A Grandmaster Shrouded in Mystery

Arngrim ran through the forest, bones creaking, Dan's shout echoing behind him like thunder: "Think you can escape, you cursed thief?" Exhaustion dragged him toward the ground, the shadow of his pursuers nearly upon him. Then the breeze stilled.

A wave of serene cold, infused with absolute power, swept across the clearing. Dan's roar cut off mid-word. Alexander, who had just burst through the undergrowth, froze as if he'd struck a glass wall. Among the ancient trees, advancing with untouchable grace, appeared a slender woman.

She didn't run; she glided over the damp grass, and where her feet touched, the dew froze into crystalline patterns, glittering in the moonlight like scattered diamonds. She wore an immaculate white linen tunic beneath a black velvet overcoat embroidered with silver threads forming complex runes along the hems. A long, ermine-lined mantle floated softly behind her. Her face was a sculpture of serenity—high cheekbones, skin pale as mountain snow, and ice-blue eyes radiating hypnotic authority. An aura of silent command emanated from her, as tangible as the cold, forcing even the fiery Dan to hesitate.

"A Grand Master…," both warriors whispered in unison.

The Grand Master halted between Arngrim, collapsed and gasping, and the two stunned fighters. Her voice rose, clear, calm, and as razor-sharp as an ice blade, yet without hostility:

"Alexander, Director of the Celestial Dragon Academy.

Dan, Director of the Aegis of the Minotaur Academy."

She named them with familiar recognition rather than challenge. Her gaze settled on Dan, whose fists still radiated fury:

"You've lived up to your reputations. Therefore, I will restore your honor. Yet… this is enough. We end this here."

She turned to Arngrim, curled on the ground. A soft sigh, almost pitying, escaped her lips.

"The crystal he stole…"

Her black-leather-gauntleted hand slipped from the folds of her cloak, holding a small cobalt-silk pouch tied with a silver cord.

Arngrim stared in astonishment: "When did she take it?" He'd had no clue—only a faint ripple in the air.

"Allow me to restore its value, and more."

With a graceful motion, she opened the pouch. Three pulsating crystals emerged, hovering before Alexander and Dan. Smaller than a clenched fist, they glowed with a deep inner light, like captured blue stars. Pure, vibrant energy radiated from them.

"Champion-Core Crystals," she announced evenly, her words resounding like a decree. "Extracted from legendary beasts. A more than fair compensation for the misfortune, I believe."

The crystals settled into Alexander's outstretched hands, which he eyed with wary admiration.

Dan nearly spat out a sarcastic retort—"With these, one might be robbed every day…"—but swallowed the words in her presence.

"Now that everything is settled…"

Before Dan or Alexander could reply, a white mist rose at the Grand Master's feet, coiling like living serpents. It enveloped her and Arngrim. In an instant, they vanished—not with a crash, but with the whisper of leaves in the wind. Only the clean scent of pine and distant snow lingered, and the pulsating glow of the crystals in Alexander's hands.

Alexander swallowed a frustrated growl, eyes fixed on the emptiness where the thief had stood. Dan closed his fingers carefully around the stones, their blue light softening the harsh lines of his face.

*****

The main gate of the Aegis of the Minotaur Academy groaned like a sleeping dragon as it closed behind Dan and Alexander.

Even in the post-training dusk, the academy's grandeur was undeniable. Built upon ancient black-basalt foundations, it rose like a fortress of arcane lore.

Gothic spires topped by gargoyles of mythical creatures in vigilant poses pierced the sky. Large pointed-arch windows—some filled with breathtaking stained glass narrating epic summoner-versus-titan battles—filtered the pale exterior light. Yet modernity intertwined with the medieval: slender veins of blue energy pulsed at the stone joints, providing both ambient illumination and structural reinforcement, while discreet holographic panels set into niches along the massive walls displayed class schedules and announcements in glowing runes.

The path to the administrative wing was a symphony of supernatural training and daily life. Through broad arcades, internal courtyards opened onto apprentices in tunics embroidered with level-color emblems—emerald green for novices, cobalt blue for intermediates—practicing with fervor. A boy, brow furrowed in concentration, struggled to control a Clay Golem—a viscous, wobbling mass of earth and water that emitted foul bubbles—under the sharp guidance of a stern instructor.

Further on, an advanced group coordinated an intricate flight-pattern of Crystal Faeries, tiny winged creatures leaving trails of silvery light as they darted in tight formation, their wings tinkling like miniature bells. From the vaulted ceiling of a grand common hall hung a Shadow Lurker, a floating mass of black smoke with multiple glowing eyes, watching impassively as students chatted at rustic tables or debated summoning theories in animated voices.

The air carried the mixed scents of damp earth, aged parchment, and the sweet-metallic tang exhaled by certain creatures.

Dan led Alexander down a quieter side corridor lined with oak shelves brimming with leather-bound grimoires and strange containment artifacts. They paused before a massive dark-wood door bearing an elaborate crest: a Minotaur in profile, raising a shield that glowed from within. It was Director Dan's office.

Pushing the door—surprisingly light—they entered a space that mirrored Dan himself: solid, utilitarian, yet marked by personal touches and undeniable authority. The ancient stone walls were warmed by discreet radiant panels embedded in the floor. A colossal worktable carved from near-indestructible black oak dominated the center.

