Depths of the Sanctum

Within the Lower Depths of the Crystal Sanctum

Ulma wandered the frost-veined halls with silent steps, the hem of her cloak whispering against the crystalline floor. The Sanctum had grown quieter since the Council meeting ended—most had returned to their chambers, and the ever watchful Snow Guard patrolled the upper corridors. No one noticed the small girl slipping deeper, past the runes and mirrored halls, guided by something she didn't fully understand.

She wasn't sneaking out of disobedience. She was following a hum.

Not a sound, exactly—more like a gentle vibration in her chest. It tugged at her feet, pulled her hands toward old doors, and whispered through her dreams for nights now. The cold didn't touch her here. It felt… familiar.

Her hand brushed along a wall of clear ice when something clicked.

The wall shifted.

A seam appeared in the frozen surface, glowing faintly with pale light. Ulma stepped back, startled—but curious. She reached forward, touched it again.

It opened.

A thin doorway unfolded, revealing a spiral stairwell carved from enchanted quartz. Mist flowed upward from below, curling around her ankles. She looked behind her, just once—then descended.

The steps wound down and down, lit by blue sigils that pulsed as she passed. The further she went, the colder the air became. But it didn't bite. It welcomed her.

At last, the stairway ended in a small, circular chamber.

It wasn't grand like the rest of the Sanctum. There were no banners or thrones, no mirrored ceilings. Just a pedestal in the center, holding an orb of frozen crystal.

Ulma approached it slowly. Her breath didn't fog the air.

She placed her hand gently on the orb.

A pulse.

The air stilled, and then—

A voice.

Soft. Ancient. Neither male nor female, and yet both.

> "You've come… at last."

Ulma's eyes widened. She backed away slightly, but the voice was not threatening. It resonated inside her chest like a distant lullaby she had once known.

"Who are you?" she asked, voice trembling.

> "I am what remains… of one who walked the Circle before Veth's first fall. An echo of memory, sealed here by the ice sages, waiting for the one who could hear me."

"Why me?"

> "Because your blood remembers. Because you are more than a child of Viles. You are of the deep line. The line that once touched the roots of the world."

Ulma blinked. "I don't understand."

> "You will. In time. But you must know this: Veth's return was not without reason. His hunger is not just for destruction—but for something lost. Something that sleeps within you."

Ulma's hands clenched. "I'm not special. I can't fight like Kalamari, or use magic like Lakrima…"

> "And yet… you found this place. They could not. You heard me. They could not."

A slow shimmer spread across the orb. Images flickered—flashes of a younger Achy sealing a door… a child wrapped in starlit cloth… a battlefield of frost and flame. Then Ulma, in the center of it all, her eyes glowing like the moon.

Tears welled in her eyes. "What do I do?"

> "Listen. Learn. And remember this—when the storm comes and the world burns or freezes, it will not be the sword that saves us. It will be the one who carries the forgotten light."

The orb dimmed.

The chamber grew quiet again.

Ulma stood for a moment longer, heart pounding—not from fear, but from something deeper.

Purpose.

She turned and climbed the steps again, her path now lit from within.

Unseen above her, a figure watched from a higher balcony.

Lord Achy stood in silence.

And for the first time in centuries, he smiled.

---

South of the Frostedge Border — The Narrowing Wilds

The wind had changed.

It was warmer now, but only just. The ice-laced air of Viles gave way to scattered pinewoods and sloping trails, where melting frost turned the roads to mud. Birds returned to the trees, their songs strained and sharp, as if even nature now cried out warnings.

Kalamari rode at the front of the line, cloak trailing behind his obsidian stallion. The others followed in silence—Tozi on a thin, golden-eyed steed that disliked mud; Unomi on a white desert runner from Old Sand Town, calm and quiet; and Lakrima perched gracefully atop a silver-gray mare that shimmered slightly with protective enchantments.

They had not spoken much since the battle with the bandits.

Each of them carried it differently.

