For Arthur, the reality of the dream is the only reality - slow and stagnant steps forwarded, a clouded mind, dark fire. He knows that the void must be stopped. He knows that the cold gets its claws in and tills the soil for its gruesome purpose, the cold must be defeated. The cold, a living thing, every crack of frost a monster ready to spring out from the frigid air into a hulking, sword-wielding monster. How he knows these things is irrelevant. This is all there is.

The dragon-woman steps back. Unease and something sharper twist in his chest like splinters of wood and iron. Wrong. She musn't. Not into the void. Arthur holds Excalibur away and extends his empty hand to her.

Not that way.