The outpost had gone quiet again, but it was a silence none of them trusted. Smoke and dust hung in the air, faint trails of frost creeping along broken walls and collapsed stone.
The chamber where the mural of Ishgar stood was half-destroyed. Cracks spiderwebbed across the ancient stone, and bits of rubble still shifted every few seconds. The stench of mana-burn lingered, sharp enough to sting the back of the throat.
Rowan coughed dramatically, pushing aside a piece of broken wood.
"Well, that was fun. Anyone else up for retiring? We could open a tavern. I can be the charming bartender, Selene can throw out drunks with her sword, and Icarus can—well, Icarus can just stand there and look intimidating. Easy money."
Selene rolled her eyes, though a smile tugged at her lips despite the exhaustion.
"You'd drink the stock before we made a single coin."
Rowan pressed a hand to his chest, feigning deep offense.
"I am wounded. My talents extend far beyond emptying barrels of ale… although, granted, I am quite good at that."
His antics drew a light chuckle from Seraphine, rare for her usually cold demeanor. Even Alaric smirked faintly before resuming his inspection of the mural. The levity was thin, fragile, but necessary after what they had just faced.
Icarus sat on a piece of stone, his silver hair catching the dim light of the ruined chamber. He hadn't spoken since the battle. His mind was still replaying the moment the specters had recoiled at his aura, the way the voice of the shadow had spoken his name with venom. Moonborn heir.
He clenched his hand unconsciously, and frost crystals bloomed faintly on the ground beneath his fingers.
Selene noticed. She sheathed her blade and stepped closer, crouching in front of him. Her violet eyes softened, and for once, her usual disciplined tone gave way to something gentler.
"You're trembling."
Icarus blinked, startled. He hadn't even realized it.
Selene reached out, brushing away a streak of frost from his sleeve. Her hand lingered just long enough for warmth to pass between them.
"Even you feel fear. That doesn't make you weak, Icarus. It makes you human."
His silver eyes met hers. For a moment, the ruined outpost and its shadows faded, and all that remained was the quiet space between them. He offered a small smile.
"If I falter, you'll remind me who I am, won't you?"
Her lips curved into a rare, genuine smile. "Always."
Rowan's head popped out from behind a pile of rubble, ruining the moment.
"Are you two seriously having a romantic exchange while I'm over here nursing a potentially fatal bruise on my dignity?"
Selene flushed faintly and straightened, though the warmth in her gaze didn't fade. Icarus simply shook his head, amused.
Alaric finally turned from the mural. His normally carefree face was shadowed by something heavier.
"What you saw… those weren't just ghosts. They were fragments of will. Ashura remnants, still clinging to this world after ninety thousand years."
Rowan frowned. "Wait, so… they're basically angry history lessons with claws?"
"Something like that,"
Alaric replied dryly.
"But don't mistake them for harmless. Even echoes can kill."
He stepped closer to the group, his tone dropping.
"And they called you Moonborn, Icarus. That name isn't used lightly. Ishgar… the first Moonborn… sealed them away. If the Ashura are whispering it again, then the seal is weakening faster than the scholars feared."
A heavy silence fell. Even Rowan had no quip this time.
Seraphine broke it, her voice crisp.
"If the seal weakens, the North will be the first to fall. We can't stay here. The next disturbance is in Frostvale Village. If the corruption spreads to the villages, it will spread to the kingdom."
Alaric nodded.
"Agreed. We leave at dawn."
Rowan groaned loudly.
"Dawn? Can't we at least say noon? Or maybe next month?"
Selene shot him a glare sharp enough to cut steel. Rowan quickly added,
"Dawn it is. Bright and early. My favorite time of day."
The group set up a temporary camp in one of the outpost's intact rooms. The night was long, restless, filled with the distant sound of the storm resuming outside.
Icarus lay awake, staring at the cracked ceiling. Selene rested nearby, already asleep, her breathing steady. Rowan snored from his corner, muttering something about "ale" and "don't take my stew."
