Frost Archives II

"I have other reasons to believe this," Oden added, "but the truth of it is plain enough. There's something the Council doesn't want us to know."

Sorn frowned. "Isn't your uncle on the Council?" He recalled Bjorn's tense demeanor during his brief encounters with the man, alongside his sharp exchanges with the other Council members during Sorn's Trial. Surely, Bjorn, with his position and influence, had access to the secrets Oden spoke of.

Oden's lip curled upwards, though whether in amusement or frustration, Sorn couldn't tell. "The Storm Troll is a voice of reason among fools. However, his seat on the Council is more honorary than anything else. The true keepers of the Council's mysteries are Varian, the Emperor himself, and his Royal Guard." His voice lowered. "It's safe to say the rest of them, my uncle included, are as much in the dark as we are."

At this, Qian, who had been silently sorting through a mound of dusty tomes, chuckled. His expression was one of unrestrained glee, the sort only a scholar with a secret could muster. "Compared to me, however," he said with an air of self-satisfaction, "they are practically blind."

Oden ignored the remark as he turned his gaze back to Sorn. "While we're here, I may as well enlighten you on some recent events the Spears would prefer buried under the snow."

Qian had ascended into the labyrinth of shelves, his ice-crafted platform floating in the air as he was seemingly searching for something. Oden took the moment to ask, "Did Crystal ever tell you about Draco?"

Sorn nodded cautiously. "She mentioned he was her brother."

"And did she tell you of the Sacrifice?"

"Yes."

Oden leaned against the nearest shelf, his broad shoulders eclipsing the faint glow of the lantern behind him. "Draco wasn't just her brother. He was a legend. A star of potential that burned too brightly for this small world to contain."

His voice dipped into the rich cadence of a storyteller. "Twenty years ago, the eldest child of the Royal family, Rhaen, disappeared into the night. It was one week before his scheduled Sacrifice. The Fortress erupted in chaos. I was just a baby then, but there are still whispers of the uproar. Rhaen was always a peculiar person, or so they say. Lazy, aimless, and uninterested in what our people hold dear."

Oden paused, his gaze growing distant. "Draco was different. He was the pride of the land, an unmatched prodigy. By the time he was fifteen, he was outmatching warriors twice his age, even besting a member of the Spear's First Division in single combat. It was a practice match, but with such a feat, there was no doubt in anyone's mind. This boy was destined to win the Tournament and lead us into glory on the Promised Day."

"But Rhaen vanished," Sorn interjected, piecing it together. "And that left Draco to take his place."

"Exactly," Oden replied. "The Council faced a dilemma. The only viable candidates were Draco and Keilan, as it must be a son sacrificed. Draco fought tooth and nail to protect his brother. Rumors say he nearly came to blows with Varian in the Council chambers. In the end, the Council relented. Draco would take the burden upon himself."

"But he didn't," Sorn murmured.

"No," Oden said. "A week before his Sacrifice, just like his brother before him, Draco vanished. But unlike Rhaen, Draco did not slip away quietly. He and his closest allies ransacked the Goblet, killing dozens of Spears. Then they began to move toward the Fortress gates, slaughtering anyone who stood in their way. By the time he reached the outer gates, the Spears were in ruins. The entire Second Division was wiped out, along with a Captain of the First. The losses were crippling for them."

Oden paused, allowing Sorn time to chew on Oden's words. The silence stretched out between them, the heavy ticking of time seeming to press down on the small room. Finally, Oden spoke again, his voice edged with curiosity.

"Has your understanding of your situation deepened now?" he asked as he surveyed Sorn. "A week before the first Sacrifice, the subject vanishes without a trace. Then, a week before the second Sacrifice, the subject brings ruin upon the greatest clan in history. He then disappears into the snow, never to be seen again. And now, with the third and final Sacrifice at hand, a boy from the outside arrives just before it is scheduled to happen."

Sorn's stomach twisted. The pieces of the puzzle were starting to shift in his mind, but the image they formed was still too unclear, too fragmented. He tried to push the doubt aside, but the more he thought about it, the more everything seemed, well, planned.

