Chapter 56

  That I nearly slipped on a puddle of vomit on the way to the bar, that an ogre belched straight into my face with admirable precision, and that a drunken halfling not only bumped into me but also managed to drench my entire right armor plate in cheap liqueur — probably describes the Wolve Howler better than any travel guide ever could. The mixture of noise, physical contact, and smells was… invigorating. And the complete opposite of what you’d associate with anything holy.

  The mood wasn’t just wild — it was unhinged, unrestrained. People danced, argued, laughed, and moaned, sometimes all at once. Nobody paid attention to us. Not me, not Maira, not Arik — and, surprisingly, not even Reyn. The lord of storm and shadow moved through the crowd like a cat through mist: silent, graceful, and oddly invisible, even though his golden aura still pulsed softly around him. No one seemed to notice.

  We made our way through the bodies like through a jungle of sweat and flesh. That’s not an exaggeration. A six-armed troll woman danced in front of us and blocked our path more than once. A half-giant staggered past with a tray balanced on his head — probably once full of drinks. A goblin knelt in the middle of the walkway, apparently searching for something on the ground — maybe his pride. And then there was the most obvious thing: a significant portion of the guests were naked. Patrons. Staff. Dancers. Performers. Beings whose gender I couldn’t even begin to identify. Everything was represented — from shy nudity to deliberate display, adorned with glitter, rune-ink, or just nothing at all.

  Eventually, we reached the middle of the three bars — the one with the dryad. “Four drinks. Whatever suits us,” Reyn said.

  The dryad gave him a smile that, this time, carried a hint of genuine amusement and got to work. Reyn paid without a word. With a small gold coin that shimmered in his hand before gliding across the counter.

  But Arik decided to resist the universe. Again.

  “That the city lord… and friend of the holy warrior… would pay for me… I cannot accept that,” he said with a voice he probably thought sounded brave. “Naturally, I will pay my sha—”

  “Consider it a gift,” I cut him off before he could continue his devotional monologue. I really had no patience left for his excessive reverence. And that says a lot — I’m a demon-possessed paladin.

  Arik fell silent. Almost offended. But he took the drink that was handed to him with the posture of someone receiving a sacred relic. Maira, on the other hand, took hers without a word. She just rolled her eyes briefly before her gaze drifted back to Reyn. And I knew exactly what she was thinking about.

  Leander’s death.

  Not out of pity. Not from moral outrage. But frustration. The elf had been our only lead. The only loose thread we could’ve followed. And Reyn had cut it — cleanly, wordlessly, finally.

  But now he spoke.

  “West of Thulegard,” he began, letting his gaze sweep across us, “lie the Ice Wastes. Snow. Wind. No roads. Nothing that could be called civilization.”

  I listened closely. So did Maira. Arik… well, Arik was probably trying to figure out if any of it was prophetic.

  “Out there,” Reyn continued, “lives a group. Elves. Humans. Mixed. Outcasts, some say. Warriors, others. They call themselves the Free. And they do not believe in the order of Thulegard.”

  His expression shifted. Just for a fraction of a second. But I saw it. Something dark flashed in his eyes. Just like it had… when I had mentioned Narla.

  “You know them,” I said quietly.

  Reyn kept his eyes on his drink. Took a small sip. Then nodded.

  “More than I’d like to.”

  The way he said it... made me shiver. Not because his voice was loud — it remained calm, steady, almost gentle. But because of what lay between the words. A trace of deep, soul-shaking sorrow. A sorrow over the fact that there were people — or elves, or whoever — who refused to accept order. An order I had come to appreciate.

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  Then I felt anger. Not my own. Not at first. His.

  Anger that someone could rebel against something so beautiful. That someone would want to disturb the balance. The peace he embodied. The radiance he carried within.

  And finally… I felt fear.

  Real fear.

  For a moment, I saw in his gaze how vulnerable he truly was — or rather: how fragile what he stood for really was. A man like a statue of light, wrapped in divine aura, stood there — and he was afraid. Not for himself. But for something greater. And I... I felt that fear. I understood it. And I shared it.

  Something inside me — Gravor — reached out, latched onto that feeling and devoured it. Transformed it. Into embers. Into fury. Into resolve.

  How could anyone want to destroy something so beautiful? How could they even question it? This city, this peace, this unity. How could someone turn away from that? It wasn’t just foolish — it was... wrong.

  “You think Vin is with them?”

  My voice was rough, controlled — but something simmered beneath it.

