Frostvale had grown colder—not in weather, but in spirit.
What once had been a village of warm smiles and busy chatter now felt muffled, distant. The group noticed it the morning after Arven's return, when they stepped out for supplies.
At the bakery, the man who once shoved loaves eagerly into their arms now shoved the basket further back when Icarus approached.
"No more. Sold out."
But behind him, Rowan spotted steaming bread cooling on the tray. He jabbed a finger.
"Sold out, huh? So that's… invisible bread? Ghost bread? Need a priest to exorcise it?"
The baker flushed.
"It's reserved."
"Reserved for who? The holy order of bread guardians?"
Rowan whispered dramatically to Selene.
Selene pinched his ear and dragged him out before the man could reply.
At the blacksmith's, Alaric tried to strike conversation.
"Fine steel you've got here,"
he said, lifting a blade.
"Sharp enough to shave a dwarf."
The smith grunted.
"Leave it."
"Shave a very hairy dwarf,"
Alaric added, trying again with a grin.
The smith turned away, hammering at the anvil as if Alaric weren't there.
Alaric scratched his head.
"What'd I do? Compliment his beard wrong?"
Rowan whispered,
"No, Commander. You've just been out-priested."
As they walked back, children who had once peeked out in awe of Icarus's silver hair now darted behind fences. One boy, braver than the rest, stood his ground.
"Mama says you shine because you're cursed."
Icarus crouched to meet his gaze. His voice was gentle.
"Do I look cursed?"
The boy hesitated, staring into his glowing eyes.
"…A little."
Rowan gasped, clutching his chest.
"Savage. Absolutely savage."
Selene shushed him, then told the boy kindly,
"Sometimes shining means carrying light so others don't have to. Remember that, alright?"
The boy softened but ran back when his mother called sharply, leaving Icarus staring at the snow where his footprints vanished.
That night, Rowan attempted a "professional stakeout" before they even reached the chapel.
He perched on a barrel, scribbling notes.
"Observation: villagers stare like we've sprouted horns. Possible cause: brainwashing. Possible solution: bake them cookies?"
He nibbled his quill.
"Would demons eat cookies? Must investigate."
A villager muttered "Lunatic" and hurried past.
Rowan whispered after him,
"Suspicious! Very suspicious behavior."
Selene later found him crouched behind the same barrel, white cloak glowing in the snow.
"Rowan. Everyone can see you."
"That's the point,"
he whispered fiercely.
"They'll underestimate me because I look stupid. Classic detective strategy."
She dragged him back by the ear. Again.
When Arven gathered the villagers in the square, Rowan tried desperately to counter him with "logic."
Arven: "The Moonborn draws shadows."
Rowan (leaping up): "Correction! Shadows are drawn by light in general. If you had a torch, boom, shadows everywhere. Should we burn all torches too?"
Nervous laughter rippled. But Arven smiled thinly.
"A clever jest. But torches burn wood. Moonborn burn lives."
Rowan muttered,
"Well, that shut me up fast."
The priest's words spread like frost over the crowd. They stared at Icarus—not with awe, but unease.
Rowan whispered quickly near Icarus.
"You don't have to carry this. Say the word, and I'll cause a distraction. A big one. Something involving chickens, probably."
Icarus smiled faintly, then stepped forward to face them. His voice carried calm resolve.
"I carry light not to burn you, but to guide you. If danger follows me, then let it fall on me. I was born to hold it, so you would not have to."
The villagers shifted uneasily. Some whispered in doubt. Others lowered their heads. Rowan, standing behind him, thought: You really mean that, don't you? You idiot. You noble, shining idiot.
As the crowd dispersed, Rowan noticed something unsettling. Arven didn't speak equally to all. He leaned close to individuals, murmuring something too quiet to catch. Each one he whispered to left with eyes harder than before.
Rowan scribbled furiously. "Note: Priest runs side-quests during mobs. Very suspicious."
When he tried to edge closer, a villager stepped into his way. Not hostile—just firm. But enough to block him. As though Arven's shield had already spread beyond himself.
That night, Rowan dramatically collapsed into the lodge and pulled a sketch from his satchel.
"Exhibit A."
It was a shaky drawing of Arven leaning over a villager.
Selene raised a brow.
"Rowan… this looks like two stick figures sharing soup."
Rowan's jaw dropped.
"What? No! That's sinister whispering! Look, these lines—sinister lines!"
Alaric nearly choked laughing.
But Icarus studied the sketch quietly, then folded it and tucked it into his coat.
"Keep watching him," he said.
"One day, we'll need more than sketches."
Rowan blinked. Then grinned.
"You got it, silver-hair. Detective Rowan's on the case."
And for once, his antics carried not just comedy—but resolve.