Before he could respond, Qian's voice rang out.

"Wouldn't surprise me if the boy was sent by Draco himself, or even by Rhaen. Most believe them to be dead or gone forever. But, they are wrong. No doubt those boys are still alive out there, plotting." Qian was hanging upside down from a ice structure he'd created, his body contorted in a way that made Sorn's neck ache just looking at him. "The timing is too perfect. Too suspicious. I suspect the Spears are wondering the same thing." His grin was wide, but it wasn't a smile of comfort. It was the kind of grin a fox wears when it senses a trap.

Sorn hadn't considered it in those terms, but the more he thought about it, the more sense it made. His mind drifted back to the book Crystal had shown him, the words inscribed by Draco's hand: 'Await the boy who falls from the sky.' He could no longer deny it. There was a thread connecting him to Draco, a line that ran deeper than mere chance. He thought back to the man with the "VIII" tattoo, the same one who had given Crystal the book. Crystal believed that he was undoubtedly tied to Draco. He had little doubt in this theory as well now.

"It still is curious, isn't it?" Oden's voice broke into his thoughts, a tone of quiet amusement weaving through his words. "Sending a boy with no memories, with no skills to speak of, skills that couldn't even best Toren of the Dancing Blade." Oden's eyes narrowed thoughtfully. "Toren's not unskilled, but even he with all his pride would admit that he can't surpass the average soldier of the Third Division. You're still just a child, like us. So, what's the purpose of sending you?" His voice became more contemplative. "Perhaps your true power lies dormant, waiting for the right moment to awaken. Or maybe you're just a good actor, playing your role to perfection. Who can say? Anything's possible when a mortal arrives in our land from the peak of the sky with no memories."

Sorn felt a flicker of resentment flare up inside him, though he tried to suppress it. The doubts Oden voiced were a sharp sting to his pride. He knew he had no answers, he still didn't remember who he was or where he came from. But to be talked about like some untrustworthy pawn stung more than he cared to admit.

He leaned forward slightly, his voice tight with suspicion. "Then why keep me around?" he asked. There was more to it. Oden hadn't just taken him in out of some misplaced sense of charity. "If you think I'm just a tool in someone else's game, why not cut me loose?"

"Multiple reasons," Oden replied, as though this answer had been rehearsed, carefully thought through in the quiet corners of his mind for some time. "Firstly, I trust Draco. I believe he learned something. A truth the Spears never wanted us to see, and it's that knowledge that drove him to act as he did. I believe it wasn't a display of madness; it was an action of clarity."

Oden paused, his gaze turning distant for a moment. "And then there's the fact that I'm a Marauder. We live for chaos. We thrive in it. We don't just bend the rules. We break them, and we find joy in doing so. The Spears, the Order, they stand for rigidity. They worship control and submission. We are the dissonance in their perfect, ordered world." His voice roughened, as though the very thought of the Spears brought a bitter taste to his tongue.

Oden's next words were spoken with a quiet, almost haunting finality.

"Most of us, those who actually understand this world, the ones who know there is a game being played behind the curtain, we don't believe in the Sacrifice the way most do," Oden said. It was as though he were sharing a secret, one too dangerous to keep but too dangerous to reveal too openly.

Sorn frowned, confusion clouding his thoughts. "Why not?" The question was out before he could stop it. He couldn't help himself. There were too many pieces of this puzzle that didn't seem to fit together. Crystal had reached the same conclusion, and if she'd shared that with Oden, well, then it made sense to trust in them both. But something about this felt off.

Oden's eyes darkened. "Keilan's freedom," he said, voice tight, "is far too suspicious. You see, the Order's structure is one of control and restriction. The only reasonable course of action for someone in his position would be to keep him bound. In chains, if necessary." The thoughtfulness in his eyes grew more intense. "But they don't. They give him the freedom to come and go as he pleases, to leave the Fortress walls, even alone. And that," he leaned forward, "makes me question what we truly know. The Sacrifice is supposed to be the linchpin that holds this place together. Without it, the island falls. So, either the Sacrifice is a lie, or the Spears are so monumentally stupid that they're willing to risk everything for one boy who is going to die anyway. And I don't believe in the second conclusion at all."

