The rest of the night passed in a tense stillness—something between sleep and vigilance. No one truly rested. They only waited.
The fire burned low in the center of camp, embers crackling against the cold. The surrounding woods remained unsettlingly quiet. No wind. No birds. Just the memory of the Triants.
Odin sat inside his tent, legs stretched out in the snow. A skin of liquor lay beside him, already half-empty. He poured it over a fresh gash on his shoulder—Sssssss—The liquid hissed as it met the wound, steam curling upward like a ghost.
He barely flinched.
Beside the tent, Lonnie lay out in the open beneath the stars. Her war hammers rested at her sides, and for the first time, her helmet was off—balanced on her knees. Her face, half-shadowed by firelight, was weathered and grim. Silver hair, tied back in a soldier's knot. Scars curved along the side of her mouth and across both ears, the trophies of a life too long spent at the front.
She stared upward, unmoving. Not resting. Watching the tree canopy as if daring it to move again.
On the far end of the camp, Silius sat with his arms resting on his knees, still caught between awe and confusion.
He stared at his sword—now clean, though the air around it still tingled faintly with residual heat."Lightning… lightning…"He repeated the word in his mind like a prayer or a puzzle.Was that what his core was? Had it always been?
His thoughts were broken by a cough from across the fire.
"So the boy rides lightning, huh…" Odin chuckled softly, sipping from the skin again. "Not bad. Not bad at all."
The silence didn't suit him.
Gladus sat nearby, sharpening his sword in slow, deliberate strokes. He didn't look up.
"Hmph. It'll take practice," he said finally. "But no doubt—it's rare. A core like that… with time, slaying beasts like that will be child's play."
"Child's play?" Lonnie spoke up for the first time, her voice low and sharp. "That thing was nothing like the stories. It was smarter. Angrier. That wasn't a beast. That was vengeance wearing fur."
She spat into the snow, then leaned back again.
They fell into quiet conversation—soft, serious, edged with weariness.
They spoke of Silius's core: its brightness, the way it seared through the Triant like a blade of judgment. No one knew exactly what it meant. Lightning cores weren't unheard of… but one born from a white aura?
That was new.
They also spoke of the Snow Triants. Of how long it had been since one had appeared this far south. How, in truth, they were more myth than fact. Lonnie admitted she'd never seen one herself. Not until tonight.
Eventually, Odin drifted to sleep, the flask slipping from his hand. Lonnie, finished with the discussion, went back to her vigil—stoic, unmoving.
Silius remained seated near the dying fire, staring at the embers.
Gladus stood and walked past him, giving one final word before beginning his rounds through the trees.
"When you sleep tonight," he said, "see the battle in your mind. Replay it. Learn from it. You may never be that lucky again."
Then he disappeared into the woods, leaving Silius alone with the crackle of flame and the silence that followed warriors.
Silius stared into the coals a while longer, letting his mind wander. He pictured every movement—every step, every slash. He could still feel the heat of the lightning, the fear in his throat, the way the sword seemed to move without him.
Eventually, exhaustion overtook him.
He lay back in the snow, cloak wrapped tight, sword beside him. His eyes drifted shut under the quiet hum of stars.
And sleep finally came.