Alaric leaned against the wall, eyes closed but very much awake. Without looking, he spoke softly, meant only for Icarus to hear.
"You did well today. But power isn't just what you show in battle. It's how you carry it afterward. The world already sees you as Moonborn. Be careful how much you let them see."
Icarus turned his head toward the knight commander.
"Do you think I'm ready?"
Alaric opened one eye, a faint grin tugging at his lips.
"Ready? No. But neither was Ishgar, and he changed the world."
The words lingered long after Alaric closed his eyes again.
Icarus finally drifted into a light sleep, Selene's earlier words echoing in his mind. Always.
Dawn would come soon. And with it, the path to Frostvale.
The snow bit sharper the deeper they traveled into the northern valley. Even wrapped in thick cloaks, Icarus could feel the sting of frost kissing his silver hair, each flake catching a faint shimmer of moonlight. Ahead, lanterns flickered like faint stars, announcing the presence of civilization—Frostvale Village.
"Finally!"
Alaric groaned, stomping his boots dramatically.
"If I'd had to walk another mile, you'd be burying the Commander of the Holy Knights beneath a snowbank. Tell the King I died a noble death—slain by cold weather and poor travel rations!"
Rowan, trudging beside him with his scarf wrapped thrice around his neck, perked up.
"Don't worry, Commander, I'll make sure your tombstone says: 'Here lies Alaric, frozen chicken of Chronus.'"
Alaric gasped in mock horror.
"Chicken? At least call me a mighty peacock! They're glorious, flashy, and demand respect!"
"More like a turkey,"
Selene muttered, brushing snow from her cloak, though the faintest twitch of her lips betrayed amusement.
Icarus chuckled softly at the banter but kept his silver eyes focused ahead. Something about the air in this valley pressed against him, heavy, like the world itself was whispering warnings he could not yet decipher.
The gates of Frostvale creaked open as they approached, guarded by two men clad in furs and leather armor patched with steel. Their spears trembled—not from weakness, but from cold and unease. One of them squinted.
"Holy Knights?"
Alaric puffed up his chest, his voice booming.
"The very same! Fear not, good sirs, for Commander Alaric the Great—defender of kingdoms, slayer of demons, charmer of widows—has arrived!"
The guards exchanged looks. Rowan leaned toward Selene and whispered loudly,
"How do these people not know we're doomed already?"
Selene elbowed him in the ribs, making him yelp.
The villagers didn't cheer or even smile. They only nodded stiffly and gestured for the group to enter. The streets were quiet, snow muffling all sound. Timber houses hunched beneath heavy ice, smoke curling weakly from chimneys. In the village center stood a massive totem carved from blackened wood, its surface etched with glowing runes. At a glance, it looked protective, holy. But as Icarus's gaze lingered, he caught a flicker—like the light in the runes was faltering, pulsing unevenly.
He narrowed his eyes.
Selene noticed.
"What is it?"
she murmured beside him.
"The totem,"
he whispered back.
"It feels… wrong."
They were soon met by an older woman draped in thick wolf pelts, her hair a long braid of silver-white. Her gaze was sharp enough to pierce armor.
"I am Eira Frostbane, matriarch of Frostvale,"
She said, her voice steady as the mountains.
"You are welcome to shelter here, but know this: the North bows to no kingdom, and our troubles are ours to bear."
Alaric stepped forward, scratching the back of his neck sheepishly.
"Troubles have a way of spilling over, Lady Frostbane. Best we at least take a peek before they freeze into something worse, eh?"
Her stern expression softened slightly. She gave a curt nod.
"Then may your stay bring more warmth than shadows. The inn will house you."
The inn smelled of smoke, stew, and damp furs. Villagers hunched over mugs of mead, their eyes following the newcomers. Behind the counter stood a broad-shouldered innkeeper polishing a mug, and beside him—his daughter.
"Welcome, travelers!"
She said brightly, though her gaze locked onto Rowan with mischievous delight.
