Pain.
That's all Gray felt at the moment.
He lay sprawled against the ice, his body trembling in violent spasms. Every breath seared his lungs as though he were inhaling broken glass. His chest rose and fell in shallow bursts, each heartbeat a heavy, aching drum inside his ribs. For one fleeting moment he wondered if he had already died, if the cold had finally claimed him and this agony was only the last spark of a dying mind. Yet the pain that throbbed in every joint and muscle reminded him with merciless clarity that he was still alive.
The memory flashed in his head continuously. Like a never-ending nightmare.
He could still feel the tremor in his bones. One moment they had been driving, breath ragged in the frozen air, and the next an ice giant had crashed down before them, its weight splitting the cliff like glass. The ground gave way, ice and stone collapsing beneath their feet, and the world turned into a blur of water and roaring wind. He remembered the sickening lurch of his stomach as he sank.
He tried to move. His arms dragged clumsily against the frozen floor, his fingers scraping at ridges of frost that sliced the skin raw. The place he found himself in provided no comfort. Ice pressed against him from all sides like a coffin carved into the glacier. The weight of the cold was unbearable. It was not simply a sensation against his skin. It was something heavier, an atmosphere pressing down upon him, sinking into the marrow of his bones, wrapping around his thoughts until they slowed and stumbled. His mind crawled through molasses, every memory and idea sluggish, as though the air itself had thickened into an enemy.
With a sharp pang of dread, Gray realized what was happening. The territory effect had reached him completely. The cold froze not only flesh, but the soul within. He remembered the warnings from Renn.
If no one helped him soon, he would not last. He would die here, in silence, swallowed by the cold. Alone.
Above, faint light spilled through a jagged opening, pouring into the chamber with a purity that felt alien compared to the choking frost. It illuminated strange threads dangling from the ceiling, long and organic, swaying faintly with the draft. They looked almost like strands of hair, pale and spectral, each one trembling with the same faint vibration that shook Gray's body.
His teeth chattered as he tried to focus. He reached inside himself, into the hollow of his chest where Frozen Veins should respond. He tried to activate it with his thoughts, but his wristband, encrusted with frost, was lifeless. A useless piece of frozen metal. He had only his sheer will left, only his desperation. He summoned all his concentration, forcing the energy to move, demanding his body to ignite the channels he had trained so hard to master.
Nothing.
His chest tightened until he could hardly breathe. His heartbeat grew louder, hammering in his skull. Fear leaked into every corner of his thoughts, sharp and corrosive. He tried again, deeper this time, clawing at every spark of willpower he still possessed. Still nothing. Vyre refused to leave his core.
'Sh—Shit...'
Panic roared through him. Renn's warnings echoed back again, the cold here could freeze the soul itself. Gray's Vyrr veins were locked, sealed shut by the frost of Glacierfang. His power was gone. He was defenseless. The truth struck with crushing weight.
And there was nothing he could do.
His arms buckled and he collapsed against the hollow floor. His breath rasped from his throat in short bursts of vapor. He had fought before, he had bled before, but this was different. This was not the blaze of a battle where fire and fury burned hot. This was death by inches. He was being unmade, frost crawling slowly over his skin, creeping into his chest, clutching at his heart. It was slow and merciless. Even the tears that wanted to rise in his eyes froze before they could form.
'Pathetic...I'm...pathetic...' His thoughts struggled to form without breaking.
Darkness began to bleed into his vision, the edges fading into shadow. His thoughts flickered, weaker with every passing second. He could not fight it anymore.
But then...
Then a voice broke through, fragile and urgent.
"There he is!"
Gray stirred weakly. He tried to turn his head but the cold refused him. Only the faintest shift of his eyes gave him a view of movement rushing toward him. Two figures. They blurred and wavered as if his sight were drowned in water. One voice cut through the haze again, familiar, steady. Renn.
His mind shook at the sight of Renn.
'He's—he's alive...Thank God...'
Then he felt himself being rolled onto his side. His body screamed from the contact with the ground, but another touch followed, one that halted the descent into darkness. A hand pressed firmly against his chest. It was not Renn's. This touch burned with a warmth that pierced the frost like sunlight through heavy storm clouds.
Blue motes appeared where the hand rested. They shimmered faintly like fireflies born from the depths of winter, swirling and dissolving into his skin. At first, they did not melt the cold. They were too faint, too fragile. Yet with each pulse that flowed into him, something stirred. His mind gained clarity. His lungs expanded more fully. The claws of ice that gripped his heart loosened little by little. The numbness in his limbs began to recede.
Gray gasped as his body came back under his command. Pain still lingered, sharp and merciless, but it was the pain of life returning, not death claiming. His hands twitched, his arms regained strength. The hand finally left his chest, the warmth lingering in his veins like an ember hidden deep inside.
He sat up shakily, shivering as if the entire world were rattling inside him. His vision cleared enough to see Renn crouched near, tears brimming at the edges of his eyes. Gray's throat tightened with a sudden rush of gratitude and relief. He grabbed Renn in a trembling embrace, clutching him as though letting go might plunge him back into the abyss.
"I am glad you are alive," Gray whispered, his voice brittle.
"Me too," Renn replied, his voice soft but strong enough to hold Gray steady for a moment longer.
When Gray finally pulled back, his gaze darted to the other figure. Jet black hair. Eyes like sapphires reflecting the frozen light. The sight stopped his breath again, though for a different reason. He knew that face. He had seen it back at the academy, watching silently, always precise and untouchable. Aurelle Nocthallow. The boy who had bested him in training with flawless ease, who carried the weight of rank one with quiet certainty.
Gray's voice faltered. "You… are Aurelle?"
Aurelle's expression did not soften. His eyes lingered on Gray for the briefest second before he turned away with a quiet scoff. Pulling his hood over his head, he walked slowly forward into the chamber as if the moment had meant nothing.
Gray swallowed hard and stumbled after him. "Why… why did you save me?"
The response came flat, almost careless. "I don't know."
The simplicity of it stunned Gray. He almost laughed, though his throat was still raw. Aurelle spoke as if rescuing a dying man had been no more significant than picking up a discarded weapon from the ground.
He wanted to press further, but another question forced its way out instead. "The others… are they alive?"
"Yes," Aurelle said quickly. His voice was curt but steady.
Relief surged through Gray's chest like a rush of fire. His body felt lighter, even as it still trembled from the cold. He staggered forward, searching the chamber with frantic eyes for any trace of them, though Aurelle had already turned away again.
"Where... are we now?" Gray asked, his voice still thin.
Aurelle didn't asnwer Gray's question, as if he hadn't heard at all. He quieyly walked as if the path were his alone, his boots scraping against the icy floor in steady rhythm.
Gray hurried to keep up, nearly slipping on a slick patch until Renn's hand steadied him. Together they followed until the chamber opened fully before them.
The sight stole Gray's breath.
The cavern was vast, almost vertical, stretching so high and so deep that it seemed without end. Stairs wound upward and downward along platforms of natural ice that glimmered faintly under the fractured light from above. Massive chains hung across the space, suspending whole blocks of glacier as if the mountain itself had been stitched together. Branching tunnels spiraled away in every direction, some climbing into heights too distant to see, others plunging into darkness so deep it swallowed light entirely.
The architecture was both natural and deliberate, as though the mountain had grown itself into a cathedral. The walls reflected light in shifting patterns, fractured beams scattering like shards of glass. It was hauntingly beautiful, terrible in its perfection.
Aurelle finally stopped. His voice, calm and quiet, carried easily across the silence. "This, is the real Cryostead."