The silver plate on Alhen's chest caught the morning light, but its weight felt different today. It wasn't just a badge; it was a target.
Lira led him back to the Valencrest Manor, but they didn't go to the Baron's study. Instead, they descended into the archives—a room even larger and dustier than the library in Eldervale. Baron Kaelen stood over a stone table, staring at a map that looked ancient, its edges frayed and blackened by time.
"Silver rank. Faster than I anticipated," the Baron said without looking up. "But your timing is fortunate. Something has woken up in the Whispering Peaks."
He pointed to a jagged mountain range to the north. "For centuries, the Frost-Bound Crypt has remained sealed. It holds the remains of the First Wardens—warriors who mastered Essence long before the Great Silence. But three days ago, the seal fractured. A dark, rhythmic pulse is radiating from the mountain, turning the local wildlife into mindless, frozen husks."
Alhen leaned in, his eyes tracing the mountain paths. "You want me to reseal it?"
"No," the Baron said, finally looking at him. "The seal is beyond repair. I want you to go inside and retrieve the Heart of Boreas—an ancient catalyst used by the Wardens. If that heart falls into the hands of the figure you saw in the woods, the North will fall."
Lira stepped forward, her own blade strapped to her waist. "I'm going with him, Father."
The Baron silenced her with a look. "This isn't a village stroll, Lira. But... Alhen will need a guide who knows the mountain passes. You go, but you follow his lead."
The journey to the Whispering Peaks took three days. As they climbed, the lush greenery of the valley died away, replaced by jagged black rock and a wind that sounded like human screaming. By the second night, the air became so cold that even Alhen's Essence-reinforced skin began to sting.
"We're close," Lira whispered, her breath hitching in the frozen air.
They stood before a massive stone door carved directly into the face of a glacier. It was cracked down the middle, a faint, sickly purple light bleeding out from the fissure. The ground around the entrance was littered with frozen birds, their wings mid-flap, turned to ice in an instant.
Alhen drew his sword. The silver light of his Essence flickered unsteadily, reacting to the heavy, stagnant pressure coming from within the crypt.
"Don't touch the walls," Alhen warned. "The cold in there isn't natural. It's draining the life force out of everything."
They stepped through the crack.
Inside, the crypt was a cathedral of ice. Huge pillars of blue crystal held up the ceiling, and the walls were lined with the frozen statues of ancient warriors. But as they moved deeper, Alhen realized the statues weren't made of stone. They were the Wardens themselves, preserved in a moment of eternal agony.
Suddenly, the rhythmic pulse the Baron mentioned grew louder. Thump-thump. Thump-thump. It sounded like a giant heart beating beneath their feet.
"Alhen... look," Lira pointed ahead.
In the center of the grand hall, a bridge of translucent ice spanned a bottomless chasm. On the other side stood a pedestal glowing with a blinding blue light. But standing between them and the pedestal was a creature that made the forest beasts look like pets.
It was a Frost-Wraith Sentinel. Ten feet tall, draped in tattered, frozen banners, its body was made of jagged ice and shadow. In its hand, it gripped a massive greatsword that pulsed with the same sickly purple light as the crack in the door.
The Sentinel raised its head. Where its eyes should have been, there were only two swirling vortexes of frost.
It didn't roar. It didn't growl. It simply spoke in a voice that felt like ice shards in Alhen's mind.
"The living... do not belong... in the Hall of Silence."
With a single swing of its greatsword, a wave of absolute zero temperature swept across the bridge, freezing the very air into solid spikes.
Alhen lunged forward, his silver Essence exploding outward to shield Lira, but the force of the impact was like hitting a mountain. He was thrown back, his boots sliding toward the edge of the chasm.
The Sentinel stepped onto the bridge, the ice cracking under its sheer power.
Alhen gripped his sword, his knuckles white. The silver glow of his Essence was being swallowed by the purple shadows of the crypt. He looked at Lira, then back at the giant of ice.
"Lira... when I move, run for the pedestal," Alhen commanded, his voice barely a whisper against the howling wind.
"What about you?"
Alhen didn't answer. He took a breath, feeling the river of Essence inside him start to freeze. He had to break the limit again. Not just for the mission, but to survive the next ten seconds.
The Sentinel raised its blade for a vertical strike that would shatter the entire bridge.
"Now!" Alhen roared.