Ice 4: Ices

Around ten minutes of walking into the city passed, and a crowd soon formed.

I quickly put on my hood and blended into the mass of people, pulling Illya closer to me. She gripped my cloak tightly, her small frame almost disappearing in the sea of moving bodies. Her eyes darted around, filled with a mix of wonder and unease.

I continued to search for my master, but without any hint of where she might be, I started asking around. Illya stayed close, listening intently, though I could tell she didn't fully understand the weight of what I was searching for.

I found a couple of things that seemed important.

One: There was a Mafia in the city that called itself Ices.

Two: They operated a LOT in the south side of the city, with tons of hostages/kidnapeees 

Three: Rumors were spreading that tomorrow, at noon, they would execute all of their hostages in the town center.

My stomach twisted at the thought. Illya's grip on my cloak tightened. I glanced down at her—she didn't say anything, but the way her fingers dug into the fabric told me she understood enough.

I kept asking around for another hour but found nothing too significant.

Now was the time to find an inn for the night.

"Are we gonna sleep outside again?" Illya finally asked, her voice quiet.

I shook my head. "Not tonight."

Today, I was feeling fancy. So I searched for the most expensive inn they had. Some guy said it cost nine hundred per night, which was ridiculous, but then again, I was feeling fancy.

The inn was strategically placed near the town center to attract more tourists, which also worked in my favor.

As we stepped inside, the warmth of the building wrapped around us, a stark contrast to the frozen air outside. Illya exhaled in relief, rubbing her arms. The first thing I noticed was a clock made of gold—painted or real, I didn't care. It was absolutely beautiful.

I approached the register, Illya standing just behind me, her head barely reaching the counter. The receptionist, a pretty woman with Sarah written on her name tag, looked up and smiled.

"How much for a night?" I asked.

Her eyes flicked to my shoulder, where the mark of honor rested. Her smile widened.

"Nothing for someone with the mark of honor," she said smoothly. "We'll gladly take you in for free."

I blinked. Illya stared up at me, then back at Sarah.

"Uhh," I replied nervously. "Thanks, I… guess."

Sarah handed me a key. "Room 351. Enjoy your stay."

I turned toward the stairs—easily the fanciest stairs I had ever seen. Illya tugged at my sleeve, whispering, "Why are they treating you like some kind of king?"

I sighed. "Good question."

With that, we made our way to the room, questions swirling in both our heads.

I climbed the stairs, their polished marble surface reflecting the warm golden light from the chandeliers above. Each step felt heavier, not from exhaustion, but from the weight of the things I had learned today.

Illya followed closely behind, her small hands gripping the hem of my cloak. She had been quiet ever since we entered the city, her eyes darting around, taking in everything.

"Are we really staying here for free?" she finally asked.

"Seems like it," I muttered. "Guess people with this 'mark of honor' get special treatment."

Illya scrunched her nose. "That lady looked at you like you're someone important."

I huffed. "Yeah. Not sure if I like that."

We reached the third floor, the carpet beneath our feet softer than anything I had stepped on in months. I glanced at the key in my hand—Room 351.

A few doors down, I found it.

I pushed it open, and what I saw made me pause.

The room was massive.

A king-sized bed, velvet curtains, a chandelier, and even a fireplace with real flames flickering inside. The windows stretched from floor to ceiling, giving a breathtaking view of the city, its icy rooftops glistening under the moonlight.

Illya ran past me, immediately flopping onto the bed. "It's so soft!" she squealed, burying herself into the covers.

I let out a small chuckle.

For a moment, just a moment, she looked like a normal kid.

I set my pack down and sat on the edge of the bed, rubbing my temple.

The Mafia, the executions, my master—too many things were piling up.

I needed a plan.

I glanced at Illya. She had already curled up, her breathing steady. She was exhausted.

She deserved to rest.

I pulled a blanket over her and stood, walking over to the window. The city stretched out before me, beautiful yet dangerous.

Somewhere out there, my master was waiting.

And time was running out.

Tomorrow at noon, the executions would happen.

If my master was one of the hostages…

I clenched my fist.

I wouldn't let that happen.

I turned back toward the bed. Illya was fast asleep, her small frame rising and falling with each breath.

For tonight, we rest.

But tomorrow…

Tomorrow, I would tear through this city if I had to.

Illya and I each took a bed, exhaustion settling over us like a heavy blanket.

When I woke up around eight in the morning, the room was quiet except for Illya's steady breathing. I got up, brushed my teeth with the hotel's complimentary toothbrush, and glanced at her still-sleeping form.

Before leaving, I gently shook her awake. "Stay here until I get back," I told her. She mumbled something incoherent but nodded sleepily.

Stepping out of the inn, the icy air bit at my skin as I made my way toward the town center. As expected, the area was mostly empty—except for a handful of people lingering around, each one giving off an air of hostility, like they'd slit my throat if I so much as spoke out of turn.

I kept my head down and found a narrow gap between two buildings, slipping into the shadows.

Then, I waited.

The cold stone pressed against my back as I crouched between the buildings, my breath curling in the frigid air. The town center remained eerily silent, the few figures present shifting restlessly, their gazes sharp and watchful. These weren't ordinary citizens—they had the presence of people accustomed to violence.

I scanned the area, looking for any sign of movement that could hint at the Ices Mafia. If the rumors were true, by tomorrow noon, the town square would be filled with hostages awaiting execution. That gave me less than a day to find a way to stop it.

My fingers twitched toward my Cultro instinctively, but I held back. Rushing in blindly would get me killed. I needed information first.

Then, a voice cut through the silence.

"You look like you're up to something."

I turned my head slightly, careful not to make any sudden movements. A man stood at the entrance of the alley, arms crossed. His build was strong, wrapped in thick fur-lined clothing, and a scar ran down his left cheek.

I met his gaze but said nothing.

He smirked. "Smart. You don't talk to strangers. But if you're lurking around here, you're either an idiot or someone with a death wish."

I stayed silent, measuring him. If he was part of the Mafia, this could turn ugly fast.

He sighed. "Relax. I ain't with Ices, but I know their kind. If you're looking for them, you're already in deep trouble."

I narrowed my eyes. "And why would you care?"

He let out a short chuckle. "Let's just say I don't like what they do to people." He glanced around before lowering his voice. "They operate out of an abandoned manor on the south side of the city. If you're planning something, be smart about it."

That was the lead I needed.

I stood up, brushing the frost off my coat. "Thanks."

The man smirked. "Don't thank me yet. If you go after them alone, you're as good as dead."

I gave him a final nod before slipping back into the streets.