The trapdoor revealed a spiral staircase, its narrow, steep steps leading into a stone chamber below. It reminded me of an old medieval castle—only cleaner. I descended carefully, testing each step as I went.
At the bottom, I paused. There was no visible source of light, and yet the entire chamber glowed with an even illumination.
Weird.
The square room had four doorways, one in each wall. Above every doorway hung an image of a snowflake, each one unique. I circled the staircase to inspect them more closely.
They were glowing in a soft blue. I walked around again and noticed each was different.
Okay.
I looked again and finally noticed that only one of the snowflakes had six sides. Snowflakes always have six sides. I knew—or at least strongly suspected—that was the one to take.
With a deep sigh, I stepped through the doorway and into a winding corridor. It twisted and stretched, seeming to go on forever. Just when I was certain it would never end, it opened into another chamber.
This one had three doorways, each marked with a snowflake again—though this time, there were no stairs. Other than that, this room was identical to the first.
I examined each of the snowflakes in turn. They all had six sides. Too easy. I moved from one to the next, frowning.
What am I missing?
I stopped in front of one and leaned closer. A faint breath of cold air brushed against my face.
That felt promising—but I had to be sure.
I checked the other snowflakes. Nothing. Only one exhaled that icy draft.
That had to be the one.
The passage beyond felt longer, stretching into monotony. I walked and walked, time blurring, until at last I arrived at another chamber. Same as before, but this time with only two doorways.
The same snowflakes marked the arches. I didn’t bother checking for shape or cold air this time. Instead, I paused, listening. From one of them came a faint sound.
Drip. Drip.
I leaned closer. Water. But that didn’t make sense. Snowflakes don’t drip.
I turned to the other and pressed my ear near the stone. Nothing. Only silence. Then I noticed something else — frost spreading across the wall behind it, glittering faintly in the light. One was melting. One was not.
The choice was obvious.
I followed the passage, and it wound on forever—until it didn’t. The area beyond stopped me cold.
The scale of it was beyond belief. I felt like an ant in a cathedral carved for giants. The corridor opened into a vast stone arena, circular and tiered, its arches vanishing into shadow. In the very centre stood a colossal tree stump, its roots clawing into the stone as though it had once grown here for centuries.
Above it hung the moon—full, luminous, impossibly close—casting silver light across the arena. Snow drifted lazily from the darkened sky, though there was no sky to speak of, only a cavernous dome that seemed to breathe with ancient silence.
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I could only stare.
It took me a few minutes just to pull myself away from the scene. At last, I let out a weary sigh and dug out my water bottle. Walking was tiring.
The sip reminded me of something less comforting: I wasn’t getting any loot here. Which meant tomorrow I’d have to skip breakfast and track down a kobold for food.
I exhaled again, deeper this time.
Resolving myself to push forward, I looked again at the scene before me. I forced my gaze past the breathtaking sight, searching for what I needed to do here.
The tree at the centre stood bathed in moonlight, old and dormant, offering no clue. But behind it, I noticed openings—arched doorways set into the vast circular wall.
It made sense to explore them first. The walk to the nearest arch was long; the sheer scale of the place made every step feel small.
Inside, I found a passage running behind the doorways. Before each arch stood a frozen mirror, and on the wall behind each one, the familiar snowflake symbols gleamed faintly.
I walked down the corridor, studying the snowflakes. All identical. My attention shifted to the mirrors instead. They were strange — oval in shape, but uneven, the edges indented and warped as if sculpted by frost.
The mirror beside it was different. And the next. Each one was unique. I peered out through a doorway and counted the arches. Too many. Each doorway, each mirror, distinct.
Cautiously, I touched one. The glass burned with cold beneath my fingertips, and when I pressed harder, the whole mirror moved slightly.
I pressed harder, and the mirror shifted further. Using both hands, I angled it carefully. Just as I was about to give up, something happened—the glass caught the moonlight and reflected it across the arena, striking the tree stump in the centre.
Could it really be that simple?
As I moved along the passage, I noticed staircases every ten or so mirrors, leading upward to the higher level. But I chose to finish the bottom floor first. One mirror at a time, I adjusted their angles, nudging them into place.
It was exhausting work. There were so many mirrors, and the repetition wore on me. Time blurred. My arms ached. Still, I pushed through until I reached the end of the passage.
When I finally looked out again at the stump, my breath caught. The moonlight converged on it, bathing the ancient wood in silver radiance.
I climbed the spiral steps and set to work again, mirror by mirror. Each adjustment drained me further. My muscles burned, shoulders stiff, fingers numb from the cold glass.
At last, I finished. I leaned on the wall, chest tight with anticipation, and waited.
The stump below shimmered in silver light, glowing brighter than before. But nothing else stirred.
My breath escaped in a slow sigh.
It was not going to be that simple.
Defeat pressed down on me, after all that work. I slumped down and just gave in to it. For a minute I sat there and then I got over it.
The only place I did not inspect was the stump. Maybe there would be a clue.
I walked to the glowing stump and began the trek around it, and only after walking a second time around, I saw words glowing blue on the stump.
“Snowflakes that melt will fall away,
The ones that stay will lead the way.
Warmth reveals what cold conceals,
The heat you bear unlocks what’s real.”
I read the lines again and again, frowning. Snowflakes — the symbols on the walls. Melting meant false, fading. The ones that stayed must be true. Warmth to reveal, heat to unlock.
But what kind of warmth? Fire? Touch? My own body heat?
I pressed both palms against a snowflake symbol. The stone burned with cold against my skin, but nothing changed. I shoved harder, leaning my weight into it. Still nothing.
My jaw tightened. I thought about trying a flame — but what if it shattered the mirror? That felt wrong. The rhyme had said the heat you bear, not the fire you make.
I leaned closer, my breath fogging faintly in the chill air. Desperate, I sighed.
The snowflake flickered.
My heart lurched.
“No way…” I whispered, and exhaled again, steady this time. Warm breath misted the frozen surface. Slowly, the snowflake dimmed to grey, its light fading like a dying star.
Bingo. One down. Too many to go.
The work was brutal. I stopped often, chest heaving, each breath rasping more like a wheeze than a sigh. My throat burned, my muscles screamed. Still, I pressed on.
Finally, I reached the last mirror. When it slid into place, I staggered back, drained but finished.
Out in the chamber, the stump’s silver glow deepened, shifting into pale, icy blue. With a shuddering shimmer, a doorway opened in its trunk — an opening where none had been before.
Cautiously, I stepped closer. The glow spilled across the ground, cold and pale. I stopped at its threshold, heart tight with unease, and wondered what waited beyond.
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