It was covered in organized chaos: stacks of familiar-binding contract scrolls, tactile miniatures of creatures for tactical planning, a modern holographic terminal projecting rune-inscribed reports, and an impressive collection of ceremonial minotaur-horn chalices. Tall shelves lined the walls, housing rare tomes and past-tournament trophies—a petrified Wyvern claw, a bottle containing the tempestuous spirit of a tiny Storm Elemental. A large two-headed bear-skin rug—a trophy from Dan's youth—covered part of the stone floor.

In one corner, a training suit of articulated armor, dented and scratched, stood beside a water feature that magically sprang from the wall, filling the air with a soft murmur. Lighting came from floating globes in wrought-iron stands, casting a warm amber glow.

Alexander, in his heavy black robe emblazoned with a stylized white dragon on the back, pulled up a chair before Dan's desk. His long red hair flickered like living embers in the soft light as he rubbed his face, leaving a streak of dust across his brow.

"Humiliating," he grumbled, watching Dan pour an amber drink from a chalice engraved with the Aegis emblem, then offer a second cup—which Alexander declined with a shake of his head.

Dan, wrapped in his forest-green robe embroidered with a golden bull's head, let out a bitter laugh. His dark skin glistened with sweat, his neatly trimmed beard framing a scar-marked face. "At least we're breathing. And she left us intact—only our pride bleeding." His gaze drifted to the Wyvern claw. "If not for their fear of the Emperors, we'd be hanging by our entrails from the city gates."

Alexander nodded, tugging at his now mud-stained robe with a sigh. "Exactly. That was our only lifeline." He cracked his back with a sharp snap. "I need to return to my academy. I've been gone too long, and the new professors are probably messing things up."

Dan, peeling off his rigid, mud-splattered leather boots, arched a thick eyebrow. "Running away like that, kid? Afraid of a little arena scuffle?" He gave one boot a light kick, sending it skidding across the rug.

"Old fossil!" Alexander shot back, a sharp grin cutting across his tired face, his blazing blue eyes glittering. With feline agility, he shoved Dan in the shoulder, unbalancing the giant who was standing on just one boot. Dan staggered, growling, but the smile beneath his beard was just as sharp.

"I'll get you next time—but don't forget: it'll be a proper thrashing!" Dan laughed.

"Of course—a proper thrashing that you, decrepit old man, are going to take!" Alexander chuckled.

Dan planted his feet, expression turning serious. "You really leaving today?"

Alexander nodded. "Yes. The matter with the thief is resolved. I only came for a short visit… which, given how things went, ended up lasting."

He sank deeper into the chair, fingers drumming on the oak armrest.

"That thief…" Alexander began, voice heavy with disdain. "Definitely no nobody. A master, but even more impressive was her…" He snorted in contempt. "She…" His blazing blue eyes darkened at the memory of her oppressive presence. "Who was that woman, Dan? How the air froze the moment she appeared… those eyes."

Dan took a gulp of his drink, the scent of exotic spices filling the air. "Amateur or not, the thief has powerful connections," he rumbled, tracing the chalice's rim with his finger. "He knew exactly what to steal—and had someone strong enough backing him for a ransom." As for "her…" a subtle chill ran over his broad shoulders beneath the green robe.

"Remember that cold, Alexander? Who are the most famous ice-monster summoners?"

Alexander fell silent, thinking. "Then it's them—the Frostwing family?"

Dan nodded. "Even though the thief used a black-mist dragon, it could be one of theirs! Despite differing summons, why else would they send someone to protect that guy?"

Alexander gave a slow nod. "You're right—but for an ancient, famed family, why endorse something so low?"

"Maybe he's the son of a principal member, just taking a reckless detour," Dan suggested.

Alexander rose and stood in the massive doorway, looking back at Dan standing by his chaotic desk, the amber glow of floating globes highlighting the golden bull's head on his robe. "Take care, Dan. And… try not to be quite so easy to rob."

Dan laughed. "Thanks—don't worry, I doubt I'll be robbed again."

He nodded solemnly. "Until next time. Safe travels."

The dark wooden door closed behind Alexander with a soft thud. Dan remained still for a moment, the room's silence amplifying the fountain's murmur. His gaze drifted to the bottle containing the miniature Storm Elemental, its inner clouds swirling furiously. The name "Frostwing" echoed in his mind, mingled with the memory of that blue-eyed, ice-cold woman.

*****

A couple walked through the fields under the morning sun, where the frost glistened like diamonds on the withered grass. She wrapped him in a veil of supernatural cold, a glacial mist that rendered them invisible to any onlooker. He, with his head bowed and clothes in tatters, formed a stark contrast to the imposing, flawless lady at his side.

Arngrim couldn't stop staring at his savior. What a beautiful love story, he thought. An impetuous heir and his icy fiancée, willing to freeze the world to protect him. His heart felt entirely warmed by the image.

His tender thoughts were abruptly interrupted when Angelica, his fiancée, shoved him down a hill as she shouted,

"Why do you bother doing such foolish things? Stealing from the rich to give to the poor? Why not just donate what you have? Your family is wealthy!"

Of course, for that reason the Frostwing family had pledged her to the Nightingale line—Arngrim's own house, likewise filled with powerful Summoners. But Angelica couldn't help her fury. He only caused trouble. He wasn't a good thief; on the contrary, he was awful. He always got caught, and she always brought him back at the cost of her precious crystals. What kind of thief grows poorer with each heist?

She couldn't help smiling, however, when she saw Arngrim pick himself up from the base of the small hill, dust-covered, and regard her with an innocent, affectionate grin.

She couldn't resist smiling back. Yes, that smile she adored… Then, in a sudden motion, she summoned her Ice Phoenix, which unleashed a freezing bolt at him, drawing a miserable scream.