The chapel of Frostvale stood at the village's heart—a tall, narrow structure of pale stone, its roof crowned with an iron cross that gleamed faintly under moonlight. Though simple, it commanded reverence. People came and went in streams, faces half-hidden by hoods, each bowing their heads as though stepping into holy judgment.
Inside, torches burned steadily, their flames unnaturally still. The air smelled faintly of incense—but beneath it, Rowan swore he caught a metallic tang, like iron left too long in the snow.
"Smells like someone's been cooking… regrets,"
Rowan muttered.
"Behave,"
Selene whispered sharply, elbowing him.
He rubbed his side with a wounded pout.
"I'm serious. Churches should smell like bread or… well, holy things. This smells like—"
"Blood?"
Icarus finished quietly.
The word hung. Even Alaric's grin faded for once.
Arven waited at the front, tall and draped in white robes stitched with golden thread. His smile was serene, yet his eyes gleamed with a strange brightness that never quite blinked.
"My children,"
he greeted warmly, though his gaze fixed on Icarus.
"And you… the Moonborn. Your presence is both a blessing… and a trial."
Rowan whispered,
"More like a trial with no lawyer."
Selene stomped his foot.
Arven extended his arms.
"Frostvale suffers a curse, subtle yet sharp. Crops spoil, livestock falter, storms gather beyond their season. Do you not see, villagers? The heavens test us. The Moonborn walks among us—and with him, trials meant to test our faith."
The villagers murmured in fearful agreement. Icarus felt the weight of dozens of eyes pressing into him like cold knives.
A Test of Faith
Arven turned, robes swaying.
"If the Moonborn bears no shadow of corruption, let him stand before our holy relic, the Chains of Lumina. If his soul is untainted, the chains shall remain cold. But if sin clings to him—"
"They'll burn,"
finished a villager, voice trembling.
"Exactly so."
Arven's smile was calm.
"Let us allow faith to decide."
Selene's hand shot out, gripping Icarus's sleeve.
"Don't."
But Icarus met her eyes and gave a small, reassuring nod.
"If they fear me, then let me face their test. Hiding won't change their hearts."
Rowan practically yelped.
"Are you insane? It's literally a trap, silver-hair! Chains that magically burn sinners? That's like—like a cursed grill for chosen ones!"
Even Alaric frowned.
"He's right. Things like this can be twisted, Icarus. Be careful."
But the Moonborn only stepped forward, calm and unflinching.
From the altar, Arven lifted the relic: heavy iron chains etched with runes that shimmered faintly. As he carried them, the villagers knelt, whispering prayers.
The moment the relic drew near, Icarus felt a hum ripple through his blood. His Moonborn essence resonated with the chains—like two ancient forces recognizing one another.
Rowan saw him flinch and panicked.
"Nope. Nope nope nope. Abort mission!"
But Icarus held steady. Arven draped the relic over his arms. The chains coiled like serpents, heavy and cold.
For a breathless moment—nothing.
Then the runes flared. The iron grew hot. Steam hissed. Villagers gasped, some shouting warnings.
Selene's heart lurched—yet Icarus's expression never faltered. Though the chains seared against his skin, he did not cry out. He only whispered,
"If this is my trial, then so be it."
The glow wavered. Faded. The chains cooled.
Arven's smile froze for the first time.
Murmurs swept the chapel.
"It cooled…?"
"The chains did not burn him?"
"Does that mean—?"
Arven raised his hand. His calm voice cut through the noise.
"The relic… may be deceived. For even devils wear angel's masks. We must remain vigilant."
The unease lingered, yet the spell of fear didn't break. The villagers still looked at Icarus with suspicion.
Rowan nearly exploded.
"Are you kidding me? The relic didn't roast him like a pig, and you're still suspicious? What do you want, a fireworks display spelling out 'Totally Innocent'!?"
Selene hissed, dragging him back again.
Alaric chuckled low, though his eyes were serious.
"Funny thing about faith—it bends easier than steel."
Later, as the villagers dispersed, Arven approached Icarus alone. His smile was serene again, but his voice carried a sharp edge.
"You held fast, Moonborn. Perhaps even heaven hesitates before you. But know this—light attracts shadows. If you remain here, shadows will follow."
Icarus met his gaze.
"Then let them come. I'd rather carry them than leave these people defenseless."
Arven tilted his head.
"A noble sentiment… or a dangerous arrogance. Which, I wonder?"
He turned and walked away, robes whispering across stone.
Rowan whispered to Icarus,
"I don't like him. He smiles too much. Smiling that much is… creepy. Probably practices in a mirror."
Selene exhaled, tension clear in her shoulders.
"He's planting seeds of doubt. If we're not careful, the village itself will turn against us."
Icarus nodded silently, his silver eyes glinting in the torchlight.
That night, as snow fell heavier outside, the group gathered in their lodge. Silence stretched until Rowan finally blurted:
"Icarus, you scared me today. You just—walked into that trap like it was a tea party."
