Chapter 66

  It was hard to tell when exactly night began. The caves of the Ice Wastes offered neither moon nor stars—no light that slowly faded, no shifting shadows. Only the constant, dull shimmer of the ice, which in some places looked almost silver, and in others flickered with a bluish hue. But when Arik returned from another scouting run and reported in a quiet voice that the exit was not far, I decided it was time to rest.

  Exhaustion was written all over our faces—even Maira, who usually never said a word about it, sat breathing heavily against the wall. We didn’t say much. Sometimes there’s no need for a discussion. Sometimes a nod, a glance, a brief lean against the same rock is enough. And so we made ourselves as comfortable as possible with the thick wolf cloaks we had taken from the old city. Of course, “comfortable” was relative. The ground was hard, the air cool and dry, and there was that smell of old frost and melted stone that slowly crept into your bones. But at least… we were alive.

  I opened the small leather pouch Reyn had given me when we set out and took out some of the rations. Dried meat, a sort of pressed berry cake, roasted nuts. Maira raised an eyebrow but said nothing—a silent sign of: “Not good, but edible.” Arik thanked me quietly and ate mechanically, as if hunger was stronger than fatigue right now. And me? I chewed slowly, more to have something in my mouth than out of any real need.

  Reyn.

  As soon as I thought of him, a tingle crept under my skin. Not unpleasant, but not exactly comforting either. It was that vague feeling you get when you care deeply about someone… and at the same time aren’t sure if you gave them too much space too quickly. He was my friend. One of the best in a long time, if I’m honest. Besides Maira and Vin, there were few I had been that open with. But had that been wise?

  “No, it wasn’t,” Gravor chimed in dryly. His voice echoed in my head—not loud, but clearly present, like an old teacher barely able to hide his chuckle. “You opened up, Luken. To someone you barely know. That’s called stupid. Or optimistic. Depends on how it ends.”

  I rolled my eyes inwardly. “Seriously. Is he influencing me?”

  I needed to know. One voice in my head was already enough. A demonic symbiont who liked to interfere and also happened to save my life was challenge enough. If Reyn was now—

  “You two are connected,” Gravor said more thoughtfully now. “Not like us, but not simple either. It’s there. Strong. Deeper than you think.”

  I said nothing. And kept listening.

  “It reminds me of the one with the Guardian,” he continued, “only… bigger. More complex. It carries traces of ancient magic, of will-binding. You didn’t create it consciously, but you allowed it. And that makes it strong.”

  “How strong?” I asked quietly in my thoughts, though I wasn’t sure I wanted the answer.

  “Not on the level of our bond,” Gravor replied immediately. “Not even close. Don’t worry. That kind of thing doesn’t happen in days. But it’s growing. And the more you trust him, the more influence you grant him. Even without realizing it.”

  How… reassuring. Or not. Gravor didn’t seem worried. And that was… hard to interpret. Maybe it was a good sign. Maybe it just meant he was too proud to show jealousy.

  I sighed softly and tossed a small piece of dried meat into the fire. It sizzled but didn’t burn.

  “Don’t overthink it. You still hold the threads in your hand,” Gravor muttered, sounding—just this once—almost kind. “But never forget who’s spinning them.”

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  I nodded faintly. Not for him. For myself.

  Just a quiet nod in a silent cave—accompanied by the crackling of flames, the breathing of my companions… and a new, quiet unrest.

  "You’re not that holy," Arik suddenly broke the silence, so abruptly that I flinched a little. Maira was already asleep—when exactly that had happened, I hadn’t noticed. Probably during my conversation with Gravor. She had wrapped herself tightly in her cloak, her breathing calm. Almost like a child who had finally found rest after a long day.

  I turned to Arik. He sat across from me in that typical Ashblood posture—knees drawn up, back straight as a rod, as if even while sitting he was still on duty. He studied me. Not hostile. Not reverent. Something in between. I had taken off my helmet, which was rare enough. Maybe that had triggered it. He seemed surprised that no halo floated over my head, no divine whisper surrounded me, no radiant aura played across my face.

  For a brief moment, everything was quiet. Just the soft crackling of the fire that Maira had lit echoed through the cave. I stared at Arik. He stared back. I tried to read what was in his eyes. Distrust? Doubt? Was this his way of questioning my competence? Or was he finally beginning to question his childish fanaticism?

  Or—and the thought made me tense slightly—was he contemplating betrayal? Would he rise at any moment and plunge a blade into my back, convinced I had already gone too far?

  But then he continued speaking. And his voice sounded… calm. Thoughtful.

  "You're less than I expected... but also more. Much more." He briefly lowered his gaze, then looked up again, determined. "A man. Somehow. But one who accepts. Who... embraces the impure as well."

  I raised an eyebrow. I knew that feeling. That quiet, confusing warmth when you receive an unexpected compliment. Vin had said something like that to me. A thought that instantly tied a knot in my chest. I wondered how she was doing right now.

  Arik’s tone had shifted. Less searching, more awed. As if he were staring at a painting he never understood—and suddenly, all the pieces made sense. It wasn’t the same fanatical fascination that had driven him before. Not the greedy desire to touch a living myth. Now it was something calmer. Something… real.

  "And you’re thoroughly corrupted." He said it with quiet certainty, almost like a doctor giving a diagnosis. "At least your magic is."

  My mouth opened slightly, and I felt my shoulders tense. In almost every society I’d ever been in, that sentence would have been a death sentence. Words like that were spoken only by judges. Or executioners. Or fanatical inquisitors, just before they lit their torches. And yet…

  He didn’t mean it as an attack. Quite the opposite. It was almost… reverent. Admiring, even.

  I was so taken aback I didn’t reply. What was I supposed to say? "Thanks"?

  But Arik now looked down, rubbing the back of his ash-colored neck in a way that, for him, probably expressed embarrassment. His voice changed slightly—more reserved, almost shy.

  "When I’ve made things right with Vin..." He hesitated, searching for the right words. "I’d like to join your group. If that’s allowed."

  I blinked. Of course. Somehow I had known this moment would come. I had just thought it would… come later. With more drama. With an oath or an "I was wrong" monologue. Maybe a bit of divine assistance and a sword laid down on the ground.

  But no. Just that sentence. A little clumsy. Honest. Human.

  I looked at him. And in that moment—between the flickering firelight and the soft dripping of water somewhere deep in the cave—I realized that I didn’t yet know if I would say yes.

  But I knew that he meant it.

  After a long moment of thinking, I finally said, quietly and without looking at him,

  “Let me sleep on it. Or… give me time until we’ve finished our mission.”

  I heard him draw in a soft breath. No disappointed snort, no pushback—just a brief, understanding nod I caught out of the corner of my eye.

  “Good idea,” he said simply. Content, almost relieved. As if he hadn’t expected a yes at all, only the chance not to be rejected outright. Then he slowly lay down on his cloak, curled onto his side, and stared into the darkness that wrapped the cave beyond our small fire.

  I stayed seated for a moment longer, looked at him, then at Maira, who hadn’t moved at all. She was probably already deep asleep. I didn’t want to speak, breathe, or think—as if any sound might disturb the fragile balance of this moment.

  Then I took my cloak, folded it roughly, laid it near the flickering light, stretched out, and let myself sink down. The ground was hard, my armor uncomfortable, my thoughts too loud. But eventually I closed my eyes. Not to sleep.

  But to wait.

  To feel. To understand.

  Because sometimes silence is the only thing that brings you an answer.