Chapter 160 The Frostfall Cup Countdown

Chapter 160 The Frostfall Cup Countdown
Lucian's pov

The rink was cold and the ice was black and the lights were bright and the air was sharp.

I stood at center ice with my arms crossed and my jaw tight and my eyes scanning the team. They were scattered across the rink and their movements were sluggish and their passes were sloppy and their heads were not in the game. The Frostfall Cup was in three weeks and the team was not ready. The Frostfall Cup was the biggest tournament of the season and the most prestigious and the most brutal. Every pack in the region would be there and every team would be fighting and every wolf would be bleeding. And we looked like we had already lost.

"Line up," I shouted.

They lined up.

"Faster."

They went faster.

"Harder."

They went harder.

I watched them and the frustration was building and the anger was rising and the disappointment was growing. They were not focused and they were not ready and they were not going to win. The passes were wide and the shots were high and the defense was porous. They looked like a team that had already lost the will to fight.

"Again," I shouted.

They went again.

"Again."

They went again.

"Again."

They went again.

The practice continued and the hour passed and the ice was scarred and the players were exhausted.

I called them to center ice and their faces were flushed and their chests were heaving and their eyes were distant. Some of them were bent over with their hands on their knees and some of them were leaning on their sticks and some of them were just staring at the ice. The silence was heavy and the weight of their fear was palpable.

"We have three weeks," I said. "Three weeks until the Frostfall Cup. And you are not ready."

The players shifted and their eyes were down and their voices were quiet. They had heard this speech before and they knew what was coming. They knew I was right.

"You are sluggish. You are sloppy. You are not focused. And if you play like this in the Cup, you will lose."

"We are trying," Finn said. His voice was shaky and his eyes were wide.

"Trying is not enough."

"We are doing our best."

"Your best is not good enough."

The words hung in the air and the silence was heavy and the tension was thick. I could see the fear in their eyes and the doubt in their posture and the resignation in their shoulders. They were already defeated and the game had not even started.

"Coach," Tomas said. His voice was steady and his eyes were dark. "We are scared."

"Scared of what?"

"Scared of the witches. Scared of the war. Scared of everything."

I looked at them and their faces were pale and their eyes were wide and their hands were shaking. The weight of everything was pressing down on them and they were crumbling under the pressure. The war was coming and the witches were gathering and the world was changing. And they were supposed to play hockey.

"We are all scared," I said. "But we cannot let fear control us. We cannot let fear stop us. We cannot let fear win."

The players were quiet and their eyes were down and their shoulders were slumped. They wanted to believe me and they wanted to trust me and they wanted to fight. But the fear was too strong and the weight was too heavy.

"Now get back to work," I said.

The practice continued and the drills were brutal and the ice was cold and the burn was real.

I stood at the edge of the rink and watched them and the frost was in the air and the cold was on the ice and the fear was in their eyes. They were not the same team and they were not the same players and they were not the same wolves. The spark was gone and the fire was dim and the passion was dead. They were just going through the motions and their hearts were not in it.

"Faster," I shouted.

"Faster."

"Harder."

"Harder."

They moved and the blades bit into the ice and the pucks flew and the bodies collided. But the energy was wrong and the rhythm was off and the spirit was broken. The passes were still wide and the shots were still high and the defense was still porous. They looked like ghosts on the ice.

"Again," I shouted.

They went again.

"Again."

They went again.

"Again."

They went again.

The practice ended and the players filed off the ice and the rink was quiet and the lights were dim.

I stood at center ice and my hands were shaking and my voice was steady. The frost was on the boards and the ice was scarred and the silence was absolute. The weight of the Frostfall Cup pressed down on me and the pressure was immense. I had never seen the team like this and I had never felt so helpless.

"We are going to lose," I said.

No one answered.

"The Frostfall Cup is in three weeks and we are going to lose."

The words echoed off the walls and the silence was heavy and the weight was crushing. I had never said those words before and I had never believed them before. But now I did. I could see it in their eyes and I could feel it in their energy and I could taste it in the air.

A player stopped and turned and his face was pale and his voice was small. Finn. His eyes were wide and his hands were shaking.

"Then what do we do?"

I looked at him and my voice was steady.

"We fight."

"How?"

"We fight like we have never fought before. We fight like our lives depend on it. We fight like we have nothing to lose."

He was quiet for a moment and his voice was small. "Is that going to be enough?"

I looked at him and the weight of his question settled on my shoulders.

"I do not know," I said. "But it is all we have."

He nodded and walked off the ice and the rink was empty.

The night came and the fire crackled and the candles flickered and the room was warm.

I sat in my chambers and the papers were spread across the desk and the strategies were written and the plays were drawn. The Frostfall Cup was in three weeks and the team was not ready. The names of the opponents were listed and the scouting reports were stacked and the game plans were outlined. But none of it mattered.

Cressida appeared in the doorway and her dark hair was loose and her face was pale and her eyes were worried.

"Lucian."

"Cressida."

"I heard about practice."

"Of course you did."

"Are you okay?"

"I am okay."

"You do not look okay."

"I will be okay."

She crossed the room and sat in the chair across from me and her voice was soft.

"The team is scared."

"The team is terrified."

"They are looking to you for guidance."

"I have nothing to give them."

She reached for my hand and her fingers were warm and her grip was firm.

"That is not true."

"It feels true."

"Then fight."

"Fight who?"

"Fight the fear. Fight the doubt. Fight the darkness."

I looked at her and her dark eyes were steady. She was still fighting and she was still standing and she was still here.

"How?" I asked.

"One day at a time. One practice at a time. One game at a time."

I squeezed her hand and my voice was steady.

"Thank you."

"For what?"

"For reminding me."

The Frostfall Cup was in three weeks.

And we were going to fight.

But as I sat in my chambers and stared at the scouting reports and the game plans and the strategies, I could not shake the feeling that it was not going to be enough. The witches were coming and the war was coming and the world was changing.

And the Frostfall Cup was just a game.

A game that we might lose because we weren't ready.