Sorn's question was quick to come out. "What if they're hiding something else?"

Oden's lips pressed together in a thin line, his gaze hardening. "Any excuse the Iron Stag offers will not change the conclusion we've already reached. Keilan does not need to die as the Sacrifice. Yet they continue to insist, year after year, that he will. And why? What is it that they're trying to hide?"

Qian's eyes glinted with an odd gleam of curiosity. He had been surprisingly quiet for this duration, letting Oden do all the explaining, but it seemed now his patience had run thin. "It all comes across as suspicious," he said. "And it's not just us, boy. This is splitting the Council down the middle. Every passing week, the tension between the Spears and the Marauders grows. And the final conflict is inevitable."

"Like I told you before," Oden said, "our ideologies are worlds apart. The Marauders were born two centuries ago from the outskirts of the Fortress. A single man, an honorless farmer, trained himself to the point where he could match the best our army had to offer. He forged our clan through sheer grit and power." Oden's eyes were proud as he said this. "We Marauders aren't tied to bloodlines, or the Emperor's name, like every other clan. We prove ourselves by our strength, our will, our defiance."

Sorn's brow furrowed as he listened. He was technically a Marauder himself, so he supposed this was important for him to know.

"We currently represent eighty percent of the army," Oden continued, "The Spears and their precious bloodlines can no longer ignore us. In fact, they have no choice but to respect us. And with the Promised Day drawing closer, they will not instigate any conflict unless absolutely necessary. The power of the Marauders is undeniable, and extremely costly to lose."

"It's the only reason the Fortress hasn't fallen into open conflict," Qian chimed in, leaning close to Sorn. Sorn recoiled instinctively, stepping back a pace. "But mark my words, boy," Qian whispered with glee, "Oden might tell you he wants you to succeed, but what he truly hopes for is disaster. No one in this land wishes for the fall of the Spears more than our dear Oden. I suspect you might be the spark he's been waiting for."

Oden looked away for a moment, his gaze drifting out of the window as if searching for something on the distant horizon. The flicker of guilt crossed his face, though Sorn didn't fully trust it. "It is true," he said slowly, almost apologetically, "when the bridges fall, it will be catastrophic without the Spears and Marauders fighting together. But I prefer to take things one step at a time. One goal, one victory. The future can wait."

Sorn mulled over the words, his mind drifting to the weight of the situation. He thought back to Varian. A man who, despite the crumbling ruins of his once-great clan, still carried himself as though he were untouchable. Varian had maintained his seat at the head of the Council, his arrogance intact, despite Draco's defiance and the rise of the Marauders. The Spears were fractured, but Varian's pride was a sturdy thing, and it seemed to hold them all together, for now.

Qian interrupted the silence with a chuckle. "Seems Varian's little game has succeeded in shaking up the young boy," he said, his eyes gleaming with a strange sort of satisfaction. "Ah, the sweet taste of uncertainty, it suits you, doesn't it, Sorn?"

Sorn's thoughts churned. "I just wonder," he mused aloud, unable to hold back the question, "how easy would it be to beat the leader of the Council?"

Qian raised an eyebrow, his expression thoughtful as if savoring the prospect of such a question. Oden's lips pressed together in a tight line before answering."If the Spears and the Marauders fought today," Oden began, his voice hardening with the gravity of the answer, "it would not be a swift victory. A stalemate, perhaps, or Varian would edge out the win, though only just. He'd have a few First Division members left standing, but the rest of his Clan would be decimated." He looked at Sorn, his eyes calculating. "The Spears are dangerous, but far from invincible."

"Yes," Qian chimed in with a sly grin. "But then, there's the two famed members of the Royal Guard. A duo with unbounded loyalty to the throne. But this current Emperor, older than even I, is an unpredictable man, who spends his final days in deep slumber like every Emperor before him. Even I cannot predict what actions they will take." His eyes narrowed. "But in the end, the true deciding factor will be the Dancing Blade."

