Chapter 68

  We woke in the stillness of the cave, surrounded by the pale glow of crystal veins shimmering dully on the walls. The ground beneath us was still cold from the night—if one could even speak of night in a cave like this. Time moved slowly here, muted, like the echo of our voices that never quite faded. We ate our last supplies in silence, each lost in our own thoughts. Once our bodies were ready, our minds had to be as well.

  We had decided to leave. Destination: the rebel camp. But we wouldn’t walk in blindly—not yet. First, we’d observe from a distance, spot weaknesses, count patrols, mark escape routes. Just a few hours of marching lay ahead, according to Arik’s scouting beyond the cave. The air was dry, but something in it felt… heavy. Maybe it was just my heart.

  I stood at the cave’s mouth, where the tunnel began to widen, and finally said out loud what I had been planning all night:

  “Then we’ll plan how to free Vin and wipe out the rebels.”

  My voice was calm, almost clinical. This was a tactic. A plan. A task.

  Arik nodded immediately. His fist twitched lightly in the air, as if saluting an approaching battle. His eyes were full of resolve—or perhaps guilt masked as determination. Maybe both.

  Maira, though... Maira hesitated. Her lips were pressed together, her eyes seemed to avoid mine. There was a hint of mistrust in her posture, though she tried to hide it.

  I watched her and knew at once: she had a different idea. I could see it in the way she angled her shoulder slightly away from me. Not dismissive, but cautious.

  I didn’t wait for her to speak. I wanted to keep control of the conversation—so I addressed it directly, with a gentle voice but a firm tone.

  “Don’t forget they captured Vin.”

  I stressed the word captured almost casually, though the anger burned just beneath the surface.

  Violently, I added silently. The thought that Vin had gone willingly no longer existed in my mind.

  Maybe it was Reyn. Maybe it was Gravor. Maybe it was just me. Two bonds. Two voices inside me. And neither disagreed with me on this. Reyn might guide me. Gravor might fuel me.

  But here, in this moment, it was my own will leading me.

  So clear. So simple. So painfully na?ve.

  Maira hesitated before answering. Her voice was soft, almost tentative—as if afraid the wrong word might shatter or ignite me.

  “Well... maybe we can at least try to talk to them.”

  She was cautious. She felt the fire inside me. But then she lifted her chin slightly, her voice gaining firmness.

  “Or convince them not to overthrow Reyn.”

  I saw she barely believed the words herself. Her gaze drifted to the shadows in the cave, to where the wall glistened damply like a hidden truth.

  She spoke of convincing—but what she meant was mercy.

  I sighed. Not annoyed. Not arrogant. Just... tired.

  “Maira,” I said quietly, “you can’t negotiate with people like that. There is no mercy for them.”

  And I think she gave in at that moment. Not because I’d convinced her. But because I couldn’t be convinced.

  At the cave’s exit, the ceiling and walls arched even higher, so much so that one felt almost small—despite the demonic power coursing through one’s limbs. The layers of stone resembled the furrowed skin of a giant, marked by time and frost. Each step echoed faintly, as if the rock itself were listening. The ground was smooth but cracked, covered in places by a fine layer of glittering frost. And though no wind blew, it was colder than ever before.

  Not the kind of cold that instantly numbs your fingers—but the other kind, the one that crawls beneath your skin. The one that stirs memories. Maybe because you knew something was waiting out there. Or maybe just because you knew that we were about to leave the safety of the cave.

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  A subtle sense of unease stirred within me, stronger than it had been when we first entered this stone labyrinth. Maybe it was because we now had to go back—back to a world where words mattered less than swords. Or because I already sensed what would await us at the rebel camp.

  Despite Arik’s casual assessment—according to him, no threats lay between us and the camp, only the cold—I remained alert. Gravor’s power lay over my skin like a thin veil, the transformation ever at the ready, the wings already unfurled in my thoughts. I wouldn’t be caught off guard should someone—or something—confront us.

  Maira walked beside me. Her movements were quiet and alert, not frantic, but focused. Her gaze kept shifting from the ceiling to the shadows, then to me, then to Arik. She knew—as we all did—that this was no moment for carelessness.

  And Arik?

  Arik simply marched ahead as if walking a familiar path, with the nonchalance of a man who either truly saw no danger—or had simply decided to stop looking it in the eye. His cloak fluttered lightly behind him, and with every step, tiny particles of ash fell from his body—without him seeming to notice.

