Chapter 16- Frost Beneath The Surface

"Grand Arena of Velrenmar – Central Amphitheater"

They had come to see glory.

To see chosen students clash beneath the banners of the Seven factions.

To cheer, to scream, to bet.

To watch dreams ignite — and some, shatter.

But what the crowds got… was something else entirely.

A trial — not of strength, but of shame.

Not for students.

For the factions themselves.

The amphitheater built to house the final trials of the tournament had been reshaped overnight. The combat wards still hummed under the marble floor, but they remained unused. Today, the light didn't shine on swords and spells.

It shone on seats of judgment.

To the common folk of Velrenmar, it was surreal.

They had traveled far for the spectacle of the Faction Trials — nobles, merchants, foreign emissaries, street vendors, tavern drunks, and star-eyed children.

But this?

This was better than anything they expected.

They weren't watching students fumble with magic.

They were watching the mighty stumble in front of the world.

For the people watching, this wasn't about righteousness.

It was entertainment.

Of course, no one believed this would truly wound the great factions.

Everyone knew how it worked.

They would apologize.

Blame it on miscommunication.

Say the agents acted independently.

Which, in this case… they did.

The sky above Velrenmar had turned a pale — as if the day itself were holding its breath.

Banners still fluttered along the coliseum walls. Faction symbols still danced across pennants.

At the heart of the central tier, where the Council of Accordance had convened only thrice in the last century, stood Chancellor Asteran Elisar Vaile.

Above them, in the private galleries — behind a screen of enchanted veilglass — sat three silent.

Kieran Duskvale, leader of Northcrest, fingers laced, expression unreadable.

Maedra Ruusk, head of Duskwatch, seated cross-legged like a hunter at a ritual, one brow raised in amusement.

And beside her — just barely visible in shadow — stood Aureth Vallier, Vice Chancellor of Silverquill. Watching. Measuring.

None of them spoke.

They were here not as defenders.

Only as spectators.

No music.

No fanfare.

Just few more member of Velranmar Government

stood before the three accused — Syra Velmire of Silverquill, Drem Holt of Stonehelm, and the bound-and-sedated figure of Rhael Moren of Northcrest, unconscious but still chained with glyphsteel.

His condition was unknown.

But the murmurs had already spread.

"He's in a coma."

"No healing magic's working on him."

"No one knows what happened in the ruin."

Asteran did not speak first.

He simply looked.

And then, without sound, a translucent memory crystal bloomed into the air — replaying selected moments from the aftermath of the excavation. Soundless footage. Footsteps. Extraction. The forbidden vault.

Velrenmar had chosen not to reveal what Seren did or his identity. But they revealed enough.

Trespass.

Tampering.

Damage.

Blood.

The world watched.

Syra Velmire stepped forward first.

Composed. Regal. Her robes immaculate.

"Chancellor Vaile. There was no formal directive from Silverquill's upper council.."

" Rhael Moren conducted this exploration without the knowledge of any central Silverquill archives. I was dispatched to retrieve him and de-escalate potential risks."

A pause.

"It is regrettable that Drem Holt and I arrived late. Had we known the extent of what he had tampered with…"

She looked down at Rhael's body.

"…this could've been prevented."

Her voice carried just enough remorse — not too much. A performance, sharp and practiced.

Drem Holt, Stonehelm's field commander, was more direct.

"Stonehelm does not send men to steal."

"We were given coordinates and fragmentary claims by Rhael Moren. We followed under the belief that ruins were unclaimed."

"If we'd known the nature of the chamber, we'd have reported it — not ransacked it."

"If what we uncovered was hidden by Velrenmar... then he hid it from us too."

He gave Rhael a look that could've been concern — or condemnation.

"He wanted glory. Not truth."

Asteran said nothing for a moment.

Then,

"So… you deny responsibility."

Syra responded evenly:

"We deny formal sanction. Not the failure of oversight."

Drem added:

"And offer restitution, as is appropriate."

And then—

A beat of silence.

Followed by a sound not even the banners could silence.

Laughter.

Not loud.

Not mocking.

Sharp. Precise. Surgical.

"Wait—did they just blame everything on a guy who's unconscious?"

"Yep. Full report signed by Rhael's coma-induced regrets."

"Oh saints. What's next? Letting a corpse testify?"

Asteran finally stepped forward.

He didn't raise his voice.

He didn't need to.

"Velrenmar is not a kingdom. Not a faction."

"It is a neutral nation. And neutrality demands fairness."

His voice dropped a note.

"You trespassed. You concealed your steps. You gambled with ancient things that do not forgive."

He glanced to the suspended body of Rhael Moren.

"And you paid."

The silver scales shimmered faintly beside him.

"The sentence."

"You entered foreign soil," Asteran said, "without consent. You breached classified ruin barriers. You attempted to extract forbidden Artekarna."

He stepped forward once.

"And you gravely injured a student registered under Velrenmar's neutral protection."

Whispers erupted in the stands.

Syra finally spoke, her tone sharp but carefully measured.

"We acted under the assumption the site had been abandoned. We were unaware the chamber was—"

Asteran raised one hand.

"You were aware. You even marked the blood on the wall."

Syra went silent.

Drem looked down.

Asteran's voice turned colder.

"This is not about apology. It's about arrogance."

