CRACK! CRACK!

  The sound of something splintering chased close behind.

  The two men ran at full tilt along the tram tracks. The lantern in one of their hands flickered wildly, its light shaking with every step. The path ahead seemed endless. On either side, there was almost nothing to see. Only cavern walls closing in.

  Footsteps thundered in rapid pursuit. The pounding of their own hearts was louder still.

  A sound like ice breaking drew closer with every breath. There was no time to look back.

  “Flynn, right!” Kvicha shouted.

  They veered into the tunnel on the right, driving themselves as deep inside as they could.

  In the span of a heartbeat, a blizzard tore through. The passage flash-froze, cracked, and collapsed into a deep abyss.

  They slumped down against the icy cavern wall, gasping for breath. A faint smile passed between them.

  Suddenly, Kvicha’s hand brushed against something. He picked it up.

  It was a human bone. He dropped it at once.

  They rose to their feet and lifted the lantern, casting its light around the cavern.

  Frozen corpses and skeletal remains lay strewn across the ground. The cavern walls were coated in ice, thick and opaque like glass. There was no scent at all, only the biting cold. They had taken barely a step when they found staffs, swords, and tattered cloaks scattered across the stone floor.

  “This is old… just how old, I wonder?” Flynn said, lifting one of the swords.

  He quickly shook it from his hand. The blade was so cold it almost clung to his skin.

  “I don’t know, Flynn,” Kvicha said. “I always thought it was just a story.”

  “Leoric’s Frozen Crypt,” Flynn said, stepping over a skull. “My mother used to tell me about it before bed.”

  “You too?” Kvicha said. “I thought I was the only one who’d heard it.”

  Flynn nodded, then said flatly,

  “Wizards came here to fight over an ancient spellbook. None of them ever made it back.”

  They reached an arched stone doorway carved with intricate patterns. Beyond it lay complete darkness. Only the soft drip of water echoed against the stone. Flynn nodded to Kvicha, signaling him to slow down. The passageway began to narrow with every step.

  At the end of the passage, they found a stone statue buried beneath snow. As the lantern light fell upon it,

  the figure of a young woman emerged. Her skin was smooth, her hair long and flowing. Her face was beautiful, alive with the grace of a princess. She was dressed in an elegant evening gown, yet her lower half was nothing but decayed bone, like a pitiful corpse. She sat upon a stone tree, its branches twisted and gnarled.

  The chamber was ringed by stone walls, enclosing them in a perfect circle.

  Kvicha’s heart beat out of rhythm. His hands were icy cold, nearly numb, as he felt along the wall.

  “I have no magic,” Kvicha said, his voice trembling. “How are we supposed to go on now?”

  Flynn did not answer. He stepped closer to the statue and raised the lantern.

  Ice slowly melted from the woman’s face. Her calm eyes were fixed on a far corner of the chamber.

  “You did not take me away. You only received me,” Flynn whispered, his voice as soft as a kiss.

  And when Flynn cast the lantern’s light along her gaze, he found a narrow crevice, just wide enough for a person to slip through.

  Kvicha looked at Flynn, frowning.

  “What is it? Lady Julia never told you?” Flynn said with a faint smile.

  Kvicha shook his head.

  They squeezed into the narrow cleft of the stone wall, the cold biting into their skin. When they emerged from the tight passage, a vast hall appeared, one that should not have existed at all. Kvicha stepped onto the shattered stone floor, marked with the footprints of a creature far too large to imagine.

  “Have you ever seen… anything like this before?” Kvicha’s eyes trembled.

  Flynn shook his head. “I thought dragons existed only in stories.” His breath misted in the cold air.

  The scent of burnt wood and ancient dust hung thick. The floor was carpeted with ash and fine shards of shattered glass.

  Flynn moved ahead, coming upon fallen carved stone pillars and a rose window that had once been beautiful, yet could not withstand the passage of time.

  Kvicha raised the lantern and looked around. The ceiling bore the marks of beams that had once arched and crossed overhead, now cracked and on the verge of collapse. Moss and lichen clung to the arched doorways. The remains of chandeliers and bookshelves lay buried beneath snow and ferns. There was no sign of anything of value.