  As we finally stepped outside, the world beyond the cave hit us like a blow. The air was clear and lethally sharp—so cold it burned in the lungs with every breath. The cave walls now behind us, an endless, snow-covered plain stretched out ahead—a sea of white reaching all the way to the horizon. No sound. No bird. No wind. Only the soft crunch of our steps, fading into the infinite silence.

  Then came the wind.

  A merciless, icy gust that immediately felt like countless tiny needles stabbing into my face. Even through my armor, under layers of leather, steel, and cloth, the cold seeped in. It found every gap, every weakness, as if it knew exactly where to hurt the most.

  For a brief, completely irrational moment, I considered turning back. Back into the cave. Back to safety. At least in there, I knew where I stood.

  But before I could finish the thought, something changed. A faint shimmer spread above us, and the wind quieted—not entirely, but as if a veil had been thrown over it. I looked up and saw a softly glowing dome, translucent and flickering, settling over us like a second skin.

  I felt something stir within me. A faint, barely noticeable stream flowed out of me. Mana. I sensed it leaving my core—not forcefully, but like a gentle, steady trickle. I hadn’t consciously meant to release anything, but it was happening nonetheless. If I hadn’t learned to read the subtle shifts in mana density around me, I likely wouldn’t have noticed at all.

  “You’re welcome,” Gravor’s voice suddenly echoed in my mind, calm and self-satisfied. I froze.

  “You can cast spells? Use mana outside my mind?”

  His answer came with near-arrogant ease: A little.

  I felt him nod mentally—a sensation that sent a chill down my spine.

  “The further our symbiosis progresses, the more influence I gain,” he explained casually. “And as you know, we made quite the leap forward after the encounter with the Ice Stomper.”

  I clenched my fist involuntarily. This was one of those moments where you didn’t know whether to be impressed—or deeply worried. He had saved my life, many times. Without him, I’d probably be buried in some frozen grave by now. We were even—somehow—friends. But this… this was different. He had cast a spell. Without my conscious consent.

  I took a deep breath and looked around—Maira and Arik noticed nothing, too busy adjusting their clothes, now heavy with frost and damp.

  “Thanks,” I muttered quietly, with a tone that carried more caution than gratitude.

  “But next time, you ask first.”

  “Of course,” Gravor replied—too quickly, too politely.

  And I could feel him smiling—not wickedly, but with amusement. Like someone who knew he’d just do it again anyway.

  Then I saw something. On the horizon, barely visible through the dancing veils of snow, rose a dark, uniform shadow. At first, I thought it was a trick of the light—perhaps a rock formation or a cluster of tightly packed trees. But the longer I looked, the more certain I became that this shadow wasn’t natural. The lines were too clean, too straight. This wasn’t part of the landscape. No quirk of nature. It was something constructed. Something intentional. A wall?

  I raised my hand and gave a quiet, clear signal: absolute silence from now on. No unnecessary movement. No sound. Stealth over speed.

  Maira understood immediately. Her posture shifted, lowering into a focused, almost feline stance. She dipped slightly into a crouch, eyes sharp as blades.

  Then something happened I didn’t expect.

  Arik… shrank.

  He inhaled audibly, releasing a cloud of ash from his body. It drifted off him like a fine mist, a dense, dark weave of particles that quietly settled onto the snow. His body became smaller, more compact. Less conspicuous. He reduced his mass, adjusting himself without hesitation—like he’d done it a hundred times before. I blinked, surprised, but couldn’t deny how impressed I was. This wasn’t a trick. It was instinctive adaptation. Useful. Very useful.

  But I couldn’t let myself be distracted.

  Slowly, cautiously, we crept closer to the structure. The ground crunched faintly under our feet, but we moved with utmost care. I kept glancing at Arik and Maira—both had the same look I wore: focused, tense, ready for anything.

  Eventually, I could make it out more clearly. It wasn’t a stone wall, but a massive barricade of upright, evenly cut logs. Crystalline veins ran through the wood like threads of frozen light. Frosthorn wood. Extremely durable, but more importantly, native to this region—a work of the rebels, but not improvised. No, this was planned, deliberate, solid.

  Maira gave a silent nod toward a small rise nearby—a frozen hill, barely more than a ridge, but with a clear view of what lay beyond. I nodded back. Together we climbed it slowly and silently, every step measured, every breath shallow. Then we reached the top.

  And as I looked over the edge, my mouth fell open.

  I had expected many things.

  A simple camp.

  A few improvised tents.

  A small, disorganized cluster of refugees.

  I had made plans for each of those possibilities.

  I thought I was prepared.

  But what I saw made me abandon every plan I had.

  Before us lay a small fortress.