"Oh, a knight? You look more like a snowman stuffed into armor."
Rowan nearly tripped over his own boots.
"Snowman? Excuse me, I'll have you know this scarf is highly fashionable—"
"Fashionable for a sheep, maybe."
She grinned, and the tavern chuckled. Rowan sputtered while Selene buried her face in her palm.
Alaric roared with laughter, nearly toppling his chair when they sat.
"I like this one! She sees right through him!"
Icarus allowed himself a small smile but soon grew thoughtful again. Beneath the laughter and warmth, he noticed how every villager glanced toward the door, or the windows, as if expecting something to burst through at any moment.
That evening, the village gathered in the hall. At the center stood a man in dark robes trimmed with fur, a warm smile lighting his handsome face.
"Brothers and sisters,"
He began, his voice like honey in the cold,
"Do not despair. The Flame watches over us, even as winter's grasp tightens. It will burn away fear and bring us salvation."
The villagers murmured in agreement. Some bowed their heads, others raised their hands as if basking in unseen warmth.
The man's eyes lingered on Icarus and his group.
"Welcome, travelers. I am Priest Arven, servant of the Flame. You must be weary from the road. Here, the warmth of faith will ease your burdens."
Rowan nearly nodded before Selene kicked his shin.
"Ow! What was that for?"
"Stop looking like you're ready to join a cult," she hissed.
Icarus stayed silent, but his silver eyes gleamed faintly. There was something in Arven's aura—subtle, faint, like the echo of a distant roar. Something that didn't belong to a man of faith.
Alaric's gaze flickered to him, sharp for once, and in that brief look Icarus knew: the commander felt it too.
Later, in the inn, the mood lightened again. Rowan, determined to win against the innkeeper's daughter, challenged her to a drinking contest. He was promptly destroyed, collapsing face-first onto the table as she raised her mug in victory.
"Another knight vanquished,"
She said smugly.
Selene glared.
"He's not a knight, he's just… Rowan."
"I heard that,"
Rowan mumbled into the wood.
Alaric laughed so hard his chair broke, sending him tumbling onto the floor.
"See? I told you I was cursed by furniture! Never trust a chair in the North!"
The entire tavern burst out laughing. Even Selene's sternness cracked, and she smiled despite herself.
Icarus, meanwhile, slipped outside for a moment of quiet. Snow fell gently, blanketing the silent village. Selene joined him, arms wrapped around herself.
"It feels wrong here,"
She whispered.
"Like the air itself is watching."
Icarus nodded.
"You're right. The totem is failing. And that priest…"
He brushed a snowflake from her dark hair, his touch lingering a moment longer than necessary.
"Stay close. We'll face this together."
Her cheeks flushed, but her gaze didn't waver.
"Always."
A bell rang, loud and desperate. Shouts cut through the night.
"Frost beasts! Hunters under attack!"
In an instant, the group rushed toward the gates. Snow whipped in the wind, glowing eyes flashing in the darkness. Wolves—huge, fur bristling, their breath steaming red. Corruption oozed from their jaws.
Icarus's silver eyes blazed.
"Stay behind me."
Selene's flames erupted, burning bright even against the snow. Rowan unslung his bow, grinning despite his fear. Alaric cracked his neck, raising his hands as if ready to pull the sky down itself.
The battle for Frostvale had begun.
The wolves surged out of the snow like shadows with teeth. Their howls echoed through the frozen valley, vibrating the very ground beneath Frostvale's gates. Each beast was larger than a warhorse, their fur bristling with frost crystals, eyes glowing faintly crimson from the corruption eating at their souls.
Villagers scrambled to bar their doors while hunters shouted warnings, loosing arrows into the storm. But for every wolf struck, another prowled forward, their snarls thick with hunger.
Alaric was the first to move. He cracked his knuckles, eyes narrowing.
"Alright, puppies. Time for a walk."