  “It might not have been a crypt to begin with,” Kvicha said. “It was probably a church.”

  “Leoric’s Cathedral of Scholars,” Flynn said. “They did not kill each other over a book. The dragon slaughtered them.”

  Kvicha picked up a thick volume. He brushed away the snow. Burn marks had eaten through almost the entire book. He opened it to a page that was still legible.

  “The Divine Dragon Dynasty has forsaken the human race. Whatever the ruler of the land may desire, you shall never possess all things,” Kvicha read aloud.

  Flynn picked up some of the books as well. Most of them had been scorched beyond recognition, though a few still held traces of writing.

  “You can read ancient runes too?” he asked, surprise clear on his face.

  “Mikaela taught me a little, back when I was in Aethelwyn,” Kvicha replied. “This is all I can make out. The rest was burned away.” He closed the book and let out a sigh. “Let’s find our way back. There’s nothing left here.”

  Flynn nodded.

  But as Kvicha lifted his head, he felt a bitter cold wind brush against his face.

  “There. Do you see it?” he shouted, then ran to the far end of the hall.

  Kvicha climbed over the fallen stone pillars and caught sight of a glimmering blue light. It slipped through a narrow gap in a towering stone door. Flynn rushed after him and pressed his weight against the massive door. It shifted slowly, inch by inch, until at last the opening was wide enough for them to squeeze through.

  An icy blast tore through them both, leaving their bodies shuddering as the sharp scent of snow filled their lungs.

  Crack Crack! Their footsteps rang out, as if they were walking across a frozen river.

  The lantern in their hand flickered through the darkness, revealing thousands of jagged ice spires thrusting up from the ground, nearly piercing the ceiling above. They reflected a cold, radiant blue light.

  “Where… where is this place?” Flynn’s voice trembled.

  Kvicha shook his head in reply.

  The blue light flickered as if alive, drawing them deeper and deeper until the path they had taken vanished from sight.

  And at the end of that path, they stood in awe at what lay before them. A single book lay open, glowing softly upon an ice pedestal, surrounded by thousands of blades of ice.

  “Leoric’s spellbook!” Flynn cried out as he moved closer. Just a few more steps and he would reach the pedestal.

  Then a single set of footsteps began to sound, slow and deliberate, like heavy metal striking ice.

  “Flynn, look out!” Kvicha shouted. Flynn leapt backward at once.

  Whoosh! A rush of wind. An arrow tore past Flynn’s neck, missing him by less than an inch, before slamming into an ice spire and shattering it into fragments.

  Flynn crashed onto the icy floor. Kvicha rushed forward and hauled him up with desperate effort.

  Steel rang—twice! They drew their swords.

  The figure slowly emerged beneath the lantern’s glow.

  Their eyes went wide. Blood ran cold in their veins. The hands gripping their blades trembled.

  It was a creature no tale had ever spoken of. A demon with three pairs of horns. Luminous blue eyes. Long, razor-sharp fangs. Jagged bones of ice piercing through its body. And wings of frigid blue.

  Kvicha and Flynn lunged at it, but their blades were easily parried by its bow.

  The demon moved in blinding flashes, faster than their eyes could follow.

  Whatever it was, it made no sound at all, as if it were lifeless.

  When their swords proved useless, Kvicha leapt back and seized his bow, loosing an arrow at it. The shaft struck true, only to freeze solid upon impact and shatter into fragments.

  In the very next heartbeat, another arrow flew back. It pierced straight through Kvicha’s body.

  His blood turned to ice, the cold spreading through him until his entire body went numb.

  Flynn hurled himself at the creature.

  Clang! His sword was knocked from his grasp, sent flying to impale itself in the pedestal.

  A sound like cracking ice echoed through the chamber. Fractures began to spread across the creature’s body.

  “Kvicha—the pedestal—!”

  The arrow pierced straight through Flynn’s throat before he could finish.

  His face slowly froze over. His body collapsed where he stood.

  “Flynn!” Kvicha screamed, his mind breaking.

