Gray leaned into the frozen wall, the cold biting through his clothes as he carefully edged his head around the corner. His breath hitched in his throat at the sight before him. A chamber, vast and cathedral-like, opened beyond. The ceiling arched high into shadows, and at its heart, a grand staircase of pure ice stretched upward like the spine of some giant beast. Torches lined its sides, each flame not orange or yellow but a deep, unnatural blue. Their light made the frost gleam with ghostly sheen, and shadows slid in ways that felt almost alive.
At the staircase's summit stood a great stone bowl, carved of gray rock that seemed older than the glacier itself. It was built into the ice and within it sloshed a liquid that refused to settle into stillness, shifting between the sheen of water and the thickness of oil. Its surface shimmered with fractured colors, ripples forming without cause, as though something beneath kept disturbing it. When the light touched it, the liquid gleamed like liquid glass, but the shadows pooled at the bottom seemed to writhe of their own accord. A faint, metallic tang lingered in the air, sharp enough to sting the tongue just by breathing it in. Everyone their could tell instantly that it wasn't water or any similair substance they knew off.
Above the bowl hung bodies. Suspended, limp, bound together with coarse ropes that looped around their torsos and wrists, four familiar shapes dangled like offerings above the seething basin. Lira's blonde hair clung in frozen strands to her face. Korr's broad shoulders sagged beneath the ropes, his strength turned helpless. Adel's skin was pale, lips tremoring with faint shivers, mist puffing from her barely parted lips. And Orrin, dangled awkwardly, his arms twitching in half-conscious spasms. All of them were ghost-pale, their faces drawn tight by the cold, their limbs shivering slightly.
Gray's stomach clenched. His friends. His crew. Alive, but only just.
The rope that held them was thick, reinforced not just with cord but braced by the clawed hands of Cryovigils. The constructs stood motionless, carved of translucent ice, their sharp fingers latched around the bindings, as if they slumbered while guarding prey.
And they weren't alone.
At the base of the steps, scattered between the shadows, stood shapes that were unmistakably human. Or once human. Their bodies bore the same gear Gray knew too well, the Sanctuary's issued armour, belts, boots. Each carried weapons: blades, axes, bows. But their forms were distorted, pale skin stretched too tightly over frames, their limbs rigid, covered in patches of frost like the glacier had claimed them. Their eyes… hollow. White voids that seemed to look at nothing, yet miss nothing. Their breath misted faintly, but it did not rise and fall with the rhythm of the living.
Renn leaned in close behind him, his voice barely audible. "Could they… be ours? From Sanctuary?" There was hope there, fragile and trembling.
Gray's jaw tensed. The thought was a knife. Other survivors? Were they also a victim of Cryostead?
Aurelle's whisper cut the air sharp. "No. Think, Renn. If they were yours, why have the drowned not torn them apart?" His pale eyes never left the chamber. "The drowned do not share. They consume."
Renn swallowed hard, silence sealing his lips after that. Gray wanted to argue, to push back against the cruel logic, but his heart told him Aurelle was right. Whatever those figures were, they weren't people anymore. They couldn't be.
"What about that...shrine,alter." Gray voiced his concerns. He could believe what he was seeing but it still made him think he was crazy.
"Doesn't matter. Just stay away from that bowl. At all costs." His voice contained a bit concern. Something they all held.
After speaking, Aurelle eased them back from the corner, the shadows wrapping them again. His voice was even, but carried an iron weight. "Listen. Gray, your affinity. Darkness. Hide your presence. Slip past. Cut them down. Renn and I will follow once you're discovered."
Gray blinked at him, stunned. "How do you—"
"It's obvious," Renn muttered, though his voice was gentle. "Everyone can see it. You wear shadow like cloak when your fighting."
Gray shut his eyes and exhaled sharply through his nose. The denial died on his lips. They were right. Even he had noticed it, how the dark seemed to move closer when his pulse raced, how shadows deepened when he fought. But control was another matter.