With a flick of his hand, the snow itself erupted as unseen force slammed into the pack. Three wolves yelped, tumbling backward through the drifts as though an invisible hammer had struck them. One slammed into a pine tree so hard that snow cascaded down in an avalanche.
"Telekinesis, baby!"
Alaric shouted proudly.
"The North's got nothing on—"
A wolf blindsided him, barreling straight into his side and sending him tumbling into a snowbank. His muffled groan rose from the white mound.
"I meant to do that!"
Rowan laughed hysterically even as he loosed an arrow.
"Sir Alaric, truly the mightiest warrior of Chronus—defeated by landscaping!"
"Rowan!"
Selene snapped, slicing her arm through the air. Flames coiled from her blade, igniting against the icy night. Her fire didn't falter in the snow; it roared hotter, cutting arcs of light through the storm. Every swing forced wolves back, their corrupted fur hissing under her strikes.
Icarus stepped forward, his silver eyes glowing. He drew a breath, steady, and extended his hand. His mana flowed outward, visible now as silver chains of radiant light that danced like serpents. They coiled around a wolf mid-leap, snapping shut with a metallic clang that echoed unnaturally in the air. The beast howled, thrashing, but the chains tightened, binding it in place before shattering it into frozen shards.
Gasps rose from the hunters watching.
"That boy…"
One whispered.
"Moonborn."
A wolf lunged for Rowan from behind. The young archer turned just in time to see fangs bared, eyes glowing like coals.
"Uh oh—"
Before he could finish, a blur of fire cut across. Selene's blade intercepted the wolf mid-air, carving it aside with a burst of embers. Rowan stumbled back, face pale.
"I had it under control!" he shouted.
"You were about to become dinner,"
Selene retorted, her cheeks flushed with exertion.
Rowan grinned weakly.
"Well, I'd have given them indigestion at least."
Alaric finally burst free from the snowbank, brushing himself off. His expression was uncharacteristically serious now. He raised both hands, palms open, and his telekinetic force lashed out. Dozens of wolves froze mid-charge as though strings yanked them upward. They dangled in the air, snarling and snapping, limbs thrashing uselessly.
"Bad dogs!"
Alaric barked, and with a twist of his wrist he slammed them all into the frozen ground with bone-cracking force. The snow shook with the impact, and silence followed—only the wind howling through the valley.
Villagers stared in awe.
One whispered,
"That power… he's not even using his full strength."
But the battle wasn't over.
From the treeline, a larger shape emerged. A dire wolf, massive enough to dwarf the others, its fur black as midnight and eyes glowing like burning embers. The corruption within it was so thick that the snow melted under its paws, leaving trails of steaming ichor.
Icarus's heart quickened. This was no ordinary beast—it had been twisted beyond recognition.
Selene drew close to his side, her fire flaring higher.
"That thing is stronger. We'll need to fight together."
Rowan, despite trembling, notched another arrow.
"Guess this is where I prove I'm not just comic relief."
Alaric smirked, though his eyes sharpened with rare seriousness.
"Alright, team. Big one's mine unless you kids want to show off."
Icarus stepped forward, his chains coiling like living serpents around him. His silver hair caught the moonlight, shining brighter as power built within him.
"No,"
He said softly.
"This one's mine."
The dire wolf howled, the sound rattling windows and shaking the totem in the village square. The runes flickered again—like they recognized the corruption calling out.
Then the beast charged.
The ground trembled with its weight. Snow blasted aside as it leapt, jaws gaping to crush Icarus whole.
But he didn't flinch. His silver eyes flared, and his chains lashed outward, wrapping around its throat mid-leap. The wolf slammed to the ground, snarling, its claws tearing trenches in the snow. It strained, muscles bulging, but the chains glowed brighter, tightening.
Selene joined in, her flames erupting into a spiral that engulfed the wolf's legs. The corruption sizzled, fighting back, but her fire roared higher, cleansing as it burned.
Rowan loosed arrow after arrow, each one striking the wolf's exposed joints, buying seconds.