  A bone-deep chill crawled up his spine. His legs gave way, barely holding him upright. Before he could fall, he flung the lantern toward the pedestal and grit his teeth as he drew his bow.

  The lantern exploded. Flames roared as the pedestal holding the spellbook shattered into countless pieces.

  The creature disintegrated before their eyes, leaving only the bow to clatter onto the ice.

  Blue light continued to shimmer around the bow, while the frozen field surrounding it shattered into fragments.

  Kvicha’s vision blurred. He could barely see anything — and soon, he heard nothing at all.

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  “I’m counting now. One, two, three, four, five…” the clear, sweet voice of a little girl rang out.

  “Turn around, Ana! Hands over your eyes. No cheating!” a boy shouted before dashing away.

  The girl nodded, turned her back to the great tree, and raised both hands to cover her eyes.

  The boy sprinted across the blue-tinged green grass beneath the pale orange sunlight. His light-brown hair fluttered in the breeze as a flock of round, woolly sheep grazing nearby lifted their heads, watching him as they bleated softly.

  Fine mist brushed his face as he ran across the wooden bridge spanning a narrow stream.

  Along the bank, near a hawthorn tree bursting with white blossoms, he found a small rise in the land just large enough to hide behind. Only to discover that another boy was already tucked away there.

  “Go hide somewhere else, Kvicha. You’ll get us into trouble,” the boy whispered.

  “This is my spot, Flynn,” Kvicha bared his teeth in a grin. “You’re the one who should move.”

  “Keep your voice down. Ana will hear us,” Flynn said, frowning.

  “We’re far enough. There’s no way Ana’s going to find us,” Kvicha replied, then craned his neck for a quick look.

  The once-lush meadow had turned to shades of black and white. A bone-chilling wind swept across it, transforming everything around into a frozen wasteland.

  A young woman appeared above the black bridge. Her hair flowed like silk, her face so beautiful that it was impossible to look away. She wore an elegant black gown, yet below her waist, her legs were nothing but decayed bones.

  Kvicha’s eyes widened at the sight. He slowly turned to look at Flynn.

  “Don’t let her find me,” Flynn said, his face gradually decaying until only his skeleton remained.

  Kvicha’s eyes went wide. His body trembled as Flynn’s bony hand reached toward him.

  “Help me, Kvicha… don’t leave me alone,” Flynn’s voice echoed, and his body slowly dissolved into nothingness.

  “No… no, no!” Kvicha screamed, utterly beside himself. His heart pounded as if it might burst. He gasped for breath, pushing himself upright, hands clutching the sheets, tears streaming down his cheeks.

  Every inhale brought sharp pain. His torso was wrapped in bandages, yet he could still feel the bone-deep chill stabbing up his spine, even after all these days.

  The warmth from the fireplace eased his tension, and he gradually began to breathe more slowly. The soft ticking of a clock echoed quietly in the stillness. Kvicha’s eyes drifted around the room. A simple oak wardrobe stood in the corner, and a writing desk sat snug against the window. Sunlight filtered gently through the curtains.

  Yet something felt off. At the foot of the bed, the ash-silver bow leaning there quivered as if it were alive.

  Knock, knock, knock!

  “Are you awake, Kvicha?” a young woman’s voice called.

  Kvicha hurriedly wiped his tears, propped himself up, and swung the door open.

  Ana smiled at him as she did every day, her light brown hair and hazel eyes catching the soft morning light.

  “Are you feeling any better?” she asked softly.

  Kvicha lowered his gaze and let out a heavy sigh.

  “I… I left him there, Ana. I left him,” his voice trembled.

  “You didn’t leave him,” she said gently. “Flynn was the one who brought you back.” She smiled at him, though her eyes carried a quiet sadness.

  Kvicha nodded faintly. Ana reached out, steadying him.

  “It’s okay, Ana,” Kvicha said, smiling in thanks.

  The young woman watched him with concern as he carefully made his way past her.

  He gripped the stair railing tightly, descending one step at a time. Sunlight streamed through the tall windows, illuminating a painting of a man holding a sword and staff, facing an ebony dragon amid flashes of crimson lightning.

