Winter's breath filtered through the stained glass of the Sanctum, cold and still. Frost clung to the marble floor, cracking under each step of Otoku as he passed into the great hall. The smell of aged stone and faraway magic lingered in the air, but his mind was bound to the recollection of what he had done. Of what he had become.
The rat's change still resonated in his fingers.
The hallway, normally calm in its gravitas, now hummed with tension that rested just below the surface—silent, but palpable. Today was the day of the academy's most highly protected visitors.
The elves arrived in silence.
Cloaked in cloaks of silver-trimmed frost and ice-blue satin, they strode as winter incarnate. Each footstep measured. Each glance, icy and cold. Behind them strode a figure who needed no presence—tall, eyes with the sharpness of centuries of judgment, and a sword at his side that glimmered with a faint light, as if made of frozen starlight itself.
"You hold an abomination," the envoy said, voice slicing through the air like sleet. "The Star-Eater child."
Otoku's fingers tightened around the Codex belted at his waist. Its comforting hum settled him.
Veyra moved forward, her jade mask inscrutable, but her presence unmistakable.
"I hold a scholar," she replied, voice steady but edged with iron. "Knowledge is not abomination until fear takes it."
The envoy's eyes turned on Otoku, viewing him like some accursed bauble.
"His power will unravel all."
By the time tension began to settle into action, there came a low growl shattering the stillness.
From shadow beside Otoku, Noctis stepped forward—silent, springs of movement, silver eyes ablaze with something primordial. The air itself recoiled from him. Even the elves, wrapped in centuries of snow, braced stiffly before the creature.
Otoku stepped forth.
"He's mine," he said, his voice steady, ringing in the quiet like a flung gauntlet.
The envoy's gaze narrowed. His blade came out of its hilt. Lightning crests glimmered on its tip—too sharp, too bright.
"Then step aside, child."
The Codex throbbed. Strength rose beneath Otoku's flesh—familiar now, like air in frozen lungs. He breathed a single word, one not in any approved book.
The fire in the torches reversed, going ghost-white. Heat vanished from the room. A creeping cold spun outward, and frost germinated along the envoy's armor—too quickly, too out of control. Even his own frost magic fought to follow.
Otoku himself stumbled.
The elf's silver, unflickering stare met his.
"We do not let fear write our fate."
The envoy breathed ice-cold gasp, cutting as cold winds in winter do, and made his strike. His sword spun down like thread of starfire—
But Noctis moved quicker.
Sweep of night and silver. Jaws wrapped around armoured limb. Crash, growl, and tinkle of steel giving to divinity's blow.
The envoy shrieked.
His sword fell clanging to the stone.
Veyra uplifted her staff.
Lightning wrapped around it—alive, waiting—and then lashed out. One arc. One instant. The envoy stood stock-still, ice engulfing his body. Crystalline. Brittle.
With a cracking noise like glass breaking, he was no more—broken into shards strewn on the frost-glazed floor.
Silence fell again, deeper this time, more attuned.
The chill withdrew.
Otoku breathed. His breath fogged in front of him.
Noctis came back to his side, sweeping a smooth tail across his leg like a sworn vow.
The instant hung.
There remained the taste of power—cold and bitter around the edges, tinged with something cold and deadly. And yet, deep beneath it. lay exhilaration.