Icarus gave a faint smile. "You were watching. I wasn't alone."
Rowan blinked. Then smirked.
"Hah. Cheesy. But I'll allow it."
Selene shook her head, but her lips curved softly. For the first time since Frostvale grew hostile, warmth flickered between them—not from fire, but from trust refusing to freeze.
And outside, unseen, a shadow passed across the snow, leaving no footprints behind.
Frostvale slept uneasily that night. Torches flickered on street corners, casting long shadows across the snow. The villagers had locked their shutters, but faint prayers drifted from homes—pleas for protection, for forgiveness, for deliverance.
In their lodge, the group sat around a crackling fire. Rowan paced in a tight circle, hands waving.
"I'm telling you, that priest gives me the creeps! Did you see the way he smiled at Icarus? Like a cat watching a mouse juggle knives!"
Selene pinched the bridge of her nose.
"Rowan, you're exaggerating again."
"No, no, no. I know creepy. My uncle had a goat once that smiled at people. Guess what happened to it? Possessed! Ate three shirts and an entire boot before we figured it out."
Alaric wheezed a laugh.
"A goat? Possessed? That's a first."
"Don't laugh! It's true!" Rowan jabbed a finger toward Icarus.
"We can't just sit here while Reverend Creeps-a-lot plots who knows what. We should snoop. Investigate. Sneak around. Classic detective work!"
Selene crossed her arms. "You mean break into the chapel?"
Rowan beamed. "See, she gets it."
Icarus shook his head but smiled faintly.
"If you're that determined, we'll go together. But quietly. We can't risk alienating the villagers further."
Rowan struck a triumphant pose. "Operation Snoopy Snowfox begins!"
The four slipped from the lodge past midnight, snow crunching softly under their boots. Frostvale's streets lay silent, save for the whistling wind. The chapel loomed at the center, its spire cutting into the starless sky.
Rowan crept dramatically, crouching low with exaggerated steps.
"Shhh. I'm invisible."
Alaric whispered,
"You look like a duck with back pain."
Selene bit back a laugh, though her breath fogged white with tension. Icarus led the way, calm and steady, silver eyes scanning the night.
They reached the chapel's side door. Rowan fumbled with the latch, pulling a thin wire from his pocket.
Selene blinked.
"Where did you learn lockpicking?"
"Card games. High stakes. Don't ask."
Rowan grinned—and with a click, the door swung open. "Ta-da."
Inside, the chapel felt colder than the night. Shadows clung to the walls. The chains used in the ritual rested on the altar, faintly glowing with dormant runes.
But it wasn't the relic that caught their attention. Behind the altar, half-hidden by a curtain, a trapdoor stood slightly ajar.
Rowan's eyes widened.
"Oh-ho-ho. Secret basement. Classic cult move."
Selene hissed,
"Lower your voice!"
They descended creaking stairs into a cellar. Torches lit the narrow space, and at its center stood a stone table carved with symbols. Strange black candles burned steadily around it, their flames pointing inward, defying the draft.
On the walls hung tapestries—depictions of a horned figure wreathed in flame.
Icarus's chest tightened. He recognized the shape.
"That's no saint… it's a demon."
As they approached the altar, a chill swept through the cellar. A whisper slithered through their minds, faint but insistent.
"Moonborn…"
Icarus froze. The voice coiled in his head, cold and ancient.
Rowan clutched his ears.
"Did anyone else—?!"
"Yes," Selene said sharply, blade half-drawn.
"Something's here."
The candles flared. Shadows twisted. A shape rose from the stone table—humanoid but faceless, woven from smoke. Its voice echoed like a hundred whispers at once.
"The chains are broken… the Ashura stir…"
Alaric's grin vanished. In a blink, his aura shifted—the clumsy knight commander replaced by something terrifying. His bloodline flared, the air bending under invisible force.
"Identify yourself."
The shadow hissed.
"We are already here."
Then it shattered into mist.
A crash rang out above. The group bolted upstairs. Outside, villagers screamed. Frost Beasts—wolves made of ice and shadow—prowled the streets, eyes glowing red.
Rowan cursed.
"Of course! Every time we find a creepy basement, monsters show up!"
Selene drew her sword, steel gleaming with mana.
"Protect the villagers first!"
Alaric cracked his neck, eyes hard.
"Right. Time to stop holding back."
With a sweep of his hand, invisible force slammed a pack of beasts into a wall, crushing them with a sickening crack. Snow blasted outward as though a storm had exploded.
Rowan gaped.
"Okay… note to self: never get on Alaric's bad side."
Icarus raised his hands, silver light flooding from his core. Energy gathered in his palms, weaving into a luminous arc that sliced through a beast mid-leap, shattering it into shards of ice.