  Kvicha pressed at the still-healing wound, wincing each time his foot met the floor, until he reached a room with its door left slightly ajar.

  “Duke Edward requests additional gold taxes, Baron,” a voice said. A tall, thin young man with jet-black hair, dressed in a long-sleeved brown tunic adorned with silver patterns, stood beside another man seated at the far end of the table, who was bent over a letter.

  “But he just raised the taxes a few months ago,” the Baron replied evenly.

  “If this keeps up, we’ll—” the young steward began, his voice anxious.

  “I understand, Ernest…” the Baron glanced at Kvicha. “Let me consult with my brother first.”

  “Yes, Baron,” Ernest said, bowing to both of them before walking away.

  Kvicha stepped into the hall, momentarily quiet, hearing only the scratch of a quill. The Baron bent over a map, penning something carefully. Sunlight filtered through the swaying leaves, falling onto the shelves of old wooden books that lined the walls, surrounded by watercolor paintings. He pulled a dark wooden chair from the table and sat down beside his brother.

  “I’m glad you’re safe,” the Baron said, setting down his quill. He looked at his younger brother and offered a faint smile.

  “But Flynn didn’t make it,” Kvicha said, his voice hard and sharp.

  “I told you—” the Baron began, but didn’t get to finish.

  “Don’t go into that crypt,” Kvicha cut him off.

  Silence fell once more. Kvicha stared out the window, letting out a slow sigh.

  “But you know what, Kvicha? If you don’t go and get it now, Uncle Edward will take it one day,” the Baron said. “He’ll snatch everything from us.”

  Kvicha sat in silence for a moment, staring at the map in his brother’s hands. Roads, main rivers, and neighboring towns were all marked with crossing lines.

  “While I was recovering, what happened, Leon?” Kvicha asked.

  “Our caravan was frequently ambushed in the Ashswan Forest, so we had to hire more guards and even establish a mercenary guild for ordinary merchants,” Leon explained.

  “We’re just a small town, and mercenaries aren’t cheap,” Kvicha said, meeting his brother’s gaze.

  “You know it’s necessary,” Leon replied, jotting something down on the map.

  “I understand,” Kvicha said. “If we hadn’t found the gold mine, no one would have wanted to bother with us anyway.”

  “What else can I do?” Leon set down his quill and sighed, leaning back in his chair and stretching his arms. “If we can’t rule it, someone else will.” Then he sat upright again, restoring his posture.

  “Fortnight ago, Duke Edward began imposing tolls on our merchants before they entered Felendria,” Leon continued. “Not to mention Eisenfurt, which refuses to buy our gold. But all of that was within my expectations. We could still find alternative trade routes. Yet…”

  Leon handed Kvicha a letter, the ink still fresh.

  “‘Uncle Edward… wishes for Ana to marry Elric,’” Kvicha read aloud, shaking his head slowly.

  “Then what do you think of Prince Sigmund?” Leon asked, handing over another letter, likely sent around the same time.

  Kvicha read it, pondering for a moment. A faint smile curved his lips as he spoke evenly, “I think it’s better than war, in any case.”

  “I think so too,” Leon replied with a smile.

  Until the sound of footsteps slowly echoed through the hall.

  A sweet voice followed. “Come on, let’s eat,” Ana called as she stepped into the room. She planted her hands on her hips beside the two brothers, puffing her cheeks slightly. Kvicha and Leon couldn’t help but smile at her.

  The faint crackle of the fireplace filled the air, carrying warmth and a hint of smoke. Kvicha closed his eyes and drew in a deep breath, feeling comforted by the presence of both Ana and Leon at his side.

  The sunlight gradually faded, and the leaves that had been trembling fell still. Then, a cold breeze swept through, stirring the papers on the table ever so slightly. They paused for a moment, exchanging glances without a word.

  A brown bird took flight from Leofwine Manor, a letter tied to its leg swaying with the wind. Before long, it soared above Greensward, a small town in Whitesand Valley, where the bluish-green grass met the pale, dusty desert. The southernmost town of the quiet Duchy of Grasheim, its houses lined the fertile slopes, and the river flowing from the north pulsed ceaselessly like the lifeblood of the land. Across the lowlands beyond these hills spread farms, meadows, and flocks of sheep. Yet who could have known that the barren desert surrounding Whitesand Valley concealed gold mines, bringing with them both wealth and strife.