"You did not act as emissaries."

"You acted as thieves."

Gasps.

Even those who supported the factions flinched.

Because he wasn't wrong.

And worse — he wasn't angry.

He was just judging.

"The sentence is as follows," Asteran said, lifting his hand.

From the air above, the Scales shimmered back into being — tilting delicately.

One glyph pulsed for each faction.

Then—

"You will pay a full institutional compensation fee to Velrenmar Academy."

"Your banners will remain lowered for the duration of the final two trials."

"Syra Velmire, Drem Holt, and Rhael Moren are to be marked as acting without formal approval. The expedition's failure is to be considered personal misjudgment."

A pause.

Then, quieter — and deadlier:

"Let it be known. If such trespass occurs again, this was just the warning. There won't be another.."

The scales froze.

And then vanished.

Kieran said nothing.

His eyes remained on Rhael's unconscious form.

A cluster of law scholars in the upper row of the amphitheater were already taking bets.

"So what's next?"

"Public rebranding? Rhael gets listed as a rogue element and dumped quietly into a sanitarium?"

"He's in a coma, you ass."

"Yes, but a politically curated coma."

Even the Headmaster of Velrenmar — still seated at the edge of the platform, arms folded — allowed the faintest smirk.

Because this was Velrenmar.

They had no royal court.

No noble houses.

No sprawling armies.

But they had books, memory, and sharp tongues.

A pair of teenage interns watching from the gallery tier:

"They used a man who can't even blink without medical assistance. I—what?!"

"Classic faction tactic. Blame the furniture."

"This trial's more rigged than an alchemy exam at Kael'mair."

"I guess Rhael organized the illegal dig, falsified records, leaked coordinates and nearly killed someone… all while not breathing properly."

A junior enchanter muttering to her friend,

"Honestly? If I woke up and saw I'd been used as a scapegoat while unconscious, I'd go back to sleep."

"Permanent nap. New spell — Coma of Denial."

SAME NIGHT,"Moonspire Tower – Northcrest Quarters, Upper Velrenmar"

Northcrest's chambers had been assigned the highest vantage in Velrenmar's ancient Moonspire. Circular, silver-tiled, with an open ceiling of translucent crystal. Moonlight poured in like liquid frost, painting the marble floor in drifting constellations.

Thin trails of mist curled from enchanted vents near the base. The scent of juniper and starwater lingered.

A slow hum — low and constant — filled the space. Not mechanical. Natural. Like the whisper of snowfall on distant stone.

Kieran Duskvale stood near the tall arching window, his silhouette etched by starlight.

He hadn't moved since returning from the trial.

"He went light," came a soft voice beside him.

The woman stood tall, wrapped in silvery-blue layers, her eyes like two still ponds mirroring the moonlight.

Elyss Vahrin, Vice-Leader of Northcrest.

"Lighter than I thought."

Kieran didn't look at her immediately. The ice in his tone didn't need volume to cut.

"He's wise enough to weigh timing. Judgment means little if you lack the force to make it matter."

Elyss tilted her head. "That's not what they call him for."

"No." Kieran's breath ghosted in the mist. "But even the bearer of scales knows not to press too hard against the spine of a continent."

Kieran's reply was a breath of frost in the room.

"As intended."

Elyss paused. "You planned for this?"

He didn't answer. Not right away.

Instead, he raised a hand, fingers trailing along the balcony's edge — eyes locked on the horizon, where the tower shadows met drifting clouds.

A smile.

Gentle.

Polite.

And utterly without kindness.

"Let them believe they've won this chapter. It makes turning the next page all the easier."

He turned back toward the center of the chamber, the ethereal map fading behind him like a mirage in ice.

The tower groaned softly as frost settled along its spires.

"We already got what we wanted."

Elyss Vahrin didn't speak. She didn't need to. She had followed him long enough to know.

Kieran smiled like a man already holding the blade, watching his opponent draw theirs.

He passed her, steps slow, almost lazy — as if he were just walking through dreams

Elyss narrowed her eyes.

"You mean the Artekarna?"

Kieran's lips barely moved. His voice dropped a note, lower, like winter settling under skin.

"We didn't leave empty-handed. You think I'd let Rhael act without contingencies?"

"You had another team."

A slight smile. Distant. Chilling.

"While Syra and Drem Holt danced in circles with that ruin, another door opened. One no one noticed — because they were too focused on the ones that screamed."

Elyss stiffened. "What did they take?"

Kieran looked back at the sky — pale-blue light fading against a drifting dusk.

"Not an Artekarna," he said softly. "Something older."

"Older than the Artekarna?"

"Yes."

His voice was almost fond now. Not cruel — but distant, reverent.

"The ruin was not a vault. It was a tomb. And under the tomb was a prison. Not for monsters… but memories."

Elyss looked shaken for a second — a rare crack in her composed surface.

Kieran continued, his words like snow over stone:

"I don't need to fight over scraps like Stonehelm Or Silverquill. Let them trip on each other's pride. Let Velrenmar feel righteous."

He turned, walking away from the edge, his coat trailing cold mist behind him.

"Asteran weighs what he sees. I made sure he saw only ash."

He paused. The cold in his eyes glinted faintly in the illusion mist.

"When he will again look this way."

"…he'll realize we already took what mattered."