"You're welcome!"
He shouted between shots.
"Good aim for once!"
Selene barked back.
"Hey, I'm consistent—consistently inconsistent!"
The wolf roared, snapping one chain. Icarus's feet slid across the snow, the force nearly throwing him off balance. His chest heaved, mana burning in his veins, but he planted himself firm, silver light blazing around him like a halo.
"Not… yet,"
He growled.
He clenched his fist, summoning another chain that wrapped around the beast's neck. This time, the chains didn't just restrain—they pulsed, pouring silver light into the corruption. The wolf's roars turned to shrieks as the light burned through its body, unravelling the corruption like threads pulled from a tapestry.
With a final snap, the wolf collapsed, its body dissolving into ash and ichor that stained the snow black.
Silence.
The villagers crept out, their faces pale but eyes wide. They looked at the fallen wolf, then at the boy with silver hair standing amidst the snow, his aura still glowing faintly.
"Moonborn,"
someone whispered again, reverent this time.
Priest Arven appeared at the edge of the crowd, his smile perfectly serene.
"The Moonborn walks among us, then,"
he said smoothly, voice carrying.
"But tell me… will his light keep you warm forever? Or will it fade, as all light must?"
A murmur ran through the villagers, uncertainty blooming like frost.
Icarus's gaze locked with Arven's. Silver eyes against warm, calculating brown. For the first time, he saw the faintest curl of shadow flicker behind the priest's smile.
The battle was won, but the war for Frostvale's soul had only begun.
The snow still steamed where the dire wolf had fallen. Black ichor bled into the drifts like spilled ink, slowly freezing in the cold. Around the group, silence lingered—only the whistle of the wind filled the valley, carrying away the last echoes of the beast's roar.
Rowan, panting heavily, lowered his bow. His hands shook, but his grin was wide.
"Did… did we just survive that? Because I'm about one bad snowflake away from fainting."
"You're fine,"
Selene said, sheathing her sword with a practiced snap. Her hair clung to her cheek in sweaty strands, steam rising from her armor where her fire had burned too hot against the cold. She glanced at Icarus, her sharp tone softening.
"You were reckless."
Icarus met her gaze calmly, though his shoulders slumped from exhaustion.
"If I hadn't restrained it, someone would have died."
"Still,"
she said quietly, her lips pressing thin.
"…don't throw yourself in front of death like that. Not without warning me."
Rowan groaned dramatically.
"Ohhh here it comes. Romantic tension. Do I faint now, or after the confession?"
Alaric flicked snow at him with a wave of his hand, smacking Rowan straight in the face.
"Shut it, peanut gallery."
Rowan spluttered, spitting ice.
"You people have no respect for comedy in times of mortal peril!"
The villagers began to emerge from their homes now, shuffling toward the square in hesitant groups. Children peeked out from behind cloaks, wide-eyed, while hunters set aside their bows. Some looked at the fallen wolf with relief. Others turned wary gazes toward Icarus, whispering behind gloved hands.
"That light… no human wields such power."
"Moonborn… blessed, or cursed?"
"Priest Arven says we must be cautious…"
The words drifted on the wind, sharp as the frost.
Arven himself stepped forward, his robes pristine despite the chaos, a warm smile plastered across his face. He raised his arms as though in benediction.
"Children of Frostvale,"
he called, his voice carrying clear and smooth.
"Tonight you witnessed salvation. The Moonborn's chains of light have delivered you from the jaws of corruption. Praise the divine."
Some villagers bowed their heads instinctively. Others hesitated.
Arven's gaze swept across the crowd, then rested deliberately on Icarus. His smile never faltered, but there was a glimmer in his eyes—sharp, assessing.
"And yet,"
Arven continued, tone measured,
"we must ask ourselves… why do such corrupted beasts gather now, after years of peace? Why do they descend upon us the very night strangers walk among us?"
The murmurs grew louder.
Rowan froze mid-step.
"…Did he just—did he just make us sound like the problem?"