  The shepherd boys often said that whenever the wind swept across the hills, one could hear the clink of gold beneath the mounds.

  Greensward, once famed for its lush green meadows, came to be known as Goldsward. Trade caravans and merchants began passing through in increasing numbers, and in just a few years, the small town transformed into a bustling city. The city drew fortune seekers from both within and beyond the kingdom, and shops and inns around it expanded relentlessly. Some became wealthy overnight, while others were reduced to nothing.

  “Even if one finds no gold, one gains a new life.” Such was the travelers’ saying, passed down from mouth to mouth, until it became almost like an invitation.

  Who could resist falling in love with a land so fertile, abundant with crops, game, and bars of gold?

  And of course, drawn by the promise of profit, houses both great and small came to seek trade agreements. They vied for the chance to wed Ana, yet never received an answer. Most notably, Duke Edward de Flamberge wished his eldest son to marry her.

  But Leon de Flamberge, the city’s ruler, thought otherwise. If he was not the one to devour, he would be devoured.

  “You must move out by the end of this month, Olivia,” a voice said.

  “But Aunt Mathilda…” the girl protested.

  “I’m sorry, dear, but the place has been sold. They’re going to turn it into a trade hall—” The old woman’s face darkened.

  “Again? Everywhere I look, it’s nothing but trade halls,” Olivia fretted.

  “No matter how many there are, it’s never enough,” Aunt Mathilda replied with a faint smile.

  Olivia slouched out of the room she had lived in for less than a year and summoned a carriage at the roadside.

  The iron rims of the wheels clattered in rhythm with the scratching of bird claws against the cobblestones.

  Thalon, its fur rippling softly, trotted lightly, carrying her out of the expanding Queens district. Some houses had been torn down, replaced by larger, more imposing commercial buildings. Her blonde hair danced in the breeze as Olivia brushed a grain of sand from the corner of her eye. The carriage moved on into Hillcastle, the busiest trading quarter in the city. People crowded both sides of the street, obscuring the shopfronts, not to mention the hawkers and children darting through the throng with smoking grilled sausages in hand.

  At the heart of the city stood an antique silver tower, its spire piercing the sky, beside a shaded garden by the stream. a place where young people gathered to spend time together on bright, clear days. For travelers, Greensward offers a feast for the eyes, but for those driven by fortune, the welcome may be far less generous.

  Olivia squinted at the statue of the Harvest Goddess. She was a beautiful young woman with long, flowing hair, dressed in an elegant gown, her head crowned with a wreath of flowers. In her hands, she held large blooming irises. She stood with her head slightly bowed, eyes closed in silent prayer. Around her, abundance flourished, with flowers, grasses, and crops blanketing the ground. Not a day went by without colorful birds alighting on her hands. Olivia had heard that whenever seeds were sown, people always thought of her. Yet nowadays, it seemed the goddess was slowly being forgotten.

  The sound of the carriage gradually faded as Olivia stepped down, the driver extending his arm to steady her.

  Olivia walked along the crumbling red-brick street, entering the Goldcoast district, where houses and shops stood shoulder to shoulder, leaving almost no space between them. The street was so narrow it felt suffocating. One carriage after another nearly brushed past her as she hurried along, passing a series of dilapidated buildings, some bearing signs, others not. Each had fogged windows, and thick garments hung drying on the balconies. Suddenly, the sound of boots striking the pavement rang out in waves. Groups of burly men, carrying miners’ hats, moved in and out, their sweat mingling with the musty smell of damp clothes, wafting into her nose.

  She narrowed her eyes at the faded sign that read “The Rusted Scale,” a pawnshop she knew all too well. Inside, there was only the dim glow of candlelight and a man lurking in the shadows behind an old, rusted iron grille, where her father had once pawned his wedding ring and never reclaimed it.

