Sær flies down the icy slope, dodging frozen splashes as they materialize from the darkness. His pyromancy glove trails along the ice, the warm glow making it light up like the setting sun. He dodges the sharp edges of stalagtites and icicles, rolling left and right, narrowly avoiding the freezing blades.

Suddenly the cave floor drops out from underneath him, and his stomach churns as his momentum shifts downwards. Sær flies through the darkness, the wind whistling and whipping his long hair around. Finally, with a loud THWUMP! He lands in a massive snowdrift, the soft powder breaking his fall.

"Ugh..." Sær groans, his joints creaking. Standing on unsteady feet, he looks around. He is in yet another cavern, the ground a sheer slate of clear ice. Fish swim beneath the surface, signifying that this indeed is another cave pool. Dusting himself off, the aching undead looks around for his wife.

From high above, he hears the sound of crunching and snapping ice, no doubt from Priscilla crashing through the frozen chunks. All of the sudden, ice shavings fly through the air, and the sliding sound ceases. The air is still, and Sær can see naught but drifting ice crystals. Ice crystals around an empty pocket of air. A pocket of air shaped suspiciously like a crossbreed. All too late, Sær realizes where Priscilla is.

"Oh no."

Priscilla turns visible just before crashing into the unlucky undead, her momentum cracking the ice and plunging them into the freezing depths. Fish scatter in every direction as the two plummet down to the bottom of the pool in a tangle of fur. Sær, the more accomplished swimmer of the two, quickly regains his senses and kicks off of the bottom. Priscilla quickly follows, flying through the water after him.

As Sær reaches the surface however, it is clear that his problems are much worse than the impending frostbite.

The ice has frozen over.

The hole has sealed itself, and Sær can see magical sparks dancing along the crystals. It seems that all the ice crystals swirling through Priscilla's body while she was sick caused them to become compact and powerful.

Priscilla reaches the surface quickly, her eyes darting across the sheet of ice, frantically searching for the hole. Finding none, she begins frantically pounding at the ice to no avail, unable to get enough momentum under the water. The two draw their blades and begin furiously chipping away at the ice, Sær's face beginning to go red due to lack of oxygen. Priscilla swims over, pressing her lips to Sær's and giving him breath, pouring her larger reserve of oxygen into his lungs.

He quickly goes back to chipping as Priscilla whirls to get momentum with her scythe, slamming it into the ice. It sinks deep, the blade poking above the icy ceiling to their watery prison. Priscilla tugs and tugs, but the scythe is stuck fast. Sær joins and the two strain mightily. Cracks slowly spiderweb across the ice, but the two realize that they will drown before they make any progress.

Suddenly, Sær taps Priscilla, pointing down. She tilts her head, her cheeks puffed from holding air in. He holds her hand, squeezing it tightly, looking into her eyes.The surrounding water lights up with a magical blue glow, and the metal orchids that hang from their necks open slowly.

Dive deeper, Sær says, speaking telepathically through the titanite-encased plant.

What?! Priscilla replies. Were we to do so, we shalt surely perish! That she is panicked enough to lapse into old-speak is enough to drive home the severity of the situation.

Trust me. Please. With that, Sær dives down, going deeper and deeper until the pressure threatens to crush him. Priscilla reluctantly follows, her own supply of air dwindling.

I need you to make a box of ice, Sær thinks to her. But without a bottom, and make it as light and large as you can.

Reluctantly, Priscilla uses a puff of air to send ice crystals swirling throughout the water, which slowly spreads and freezes as she directs it with her hands. After a few seconds, she has created a large, Sær-sized box, hollowed out with an opening on the bottom.

Now, blow all your air into it!

But-

We don't have much time! And hold on to it!

Priscilla does as she is told, emptying her lungs into the little cone. Sær adds his own meager amount of breath, hoping desperately that his plan works as he gets on top, steadying himself.

The box rockets upward, speeding through the water faster than a caffeinated crossbreed runs home on Tail-Rub Tuesday. Sær grits his teeth as the water pushes against his face, the ice rushing up to meet him quicker than Priscilla does on Snuggle Sunday.

The edges of his vision begin to darken, and he feels fatigue envelope his muscles as his world spins. Using the last ounce of strength in his body, Sær draws his sword, kneeling and holding it skyward. The ice gets closer and closer until-

KRRRRRRRAAAAAKOOOOOOW!

The entire cavern reverberates with sound, the noise vibrating it's occupants as chunks and sheets and shards of ice fly through the air. Sær is launched upwards, narrowly managing to grab hold of a stalagtite, nearly spearing himself in the process.

Priscilla breaches the surface next, landing neatly on the ice with nary a splash. Ruffling around in her fur, she pulls out a collar with a bell, promptly placing it on her tail. She widens her stance, closing her eyes and breathing deep. In a flash, she throws her arms outward, her tail flicking up and ringing the bell. A gold glow surrounds her body, quickly expanding into a shockwave of white wind that dries her instantly.

Sær's grip falters, his fingers red and raw from the biting cold. He kicks off the stalagtite, rolling as he hits the ice below before curling up into a shivering ball.

Priscilla rushes to him, drying him off with another Force miracle, but this only serves to make him colder. With no pyromancy glove large enough to fit her, her options are limited. Gathering Sær in her arms, she curls into a ball around him, blowing hot breath on his body.

His skin a sickening shade of blue, he shivers and gasps as he is slowly unthawed.

His skin starts to prickle, quickly turning numb. His shaking is quelled until he warms further, when his skin is assaulted by that familiar needling pain of unfreezing.

Priscilla rushes to him, drying him off with another Force miracle, but this only serves to make him colder. With no pyromancy glove large enough to fit her, her options are limited. Gathering Sær in her arms, she curls into a ball around him, blowing hot breath on his body.

His skin a sickening shade of blue, he shivers and gasps as he is slowly unthawed.

His skin starts to prickle, quickly turning numb. His shaking is quelled until he warms further, when his skin is assaulted by that familiar needling pain of unfreezing.

"Tch! Ow..."

"Are you all right?" Priscilla asks, concerned.

"Hurts..." He mumbles into her chest. His face slowly breaks into a grin. "But it's snow problem."

Priscilla makes a noise of disgust, turning her head.

"What's wrong?" Sær asks. "Come now, don't give me the cold shoulder!"

"Ugh," Priscilla huffs. "I know for certain you do not torment other women with these horrid japes."

"Are you jealous~?" Sær singsongs. "Don't be," he says sultrily, leaning in and whispering in her ear.

"Because I've only got ice for you."

A.N. Priscilla's husband did a lot of flying through the air in this chapter. He's like a -dare I say it- Særoplane!