Tozi kept fidgeting, adjusting satchels, inspecting potion vials. He muttered ingredients to himself as if planning for a wound he hadn't yet taken.

Unomi had barely said a word.

She had killed swiftly—too swiftly. More than a few of the bandits had tried to surrender. She hadn't spared them. She rode now with eyes forward, hands resting gently on her curved blade, shadow magic flickering along her wrists.

Lakrima broke the silence first.

"The trees speak less here."

Kalamari glanced back at her. "Because something further east silences them."

"Veth?" Tozi asked.

"No," Lakrima said softly. "Not yet. But something stirred."

They crested a low ridge, where a distant line of mountains marked the edge of the next kingdom—Vael'Zar, the Kingdom of Mirrors. A place of illusions, glass towers, and secrets buried in reflections.

"That's where we're headed," Kalamari said.

Unomi narrowed her eyes. "You think the Mirror King will help us?"

"He has no choice," Kalamari answered. "If Veth takes Vael'Zar, then only two kingdoms remain before the Circle breaks."

"But he won't like us bringing war to his doorstep," Lakrima murmured.

"Too late for liking," Tozi muttered. "This is survival now."

As they rode, Nylok—ever watchful—glided above them in his true demon form, a bat-winged shadow weaving between clouds and treetops. When he returned, landing beside Kalamari's horse, his glowing orange eyes narrowed.

"Tracks ahead," he rasped. "Fresh. Not human."

Kalamari's grip tightened on the reins. "How many?"

"Too many to count. Some drag limbs. Some fly."

Unomi was already dismounting. "We camp here. Night falls fast."

The group moved quickly, finding a defensible rise flanked by rock and sparse trees. Tozi conjured a thin shield of shimmerdust over the camp, just enough to hide firelight from distant eyes.

Night fell like a curtain of lead.

They ate quickly. Then Lakrima meditated beneath a moonlit tree, Tozi slept with a potion bottle in hand, and Unomi curled beneath her cloak, sword beside her.

But Kalamari remained awake, sitting on a stone beside the fire's embers.

Nylok crouched near him.

"You don't sleep anymore," the demon said, licking at his claw.

"I don't need to."

"You're changing. You know that, don't you?"

"I was born to change," Kalamari said. "Born to finish what my people started."

The wind stirred, and something howled in the dark.

A blur of ice and bone lunged from the shadows.

Kalamari moved without hesitation. His blade met the beast in mid-air, severing it clean in two. The pieces fell at his feet—an ice beast, larger than any wolf, its body stitched with snow and frozen muscle.

Another came.

Then three.

Then ten.

They charged from the woods—gnashing, screeching, tearing the ground.

Kalamari stood alone, the fire at his back. His blade flashed gold, marked by the Overlord's soul. Each strike carved lines of heat in the darkness. Shadows danced around him as Nylok joined the fray, tearing with claw and flame.

They came in waves.

Some crawled, some flew, some dragged spiked limbs.

But none passed him.

Kalamari fought with silence. Precision. Rage. Memory.

His mind drifted as he battled—not away from the fight, but deeper into it. He remembered his Master,'s stories. The Overlord's final battle. The betrayal. The silence that followed.

"I will not be another silence," Kalamari muttered.

By dawn, the snow was littered with corpses of unnatural beasts. Their bodies cracked and steamed, melting into the soil. The others rose at the first light, drawn by the noise—or lack of it.

Lakrima stepped out of her trance, eyes widening.

Tozi cursed under his breath.

Unomi said nothing, but the coldness in her gaze softened.

Kalamari stood among the fallen, breathing slowly. His blade was still warm.

"They found us," he said.

"But they won't report back," Unomi answered.

Nylok growled, blood dripping from his wings. "Not tonight."

Kalamari sheathed his sword, looking toward the distant shimmer of Vael'Zar.

"Let's keep moving," he said. "Before their brothers arrive."

And they rode again.

The road forward was no longer just dangerous—it was hunted.

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