Qin Mo hit the ground hard, the icy stone jarring his knees as he spilled from the void's jagged crack. His breath came in sharp bursts, fogging in the frigid air, while the Frostflame Core in his chest flickered like a dying ember, its heat struggling against the cold that seeped into his bones. The silence of the void lingered, broken only by a bone-white chime that reverberated through the mist, a sound that pulled at the shard with an insistent tug. He pushed himself up, brushing frost from his tattered cloak, his eyes narrowing as the towering spires of Voidspire Towers emerged from the fog ahead. Their peaks were crowned with silent bells, their surfaces etched with runes that seemed to pulse with a life of their own, weeping a soundless song into the night.
[FFD System: Frostflame Balance: Heat 50% / Cold 50%. New trace: Tower base, threat level: High.]
His hand instinctively went to the pouch at his side, where the bells he'd claimed from the Silent Tax's heart lay heavy, their chime now a relentless summons. Yi was the first to reach him, her frost threads spiraling out like silver tendrils, cutting through the mist to probe the shadows. Her face was set, her dark eyes haunted by the memory of her village's ashes. "This place feels alive," she muttered, her voice low and edged with tension. "Like it's watching us."
Ren was next, his daggers already drawn, the steel glinting faintly in the dim light. His gaze darted toward the towers, a flicker of hope and dread warring in his expression. "My brother's trail ends here," he said, his voice rough. "I can feel it in my gut." Lian followed, her bow in hand, an arrow notched and ready, her steady eyes scanning the horizon. "My family's relics pointed to this place," she said quietly. "We end it here, one way or another."
Before Qin Mo could respond, the mist shifted, and shadows took form—frostborn constructs, their limbs creaking like breaking ice, their bodies a patchwork of frozen shards and sinew. They moved with a jerky, unnatural grace, closing in with claws outstretched. Qin Mo's hand tightened on his blade, the Frostflame Core surging as he channeled its power. With a roar, he swung, the blade igniting with a mix of ice and fire that cleaved the first construct in two, its shards scattering across the stone.
Yi's threads lashed out, wrapping around a second construct's legs and yanking it off balance, while Ren darted in, his daggers flashing as he drove them into the joints of a third, shattering it into a heap of frost. The fight was quick, the constructs falling under their combined assault, but the effort left Qin Mo's breath ragged, the cold seeping deeper despite the shard's heat. The FFD System chimed again, a warning flashing in his mind.
[Binding risk: 5%… 10%.]
He frowned, the sensation of the bells' pull growing stronger, a leash tightening around his soul. Before he could dwell on it, a figure emerged from the mist—Ling Shou, his frost-white robes glowing faintly, his expression unreadable beneath the weight of his own secrets. "The bells chose you," he said, his voice heavy with an ancient burden. "But the Voidspire tests all who enter. Follow me, or be consumed by its hunger."
Qin Mo's jaw clenched, the shard burning hotter in defiance of the cold that threatened to overwhelm him. The memory of the Silent Tax's heart shattering flashed through his mind, a victory tainted by the bells' lingering claim. He glanced at his team—Yi's fierce resolve, Ren's desperate hope, Lian's quiet strength—and nodded. "Lead on," he said, his voice steady despite the uncertainty gnawing at him.
The team fell into step behind Ling Shou, the mist thickening as they approached the tower base. The stone beneath their feet was etched with runes that pulsed in time with the bells' chime, a rhythm that seemed to resonate with the shard itself. Qin Mo's senses sharpened, the cold pressing against his skin, but the heat within him flared in response, a promise of power yet to be unleashed. The towers loomed larger, their shadows swallowing the light, and the void's echo lingered—a whisper of battles to come, a challenge he couldn't ignore.
As they ventured deeper, the mist parted briefly, revealing a glimpse of the tower's interior: a spiraling ascent of ice, its walls alive with the same runes that marked the bells. Qin Mo's heart pounded, the shard's pulse matching the tower's hum. Whatever lay ahead, he knew it would test them all—and the bells' claim would not release him easily.