Alaric snorted, crossing his arms.
"Of course he did. That one's tongue is sharper than any blade."
Selene's hand drifted toward her sword hilt, but Icarus lifted a hand, shaking his head. He stepped forward, voice calm though his chest still heaved from the fight.
"If we hadn't been here,"
Icarus said, silver eyes glinting,
"half your village would be dead. Your totem nearly fell."
Arven bowed his head graciously.
"And for that, we thank you."
His tone was sweet as honey, yet it dripped with something heavier.
"But gratitude and caution are not enemies, are they? The Moonborn is both a blessing… and a sign. We must be vigilant."
The villagers' gazes turned conflicted, torn between awe and fear.
Later, after the crowd dispersed uneasily, the group found themselves in the warmth of Frostvale's longhouse. A great fire burned in the center pit, logs crackling, though the air still felt heavy.
Rowan tore into a hunk of roasted venison, speaking with his mouth full.
"So, uh, anyone else notice how Mr. Smiles basically said, 'Thanks for saving us, but also maybe you're the enemy?"
Alaric grunted, stretching out by the fire.
"He's playing a long game. Smile, smile, then stab you in the back when the crowd cheers for it. Seen it before."
Selene sat stiffly, polishing her blade.
"He's dangerous. We can't let him poison the people against us."
Rowan raised a brow, smirking.
"Especially not against certain silver-haired heroes who like to play knight in shining chains."
Icarus ignored him at first, gazing into the fire. The flames danced in his eyes, reflecting the weight he carried. Finally, he spoke quietly.
"The villagers don't know what to believe. Fear is easier than trust."
Selene's gaze softened, her hands stilling. She leaned closer, her voice barely above the crackle of the fire.
"But I believe in you."
For a heartbeat, the noise of the hall seemed to fade. Their eyes met, silver and ember, warmth cutting through the frost.
Rowan broke the moment with a loud cough.
"Wow. If this were a bard's tale, the kiss scene would go right here. Just saying."
Selene's face went crimson.
"Shut up, Rowan!"
Icarus allowed himself the faintest of smiles. "Don't tempt fate."
Outside, the snow fell thicker, blanketing Frostvale in silence. Yet beneath that silence, shadows stirred. For though the dire wolf had fallen, the corruption was not gone. It had only been the first whisper of something greater.
And Priest Arven's smile, faintly visible through the window, did not falter.
The longhouse quieted as villagers drifted away to their homes, leaving only the crackle of the fire and the low hum of the wind outside. Icarus lingered by the hearth, the warmth doing little to soothe the knot forming in his chest.
Something was wrong here.
He'd felt it in the battle—the way the wolf's aura had twisted unnaturally, its veins thrumming with a corruption that didn't belong to the natural order. And now, the more he thought about Arven's words, the more a chill spread through him that had nothing to do with the snow.
Selene approached quietly, her cloak brushing the floor.
"You're troubled."
Icarus nodded, eyes never leaving the fire.
"The beast wasn't just hungry. Something tainted it… pushed it beyond what nature allows."
Selene frowned, fingers tightening on the hilt of her blade.
"You think it's connected to Arven?"
"I think he knows more than he lets on,"
Icarus replied. His silver gaze flicked toward the shadowed window, where faint candlelight from the priest's home glimmered in the night.
"And I think the corruption is spreading."
Rowan plopped down between them, startling both with the crash of his gear.
"Great. Conspiracies, cultists, and corrupted wolf demons. Fantastic bedtime stories. Do we investigate tonight, or wait until morning when the monsters have hopefully eaten someone else?"
Selene shot him a look.
"Rowan—"
"What?"
Rowan threw up his hands.
"You're all thinking it too! The creepy priest is obviously hiding something. I say we go full detective mode. I'll even wear a hat."
Alaric, lying stretched on a bench, cracked an eye open.
"The day you sneak into anything quietly is the day I start praying to the demons instead of the gods."