  Not far away, Olivia cast a sideways glance at a tightly shuttered shop called Hidden Gems. Tables and chairs were stacked one atop another, leather cushions worn and torn with age, shards of broken glass scattered across the floor. The place looked abandoned, yet at night it came alive with glowing lights, soft music mingling with the clink of glasses, the heavy scent of tobacco in the air, and young women in elegant dresses waiting to welcome customers.

  At last, she entered a narrow alley crowded with people. Olivia walked past a grimy young man holding the hand of a little girl clutching a dust-stained doll, a homeless man sprawled on the stone pavement, and a woman Olivia saw every day. She sat in front of an abandoned house and never moved from that spot.

  Olivia came to a stop before a small shop. It bore no sign and was built of gray brick, its front window coated in white sand until almost nothing could be seen inside. The moment Olivia opened the door, the smoky scent of charcoal-grilled lamb billowed through the alley. It was a dish most miners ate with hard bread, a substitute for beef that lay beyond their means.

  The shop was cramped, with only a few old wooden tables and chairs. A small hearth offered little warmth, and an aging gray cat lay dozing nearby. Olivia hurried past it and into the kitchen, while a few young men at the oak bar watched her go.

  As she was tying on her apron, a young woman spoke up.

  “Is something wrong, Olivia? You don’t look well at all.”

  “I have to find another place to live again,” Olivia said with a sigh.

  “Then why don’t you get married?” the short-haired young woman said with a crooked smile. “At least you’d have a proper home.”

  Olivia pouted. “That’s not a solution, Claire.”

  Claire raised an eyebrow. “I heard the Leofwine manor is looking for a housemaid. What do you think?”

  “Leofwine Manor?” Olivia’s eyes widened.

  “The baron’s estate,” Claire said quietly. “It’s not all that grand, though.”

  “Is that so?” Olivia said, moving over to drag a sack of potatoes.

  “My mother once told me that Leofwine was the youngest son,” Claire said, bending down to pick up a mug of beer. “He was a down-to-earth man, so this place was nothing more than farms and grazing fields. But who would have thought that his son would stumble upon a gold mine? It’s absurd, isn’t it?”

  Olivia slit open the sack with her knife and took out the potatoes, peeling them one by one. Then she looked up at Claire and offered a faint smile.

  Leofwine Manor was usually modest, yet tonight it was anything but. Chandeliers gleamed like a thousand stars, their light reflecting off the finely dressed guests gathered within. Long banquet tables, draped in pristine white tablecloths, stood in elegant rows, while the air was filled with the graceful music of a grand piano, harps, and violins. There was a lingering sense of a royal ball, as though princes and princesses might step onto the floor at any moment.

  Olivia, dressed in her apron, walked through the hall carrying a tray of wine glasses, her eyes drifting toward the carved roast being prepared for those waiting in line. Nearby, fragrant steam rose from bowls of hot cream soup served with freshly baked croissants. She swallowed hard, imagining the taste of a meal she had never once been able to savor. Olivia moved across the polished floor, which reflected the shimmer of the chandeliers above, while the soft clink of wine glasses blended with the murmur of voices that slowly grew louder.

  The wine glasses on the tray in her hands gradually dwindled, and just as she was about to step away from the banquet,

  “You… are you new here?” a soft, lilting voice spoke from behind her.

  Olivia turned slowly.

  A fair-skinned young woman in a black dress stood there. She was not strikingly beautiful, yet she carried a quiet, unassuming charm that was impossible to look away from.

  “Um… yes. My name is Olivia. You must be—”

  “Ana,” the young woman replied with a smile.

  The silver tray in Olivia’s hands trembled, the wine glasses clinking softly against one another.

  “It’s a pleasure to meet you, my lady,” Olivia said, dipping into a small bow.

  “Just call me Ana,” she said, her smile allowing Olivia to breathe again.

  Then a young man appeared, dressed in a refined suit. He had beautiful ash-blond hair and gray-blue eyes that women across the kingdom dreamed of. The moment Olivia saw him for the first time, it was as if the world fell silent, while the sound of her own heartbeat grew louder and louder.

  He moved with such elegance, drawing every gaze, then bowed politely before Ana. The young man gently took her hand and whispered a few words that Olivia could not hear.