'I can't do it like Adel. Her mist—'
Aurelle interrupted his thoughts."Just channel it. Feel Vyre flow into the dark. Spread it thin, over your body, as a veil. Enough to muffle the senses that would catch you."
Gray's hands tightened on his knees. Slowly, he nodded. "Fine. I'll try."
He closed his eyes, feeling for that thrum in his core. It came, cold and hot, yet malleable. He pulled at it, guided it, forcing it through his veins, his chest, down to his fingertips. Darkness pooled there, writhing like living ink, until it slipped free in tendrils. He inhaled sharply as he spread it thin, wrapping it close across his body until it settled like a second skin. The air seemed heavier around him, light dimming fractionally.
He waited, half-expecting the familiar message on his wristband, the clinical assurance that his presence was hidden. But the device was broken, its glow forever gone. Instead, there was silence, and then a faint smile touched his lips. No guidance. No Sanctuary to lean on. Just him.
He opened his eyes.
Renn's gaze was wide, stunned by the veil that seemed to ripple faintly around Gray's body. Aurelle, though still, looked deeper, as if he could see the way shadow had fused to Gray's skin.
Gray gave a sharp nod. Then he turned and slipped around the corner, every step deliberate and quiet.
The chamber's atmosphere pressed in on him at once. The soft growls of drowned echoed faintly from the far shadows, an animal-like rhythm that made the hairs on his neck rise. The torchlight's blue glow shimmered over the frost and steel of the pale humans. The stone brazier bubbled with a slow, thick pulse. It was like walking into the lungs of something ancient and alive.
He crept past the trio of pale humans. The boy, big and broad like Korr, gripped a massive axe of ice-crusted steel, its edge chipped but cruel. His chest rose faintly, breath misting like smoke. Beside him, smaller, a wiry youth, maybe only five and a half feet tall, crouched with a bow carved of frost itself. A crude mask covered his lower face, and his pale fingers twitched against the bowstring. Closest to Gray was the woman. White-haired, though her skin did not show the years. She stood rigid, her gaze lowered, a faint steam rising from her pale lips.
Gray's heart thudded as he slid by them, crouching low. He could see their faces clearly now. Their eyes were void-white, unblinking, yet he felt watched, every step like walking across glass that could shatter at the slightest noise. His own breathing sounded deafening in his ears.
He glanced back. Renn and Aurelle peered around the corner, their figures faint in shadow. He gave the barest nod. Then he continued his climb.
The stairs of ice were slick, each step threatening a slip that would send noise clattering. He pressed his boots carefully, balance low, sword hilt brushing at his side as if urging him to draw. The torches burned steady, their blue flames casting alien shadows that twisted along the walls like living things.
At the top, the sight of his friends hanging above the bowl pulled his stomach into knots. Lira's face was slack, pale lips twitching with shallow breaths. Korr's head lolled forward, his usually iron features softened into vulnerability. Adel trembled faintly, her hair plastered to her skin with frost. Orrin looked the worst, so small and frail, his limbs jerking weakly as if even in unconsciousness he fought invisible bonds.
Gray clenched his teeth. He was close now. A few more steps, and he could reach the ropes. The Cryovigils clung to them above, their icy bodies unmoving. Asleep, perhaps. If he struck quickly, he might cut his friends down before they stirred.
But how? If the rope snapped, the bodies would fall into the basin below, into that bubbling azure liquid. He had to cut them free cleanly, safely. He scanned the bowl's rim, searching for leverage, for a plan that wouldn't end with his friends swallowed by whatever writhed in that blue fluid.
Then—
His pulse spiked. His body froze.
The hair on his arms rose in prickling waves, instincts screaming. He didn't know why, only that something had shifted. Slowly, he turned, breath lodged in his throat.
The white-haired woman was looking at him.
Her hollow, snow-white eyes, so empty before, now burned with sharp, impossible pupils. Deep blue, glacial and piercing, locked directly on his. For a heartbeat, the chamber seemed to fall silent, everything else fading away.
Gray's stomach dropped.
She stared at him.