"Rude,"
Rowan muttered, but his grin betrayed his excitement.
That night, while the village slept, the group slipped into the snow-shrouded streets. The moon cast a pale glow over Frostvale, silver light glinting off icicles that hung like daggers from every roof. Their breaths puffed white clouds as they moved between houses, keeping low.
Rowan led the way, dramatically tiptoeing through the snow with exaggerated stealth. "Shhh," he whispered far too loudly.
"The hunter becomes the hunted…"
Selene facepalmed.
"Rowan, I swear—"
Icarus stifled a chuckle despite the tension. For all Rowan's antics, his sharp eyes caught things others missed.
Sure enough, Rowan froze, pointing toward the chapel.
"There. Look at the snow."
By the chapel's door, faint lines had been drawn into the frost. Not boot prints, but symbols—circles intersecting with jagged slashes, glowing faintly blue as though etched with ice itself.
Selene's expression hardened.
"That's… not human magic."
Icarus crouched, brushing snow aside with his gloved hand. His fingers tingled where they touched the sigil, a crawling sensation that made his skin prickle.
"This is demonic script. Whoever drew this wanted to mask something—or summon it."
Rowan stepped back quickly.
"Right, well, investigation over. Let's all go home and drink hot mead until this blows over."
"Rowan."
Icarus gave him a look.
"…Fine. But if something jumps out and eats me, I'm haunting all of you."
Inside the chapel, the air was colder than the night outside. The walls were lined with carved saints, their stone faces cracked, their eyes seeming to follow intruders. The altar bore fresh offerings of grain and furs, but beneath them, etched into the wood, was another sigil like the one outside.
Selene's hand went to her sword.
"This is no holy site."
From the shadows, a creak echoed. The group tensed, blades and bows ready. But it was only the door at the rear, left ajar.
They moved silently through it, descending into a narrow stairwell. The torches lining the walls burned blue instead of gold, casting eerie light on the steps.
At the bottom lay a cavern hollowed from ice, its walls slick and glimmering. Symbols were carved everywhere, glowing faintly. And at the center, bound in chains of frost, a second beast—smaller than the dire wolf, but trembling, its eyes glowing with the same corruption.
Rowan whispered, voice tight.
"…Well, that's not suspicious at all."
Alaric's usual levity was gone, his tone sharp as steel.
"This is controlled corruption. Someone's experimenting."
Icarus approached the chained beast slowly, his silver eyes narrowing. The creature's gaze met his, and for a flicker of a moment, it seemed to plead—before the corruption surged again, twisting its form.
Selene stepped closer, voice low.
"What do we do?"
Icarus raised his hand, summoning his chains of light. They shimmered around his fingers, ready to strike. But hesitation caught him. If this corruption was controlled, killing the beast might erase their only lead.
Arven's voice echoed in his memory: Blessing and curse.
They destroyed the beast before it could break free, but the unease lingered. Returning to the surface, the group exchanged grim looks.
Rowan broke the silence first.
"Sooo… definitely cultists, right? Evil priest? Creepy basement lab? Frost-corrupted monsters? If this isn't a cult, then I'm a dwarven princess."
Selene sighed but didn't disagree.
Icarus tightened his cloak against the cold, his silver hair glinting in the moonlight.
"This isn't just about Frostvale anymore. If corruption has reached this far north, then the world is in more danger than anyone believes."
Selene glanced at him, her eyes softer now, almost worried.
"And you'll put yourself in the center of it."
Icarus managed a faint smile.
"Where else would I stand?"
Rowan groaned loudly.
"You two are going to kill me with all this romantic tension before the demons even get the chance."
Alaric laughed, clapping Rowan on the back.
"Don't worry, lad. If the Moonborn doesn't get her, you might still have a chance."
Rowan's sputtering carried them back through the snow, but Icarus couldn't shake the image of the beast's glowing eyes—or the way Arven's smile had looked, watching from the shadows.
Frostvale's peace was only a mask. And beneath it, something far colder was stirring.