Selene fought at his side, blades flashing. Rowan darted between them, hurling knives that glowed faintly with enchantment.
The village square became a battlefield of snow and flame.
Through the chaos, Father Arven appeared, robes untouched by the storm. His voice rang above the din.
"Do you see? Darkness follows the Moonborn! These beasts came because of him!"
Villagers, terrified, clutched one another. Even as Icarus and Selene defended them, fear twisted their gratitude into suspicion.
Rowan yelled back,
"Are you blind? He's saving you, not cursing you!"
But Arven's words cut deeper than reason.
"Even a blade cuts both ways. The brighter his light, the darker the shadow it casts!"
Alaric's aura pulsed dangerously. He stepped forward, eyes like storms.
"Enough. Keep talking, priest, and I'll show you what true chains feel like."
For the first time, Arven faltered, retreating a step.
By dawn, the beasts were gone, their corpses melting into snow. The villagers, shaken, whispered among themselves. Some thanked Icarus. Others glared at him with quiet fear.
Selene touched his arm gently.
"You did all you could."
He nodded, though his silver eyes lingered on the chapel. He could still hear that whisper.
The Ashura stir.
And somewhere deep inside, he knew—the real battle had only just begun.
After the night's chaos, silence blanketed Frostvale. The snow lay heavy on rooftops, softening the scars of battle. Smoke curled from chimneys. Yet the air still held unease, as though the village itself was holding its breath.
Inside the lodge, the group recovered. Alaric leaned against the wall, arms folded, expression unusually grim. Selene tended to her blade, running a cloth along its edge. Rowan sprawled across the floor like a starfish, groaning dramatically.
"I think one of those beasts bit my soul," he muttered.
Selene sighed. "Rowan, you don't have a bite mark."
"Not on the outside! The inside!" He clutched his chest. "Trauma!"
Icarus chuckled softly. The sound, rare in the tense village, made Selene glance up, her lips twitching.
At last, Alaric pushed away from the wall. His usual lighthearted tone was absent, replaced by steel.
"Last night wasn't random. Those beasts weren't natural—they were summoned. Someone here wanted chaos. Someone fed the villagers' fears on purpose."
Selene frowned.
"You think it was Arven?"
Alaric's jaw tightened.
"I think the priest isn't alone. There's a chain here—links of faith, fear, and control. And whoever forged it knows exactly how to bind people."
Rowan groaned louder.
"Chains, shadows, creepy whispers… I hate this place."
But his tone faltered when he noticed Icarus's silence.
The Moonborn sat still, silver eyes distant.
"The voice we heard… it wasn't human. It spoke of Ashura."
Even Alaric's expression hardened at the name. He said nothing—but in his silence was confirmation.
Later, when Rowan dozed by the fire and Alaric stepped outside to speak with villagers, Selene sat beside Icarus. The firelight flickered against his silver hair, casting him in a glow that made her chest tighten.
"You shouldn't carry this alone,"
she said softly.
He turned to her.
"The chains? The suspicion? Or the voice?"
"All of it."
She hesitated, then rested her hand lightly over his.
"You've been calm through everything, but even the strongest branches can snap if the storm doesn't let up. Lean on us. On me."
For a moment, his composure cracked—just a flicker of weariness in his eyes. He covered her hand with his, warm and steady.
"I know. And I will. As long as you're beside me, I won't break."
Selene's heart skipped. She pulled her hand back quickly, cheeks flushed, muttering, "Idiot."
Rowan, half-asleep, mumbled,
"Finally…"
before snoring again.
That night, unable to sleep, Rowan wandered Frostvale. The moonlight cast everything in silver, the snow crunching softly under his boots. He muttered to himself, half-grumbling, half-thinking.
"Chains, shadows, creepy priest… always has to be cults, doesn't it?"
He kicked at a snowdrift—and something clinked. Frowning, he dug through the snow and pulled out a shard of metal, etched with the same runes as the chapel's relic.
His eyes widened. "Oh… oh no."
The shard pulsed faintly, whispering words he couldn't quite hear. Rowan shivered, tucking it into his coat.
"For once… I'm not joking. This is bad."
Back in the lodge, Rowan tossed the shard onto the table. The runes shimmered, casting eerie light.
Alaric studied it, face grim.
"This isn't just a relic piece. It's a summoning focus. Whoever planted this didn't just call beasts. They tested Frostvale… and us."
Selene's grip tightened on her sword.
"Then we're being watched."
Icarus lifted the shard. His silver eyes burned as he whispered,
"The Ashura are closer than we thought."
The shard cracked in his hand, smoke curling upward. For an instant, the faint image of a horned silhouette flickered in the air—before vanishing.
Silence fell.
Alaric finally broke it.
"Get ready. This was only the beginning."
Outside, the wind howled, rattling shutters. The storm had not passed. It was only gathering