Chapter 14

  Before any of us could even speak a word about the undeniable piece of evidence lying on the floor, our bodies gave in. Like sacks of wet sand, we collapsed where we stood—breathless, aching, drained. Not dead. Not wounded. Just... done. The three of us leaned against the cold stone wall, letting silence and exhaustion wrap around us. I removed my helmet and let the cool air hit my sweat-drenched face. It was the dead of night, and we were still reeling from everything that had happened.

  We’d barely gotten any sleep. First the discovery beneath the inn, then the runes, the altar, the growing dread of an incoming summoning… and now this: a haunting melody had dragged us from our beds and into the arms of a monster made of ice and death. And I’d nearly died—again. So yes, we were allowed a moment. A moment to breathe, to sit in the quiet that followed a storm.

  Eventually, it was Simon who broke the silence. His voice was low, grim. “The Ice Wraith… it was Markus.”

  “I know,” I murmured, not even lifting my head. “That key fob... it’s his. No guest received one like it. I checked all three witnesses in the stable. None of them had anything remotely similar.”

  “What about the waitress?” Vin asked from my left, her tone cautious but firm.

  I groaned, rubbing a hand across my face. Why did everything have to be so godsdamned complicated? “Maybe,” I admitted, dragging myself to my feet and slipping my helmet back on with a tired grunt. “We’ll follow the frost trail tomorrow. If we’re lucky, it’ll tell us what happened to him—and how.”

  I rolled my shoulders, the plates of my armor clinking softly. “But for tonight,” I said, gesturing vaguely with one arm, “we get some sleep. We need sleep.”

  Then, under my breath—low, with a flicker of frustration—I added, “And tomorrow morning, the first thing I’m going to figure out is what our dear cleric did to sleep through that bone-piercing cold and that damned howling song without even flinching.”

  -

  The next morning, I was the first to wake. The pale light of dawn slipped through the frost-covered window, bathing the room in a dull grey hue. My joints ached, my back protested with every step—but I pushed the discomfort aside. I had something to do.

  My eyes fell on Maira.

  She was still lying exactly as she had when we’d all collapsed the night before—on her side, curled up slightly, peaceful... unnaturally peaceful. Her chest rose and fell in slow, steady rhythm. Something about it didn’t sit right. It wasn’t just calm—it was suspended, as if held in a state untouched by the chaos of the world.

  There was something surrounding her. I couldn’t see it exactly, but I felt it. Like a thin layer of static in the air, or the invisible heat shimmer above a flame. A protective barrier? A ward?

  I didn’t want to take chances. I slipped my helmet on, just in case, and approached slowly. Carefully. Like one might step toward a sleeping serpent. And it turned out, the comparison was more apt than I’d expected.

  The moment my gloved hand brushed her shoulder, Maira bolted upright with a scream. There was no moment of drowsy confusion, no groggy blinking—just immediate action. A dagger flashed in her hand before I could even breathe, and suddenly I found myself staring down the cold, glinting edge of a ritual blade. It hovered an inch from my throat.

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  Her stance was rigid. Her breathing was sharp and shallow. And in her eyes—just for a split second—I saw something... feral. Something primal. Not quite human.

  Then recognition dawned. Her pupils dilated. The blade trembled slightly, then lowered.

  “Luken,” she whispered, her voice cracking.

  I let out a breath I hadn’t realized I was holding. “What the hell was that?” I asked, my tone rough, more alarmed than angry.

  She blinked slowly, then sat back down on the bed, her hands visibly shaking. “It was... a sleep spell,” she said quietly, ashamed. “A deep meditation. I’m so sorry.”

  The dagger—no, it was a ritual knife, I was sure of it—slid from her hand and landed on the mattress with a soft thump. She didn’t look at me. Her eyes dropped to the floor, guilt written plainly across her face.

  “A sleep spell?!” I repeated, louder now. Disbelief and a spike of leftover adrenaline sharpened my words. “You nearly slit my throat over a nap?”

  “It’s not a normal nap,” she said quickly, flustered. “It’s a meditation technique I’ve used for years. It helps me recover mana faster—especially after our Expedition.”

  I crossed my arms, my heart still beating too fast. “You were completely out. We fought a damn Ice Wraith, and you didn’t even stir. The cold has crept to the core for everyone in the inn.”

  “It seals off outside stimuli", she murmured, "Light, sound, even pain. It's meant to bring full rest in moments of exhaustion. But it’s also... defensive. Anyone who wakes me abruptly triggers the instinctual part of my mind. I—I didn’t mean to—”

  I held up a hand, exhaling sharply. “No, no. It’s fine. I’m not mad. Just...” I shook my head, half amused now, “maybe consider a different spell for mana recovery. Preferably one that doesn’t come with... throat stabbing potential?”

  Finally, she smiled, sheepishly. “Noted.”

  “Alright,” I said with renewed purpose. “Let’s wake the others and confront Markus.”

  “Confront Markus?” Maira asked, blinking in confusion.

  Ah. Right. She hadn’t been part of the fight last night. I’d nearly forgotten. “At the end of the battle,” I began, stepping toward my armor, “the Ice Wraith shimmered—white light, like frost in the sunlight—and vanished into thin air. No explosion. No scream. Just gone. But he left something behind.”

  “What was it?” she asked, still catching up.

  “A keychain. Shaped like a white ox,” I explained, fastening the straps on my chestplate. “It’s something I’ve only ever seen Markus carry. No guest had one. Not even the witnesses in the stables.”

  Her eyes widened slightly in surprise but she nodded, accepting the revelation.

  “A white shimmer, you said?” she asked after a moment.

  “Yeah. Why?”

  “That’s usually a recall spell,” she said, brows furrowing in thought. “Emergency teleportation. Many experienced mages cast them on themselves—just in case they’re fatally wounded or trapped.”

  “Good to know,” I muttered, sliding my sword into its sheath. “Can we use that to our advantage?”

  “Potentially,” she replied. “A spell like that always returns the caster to a marked anchor point—a place of safety. It’s not a random teleport.”

  I paused, gears turning in my head. “Then if we follow the Ice Wraith’s trail, we might not just find his hiding place,” I said slowly, a grin forming, “we could find the Crytomancers themselves. Maybe even both.”

  Now that sounded like music to my ears.

  Maira, however, frowned slightly. “Wait... trail?”

  Ah. Another detail she’d missed.

  “We found a path of frost—faint, but clear. Left behind by the Wraith’s movements. Ice-crusted footprints, frost along the grain of the wood... It’s subtle, but it’s there. We’ll follow it.”

  She gave a short, decisive nod. “Understood.”

  While I secured the last piece of my armor and slung my sword across my back, Maira crossed the room and gently roused Simon and Vin. They groaned and grumbled—none of us had slept much—but once I mentioned the Ice Wraith, Markus, and the trail, the weariness in their eyes shifted to steely focus.

  Moments later, the four of us stood in the hallway—armored, armed, and ready.

  We were about to embark on what might be our most important discovery yet.

  An interrogation.

  A confrontation.

  Or a full-blown battle.

  Maybe two of those.

  Maybe all three.

  We would soon find out.