Elsewhere, someone half collapses into a half-burnt, half-frozen out shack, shivering from the cold. It's shelter from the wind, but little more. Nonetheless, it's better than the open tundra. She should probably finish her rations. Of cold, unappetizing hardtack. Eating helps keep warm, even if the cold steals all appetite with its bite. She wonders if she should risk a fire. The 'Vanya' persona got her this far, and might do if someone comes across her unexpectedly, but she'd rather not rely overmuch on a cheap trick. A mere helmet is poor defense against anyone that isn't overly persuaded by romantic ideals of Ishgardian patriotism. Which, when one is being hunted by what is almost literally the entirety of Ishgard, well. Statistically speaking, she's bound to get unlucky at some point. So, no fire. Even a meager light could give her away in the coming night.
Magic it is, then.
She peels off her helmet, then one of her gauntlets, hissing cursewords under her breath. A quick slip of a dagger draws the blood she needs, and like the heretic she is, she drinks. Once the mere act of blood drinking was enough to incite the requisite rage for this magic, but she's a bit too practiced at this to muster up anything more than a mild desire to brood.
"I am the blood of the dragon," she mutters, irritably. Not, strictly speaking, necessary for this spell, but it helps quite a bit to get the theatrics right. Also, it pisses her off. "Daughter and defender of Ishgard, abandoned and reviled, framed for others' crimes time and time again, still I fight for this stupid fucking nation. For its people, who damn well deserve better than defenders who turn off their own damn wards to make their Fury-cursed point."
Because, from the outside looking in, it is transparently obvious what happened. There are no secret saboteurs in the most well defended sanctuary of Ishgard, waiting for orders from their all-knowing heretic queen to strike when Ishgard is weakest. The simplest answer is most often the correct one. There are only men of power who deem sacrifices necessary to make a point that they believe serves the greater good. That there is danger, that Ishgard cannot afford to look outside its borders, that Lord Aymeric can't go galivanting off to Ul'dah without the city state's populace coming under risk. Like an overbearing parent making a point to their unruly teenager. Look at what happens when you try to do something on your own, see how it all goes wrong? Stay home, stay compliant, be good, and everything will be okay. Everything will stay the same.
That is what makes her angry enough to ignite the flame burning from her aether and her soul's (proverbial) fire. No light, no smoke, just dark fire that burns black and burns hot.
Yeah, that'll do for keeping her warm. She huffs, then gets to eating, because if she is to be her own warmth, she'd best do it on a full stomach.