widening.

I leaned slightly against the panel and smiled.

“Gentlemen,” I said evenly, “you look like professionals.”

They exchanged uneasy glances.

“You have steady hands,” I continued. “Calm minds. That’s rare.”

Their breathing slowed as my tone dropped into that same hypnotic cadence.

“You’re not startled,” I added gently. “You’re simply welcoming your VVIP guests.”

The pilot’s eyes began to glaze over.

“Yes,” he said quietly.

“We are VVIP guests traveling with you to France.”

“Yes.”

“You are pleased to have us.”

“Yes.”

“Where in France are we landing?”

“Paris,” the co-pilot replied mechanically. “Private airstrip near headquarters.”

“Perfect.”

I straightened.

“You will continue this flight as normal. We are expected. There are no issues.”

“No issues,” they echoed faintly.

I opened the cockpit door and stepped back into the cargo hold.

Juliet looked up immediately.

“Well?”

“We’re going to Paris.”

Daniel’s lips twitched slightly. “France?”

“Paris,” I confirmed.

They didn’t cheer.

Didn’t celebrate.

But I saw the relief in their eyes.

A way home.

A way forward.

Ayara, however, sat quietly against the wall, staring at nothing.

Blank.

Empty.

I couldn’t blame her.

She had just lost her home.

Her family.

Her kingdom.

Paris wasn’t a destination for her.

It was exile.

I walked over and sat beside her.

“It won’t always feel like this,” I said softly.

She didn’t respond.

But she leaned her head gently against the wall — and closed her eyes as the engines roared louder and the plane began to taxi toward the runway.

France awaited.

And whatever came after.