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When the truth surfaces in winter, it rarely comes quietly. It cracks open, sharp and sudden—pulling everything else into its wake.
In First Descent by Mike Pace, winter feels less like a backdrop and more like a living force, threading through two different worlds that seem to inch closer with every revelation. The unfolding mystery carries hints of ancient magic and modern ambition, creating a sense that the cold itself remembers what others have tried to forget.
Nick Landowski has long avoided the story of his father’s disappearance—a failed Arctic expedition fueled by belief in a mythical cave of red diamonds. But when a freak mining accident splits open the strange geode his father left behind and reveals a concealed key, Nick is drawn into a pursuit marked by rising danger. His search stretches across a modern landscape where powerful factions are desperate to control the legendary Coca-Cola formula and an ancient world where winter’s oldest magic bends time and reshapes reality. As Nick follows clues hidden in both timelines, he uncovers the real reason his father vanished and the link between a global corporate secret and a force far older than Christmas itself. Enemies from both worlds want the key for their own ends—and the closer Nick gets to the truth, the more he realizes that the season’s survival may depend on what he chooses to unlock.
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Excerpt
Seventy minutes later, his lungs about to burst, Virgil clawed his way to the top of a rocky ridge and found himself standing on the edge of a clearing. The impossible sun had long since disappeared. No moon or stars; the sky hovered tight overhead like a suffocating black blanket. He glanced again at his watch. Deadline approaching fast. He needed to reach the center of the clearing quickly.
Expecting the level terrain to ease his journey, he set out. Almost immediately he sank thigh-deep into the powdery snow and struggled to move. Before departing from Nevada he’d considered bringing snowshoes, but his boots had been too bulky to fit into the bindings. Again, the trade-off had been warmth over nimbleness, and he’d chosen warmth. In retrospect, given that his lack of cleats had almost cost him his life and now without snowshoes the whole purpose of his mission could dissolve because he would be delayed crossing the clearing, a big mistake.
He’d had some experience traveling across rugged terrain in Siberia for the company, but that had been a well-provisioned expedition. Here, he’d had to depart quickly with no time for planning or training in order to reach his destination on the precise date and at the exact time. And, according to the rules, he had to complete his journey alone. Rules? Set by whom? The guide who’d somehow convinced me he was much more than a guide? Too late for second thoughts. Too late to turn back. Either the guide’s fantastic story was true, or in a matter of minutes Professor Virgil Landowski, who was supposed to be one of the smartest geologists in the world, was going to die a complete fool.
He felt the snow harden. If he didn’t move he’d be locked inside an icy tomb. So close now, he couldn’t give up. Drawing on a last reserve of energy he didn’t know he possessed, he bent over and plowed ahead, wading through what now felt like thigh-high wet cement.
Finally, he stumbled to the center of the plain and stopped, gasping, his lungs screaming for oxygen. 23:59—I made it with a minute to spare! He slowly turned full circle.
Nothing.
The GPS coordinates were spot on. The timing was perfect . . .
Where is it?
Like a blindfold had been removed, his stupidity, his foolishness, his bull-headed pride were revealed to him. All that time, all that energy, wasted. His crowning achievement, the gift he’d wanted desperately for his son—for the world—was all a cruel hoax. The weight of disappointment crushed his body. His shoulders sagged. He staggered and swayed like a drunk trying to remain upright, fighting the wind’s attempt to tumble him into a white grave.
How could I have believed him? I was such a—
The wind stopped.
Completely.
Like someone had flicked a switch.
He gazed up to see stars now sparkling through the black like millions of pinpricks. The Aurora Borealis appeared and draped the entire sky with a curtain of brilliant cherry-red light.
A deep noise. The wind? No, something different. A moment later the sound increased to a guttural rumble. The ground vibrated, then trembled. Then shook violently. The rumble increased to a deep roar.
At the far end of the clearing the earth cracked open, and the jagged gouge rushed toward him through the deep snow as if some unseen hand pulled open an invisible crooked zipper. He turned to run, but more cracks in the field targeted him from all directions.
He attempted to zig-zag through the thick snow with little success, hoping to dodge the fissures, and bounced hard against huge chunks of ice ten feet high now suddenly shooting up from the surface all around him. The rising slabs moved, encircling him, closing in like converging soldiers. He tried to break through the tightening circle, but the slabs ricocheted his body back and forth like a pinball. Tighter and tighter. Herding him to a single spot.
He fought to keep his balance, but the violent shaking knocked him to his knees.
Before he could climb to his feet a giant crevasse split open beneath him, widening like
hungry jaws. He dropped instantly—
“AAHHHH!”
Then, silence.
The earth had swallowed him whole.
The shaking stopped. The red glow faded. The storm returned. The wind swept away his footprints.
It was as if Virgil Landowski had never been there.
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Thriller author Mike Pace has spent his entire life weaving stories across an extraordinary range of experiences. One of his earliest creative memories is helping write his fourth-grade Christmas play in Pittsburgh, a spark that carried him to the University of Illinois on an art scholarship, where he earned a BFA. He later taught elementary school in Washington, D.C.’s inner city, filling his classroom with imagination games and daily storytelling as “Mr. Paste.” While teaching by day, he attended Georgetown Law at night and went on to serve on the editorial board of the Georgetown Law Journal, clerk for a federal judge, and prosecute major felony cases—including murder—as an Assistant United States Attorney for the District of Columbia. After serving as general counsel for a national environmental services company, Mike shifted his focus to his first love: creative writing. He has written for stage and screen, earning praise from The Washington Post, and is an active member of the International Thriller Writers and the Maryland Writers Association. Outside of writing, he enjoys painting, skiing, golf, the Baltimore Ravens, and learning new skills such as the soprano saxophone. Learn more at his website.