Sorn's thoughts turned to the only two members he knew that represented the Dancing Blade, the leader and the heir. Toren had nearly ended Sorn's life outside the Fortress, but Freyja seemed far more kind and likable.

Oden spoke with a sense of ambition. "Freyja's strength could change the course of a battle. My uncle has worked tirelessly to bring her to our side. A final push is all she needs. Once she's with us, there's nothing to stop us from taking the Fortress. It would be an easy victory."

Qian, ever the observer, added his own thoughts. "Freyja's strength is no mere rumor. Her power is rumored to be one of legend by her people, and the Dancing Blade are not given to exaggeration. None of these whispers come from her own mouth. It is a truth borne of her very presence." He paused, then added with a smirk, "The most beautiful woman in the Fortress, and also one of the strongest. It's a fitting combination, isn't it?"

It was clear now why Oden had brought Sorn here. Qian, for all his peculiarities, was no fool. He was sharp. Too sharp, in fact, and it seemed that Sorn had been drawn into their web, whether he liked it or not. Oden's aim was simple, though wrapped in camaraderie: to turn Sorn into a tool. A weapon, to aid in his quest to bring down the Spears. He hadn't said it outright, but Sorn was confident in his intuition.

Qian, too, had played his part, though in his own quiet way. The old scholar had added his voice when needed, nudging Sorn along, and pushing him in the direction Oden wanted. It was subtle, so subtle that Sorn had nearly missed it. But now that the fog of confusion had cleared, Sorn could see it for what it was. Qian hadn't been offering just conversation. He had been offering guidance. Encouraging Sorn to take that first step, to believe in Oden and the Marauders. They were like a pair of hunters, and Sorn, whether he realized it or not, was the prey. Or perhaps more accurately, he was the weapon they hoped to wield.

It stung, if Sorn was honest with himself. He had thought, no, he had hoped that Oden was his friend. But now, he realized with a sinking feeling, he was nothing more than a piece in a game that was far older than him. And like any piece, he would be moved as needed.

He couldn't shake the thought. And yet... he didn't completely resent it. The things they had told him rang true. The Spears were hiding something. The Marauders were the underdogs in this battle for power. But he also believed nothing was as simple as Oden had made it seem. There were too many uncertainties lurking in the corners of every story, too many unanswered questions. Could he really trust Oden? Could he even trust himself?

But those thoughts would have to wait. Oden clapped his hands, snapping Sorn out of his reverie. "Alright, enough of the talk. We've overstayed our welcome," he said, his voice taking on an edge of finality. "I don't doubt Varian has spies watching you. They didn't follow us here, but if we stay gone too long, their suspicions will grow."

Qian smiled, but there was something almost knowing in the way his eyes lingered on Sorn. He stepped forward, his cold fingers brushing lightly against Sorn's hand. "A pleasure to meet you, Sorn," Qian said softly, his voice more sincere than Sorn had expected. "I understand what it is to feel lost. No memories, no sense of who you are. But trust yourself, and soon enough, you'll have a story of your own. A story that's yours, and not anyone else's." He paused, his gaze lingering on Sorn's eyes. "I can see it in you. The fire. It's already there, waiting to burn."

Sorn found himself taken aback by the scholar's words. There was a warmth in them, something uncharacteristic of the cold man who spent his time among books and dust. He didn't know what to say, so he just nodded, muttering, "Thanks, Qian. For, um, everything."

Sorn then watched as Oden's large hands closed around Qian in a brief but powerful embrace. The scholar, small and frail beside the giant, returned the gesture with surprising strength, his hands clasping Oden's back with tenderness.

For a moment, the two of them stood there, silent, while the cold stone of the Archives seemed to hold its breath. Then, Qian's voice broke the quiet, softer than Sorn had ever heard it. "Remember, my boy born in blood," Qian said, his tone fatherly. "Throughout these upcoming perils, always act with your head, not your heart. That is how you will best find success. And it is among my greatest wishes that you find what you are searching for."