  Reyn took another sip. Unbothered. Then nodded.

  “Yes. I do.”

  I nodded slowly.

  “Then I will bring her back… and destroy those rebels.”

  I stood up, almost automatically, my body moved by a burning resolve. But as soon as I rose, two hands touched my arms — one firm and commanding, the other gentle, yet insistent.

  Reyn’s and Maira’s.

  “Luken,” Reyn said, serious now, his voice ringing like glass — so beautiful and so dangerous, “these people… are dangerous. But almost more dangerous are the Ice Wastes themselves. West of the city lies more than just snow. They speak of a veil. A mist that doesn’t move like ordinary fog. It thinks. It lives. And I…” — he lowered his gaze for a moment — “I’ve never made it through.”

  Those words hit me like a bucket of ice water.

  If even Reyn — lord of shadows and storms, the man who commanded lightning with a single hand and calmed me with a smile — couldn’t get through...

  What waited out there?

  And… how had the rebels managed it?

  So many questions.

  I exhaled slowly, sank back onto the stool, and stared into the golden drink before me. It suddenly tasted more serious.

  I took a sip. Then another. And looked at Reyn.

  “All right,” I murmured at last. My tone was clearer. “Then let’s make a plan.”

  -

  The wind howled outside like a starving beast. It scraped over the ice, slammed against the tent’s canvas and made it tremble, as if trying to suck out the last bit of warmth. Inside, it was dim, lit only by the reddish glow of a small firestone — more symbolic than functional against the cold. Vin sat wrapped in a coarse blanket, her hair messy, hands cupped around a flat stone bowl from which steam rose — faint, almost like mist, vanishing into the frigid air.

  “The Ice Wastes are a strange place,” she thought, sipping the cold liquid known as Hasks — a bitter, almost metallic-tasting water gathered beneath the snow in cracked eggshells left behind by the creatures that gave it its name. Hasks… furry, four-legged hunters, somewhere between predator and reptile, with eggs whose inner membrane was edible and served as a natural water source. Eggs and mammals — a contradiction that had puzzled her when the hunters explained it. She hadn’t really listened. Her thoughts were already far away.

  With Luken.

  With Maira.

  Were they already under his control? Or worse — was Luken already dead? Had he killed him after discovering his secret? The thought tightened her chest, but she tried not to let it show. She wasn’t weak. Not anymore.

  She wasn’t a prisoner — but she didn’t feel free either. The rebels treated her well. She could move, speak, eat with them. But still… something hung in the air. In the silence of this wasteland. A kind of shackle — invisible, frosty, watchful. It wasn’t the rebels holding her captive, but this place. The Ice Wastes weren’t meant for living — they were a mirror of lostness. And all of them were trapped in it.

  She had learned of the rebellion through Leander. She knew their goals. Their hatred for what Thulegard had become. And she had chosen to be a part of it.

  Not for some noble cause.

  But because she sensed something was wrong.

  When the tent flap moved, cold air blew in. Snow crystals swirled, glimmering in the dim light like glass insects. A figure entered — tall, angular, wrapped up to the nose. Then the man pulled back his hood.

  Vex.

  He was one of the leaders of this small group. Human, as far as she could tell, though his features looked carved — sharp cheekbones, a long scar running from his forehead to his left ear, and eyes so pale blue they almost glowed in the dark. His hair was short, disheveled, already frosted with ice. And yet… he seemed warm. Calm. Unshakable.

  “Are you comfortable?” he asked in a tone that was almost fatherly, and sat down beside her on a folded pelt.

  Vin looked at him. Her smile was tired, but sincere.

  “It’s not exactly an inn,” she said, taking another sip, “but I’ve slept in worse, filthier places.”

  Vex grinned, a sparkle lighting up his eyes.

  “Haven’t we all. Me? Two months in an overturned Harrokn cart, with three dwarves and an ogre who snored like a collapsing mountain. Believe me — compared to that, this is pure luxury.”

  Vin chuckled softly, then her gaze fell back into the bowl.

  Vex grew more serious. His voice dropped slightly.

  “But seriously… we don’t have a choice, Vin. As long as he’s out there, all we can do is hide. Just wait. Just endure the snow.”

  She nodded slowly. She didn’t like the thought. She hated not being able to act.

  “Until it’s time,” she murmured.

  Vex tilted his head.

  “Until we’re ready,” he corrected. Then he added, firmer: “And until we stop him.”