We crossed the threshold back into the central chamber, each of us changed by what we'd faced in the final trial. The Chamber of Time had taken more than memories—it had aged something inside us, leaving a weight that hadn't been there before.
The massive circular room looked exactly as we'd first found it, with its domed ceiling opening to a sky that wasn't truly there and its six doorways arranged in a perfect circle. But now, each archway glowed with completed magic—five with pale blue light, the sixth with the golden radiance of our recent victory.
"We did it," Laina whispered, her voice echoing in the vast space. "All six trials."
Joran moved toward the center of the chamber, turning slowly to observe each illuminated doorway. His face, normally so guarded, showed open wonder. "No one's ever managed this. Not in the stories, not in the records. No one."
I remained silent, studying the patterns of light as they shifted and merged. Something was happening—the blue glow from the first five doorways intensifying, pulsing in rhythm with the golden light of the Time Chamber.
"Look," I said, pointing as the energies began to blend.
The separate colors twisted together like strands of rope, blue and gold interweaving until they formed a single, brilliant white light that raced along the floor in intricate patterns. Geometric shapes appeared beneath our feet—circles within circles, lines connecting in complex arrangements that reminded me of circuit pathways.
"Step back," I warned, moving toward the wall as the light grew brighter.
The patterns converged at the center of the chamber, directly opposite the entrance through which we'd first arrived. As we watched, the solid wall between two of the trial doorways began to change.
The rippling stone parted, revealing a massive doorway that dwarfed the trial entrances. Unlike the simple arches we'd passed through before, this portal was elaborately carved with scenes of winter—forests bent under snow, mountains wrapped in storms, creatures I'd never seen before stalking across frozen landscapes.
At the center of it all, a single figure sat upon a throne of ice, a crown of crystals upon his brow and a glowing object cradled in his hands.
"The Winter King," Laina said, her hand automatically moving to her bow. "And the Heart of Winter."
The massive doors swung inward, releasing a blast of frigid air that stole the breath from my lungs.
I drew both daggers, feeling their opposing energies warm and cool my palms. "This is it. Whatever happens in there..." I looked at my companions, searching for words that wouldn't sound like a final goodbye.
"We finish this together," Laina said firmly, completing my thought. She nocked an arrow, though she kept her bow lowered. "No one gets left behind."
Taking a deep breath, I stepped through the doorway. My companions followed close behind, our footsteps muffled by the strange acoustics of the passage beyond.
The darkness swallowed us completely for several heartbeats. Then, gradually, a dim blue-white illumination spread from unseen sources, revealing a vast hall that stretched far beyond what the Temple's external dimensions should have allowed.
We stood on a platform at the top of a broad staircase that descended to a massive chamber below. The ceiling soared hundreds of feet above us, supported by columns of ice that gleamed like polished glass. Between these columns, arranged in silent ranks, stood dozens of figures.
My blood turned to ice in my veins. Reflectors. More than I'd ever seen gathered in one place, their mirror-like skin catching and distorting what little light filled the chamber. Each one stood perfectly still, more statue than creature, their faces blank and expressionless.
But these weren't like the Reflectors we'd encountered in the wilderness. These wore armor—elaborate plates of silver and blue crystal that covered their torsos and limbs, leaving only their reflective faces exposed. Some carried weapons: spears tipped with blue crystal, swords that seemed carved from single pieces of ice, bows with strings that glowed with inner light.
Beside me, Laina made a strangled sound. I glanced over to see her face drained of color, her violet eyes fixed on one particular Reflector near the front of the formation.
"Laina?" I whispered.
"That's—" Her voice broke. "That's my father's armor."
I followed her gaze to the Reflector she indicated—slightly taller than the others, wearing a breastplate etched with the symbol of a flame. Around its neck hung a small pendant that caught the light—a golden flame surrounding a teardrop of blue crystal.
Joran's hand went to Laina's shoulder, steadying her. "Are you certain?"
She nodded, tears spilling down her cheeks. "I'd know it anywhere. That pendant—I have its twin." Her hand moved to her throat, touching the identical necklace that never left her person. "He was a Knight of the Eternal Flame. They all were."
Looking more carefully at the assembled Reflectors, I noticed the similarities in their armor. Though time and the curse had altered them, these had once been knights—warriors who had come to challenge the Winter King, only to be transformed into his guardians.
"Torsten was right," Joran murmured. "The expedition never had a chance."
A cold deeper than anything I'd felt before crept through the chamber. The air grew thick with frost, each breath crystallizing before our faces. The temperature dropped so rapidly that the metal components of my clothing became painful against my skin.
Then came the sound—footsteps echoing from the far end of the hall. The Reflectors, previously motionless, moved as one, dropping to one knee and lowering their heads in perfect unison.
The footsteps grew closer, accompanied by a subtle crackling sound—like ice forming on a lake, but continuous.
And then I saw him.
The Winter King walked between the ranks of kneeling Reflectors. He stood at least seven feet tall, his proportions perfect yet somehow wrong—too symmetrical, too flawless to be human. His skin had the pale translucence of the finest ice, revealing intricate patterns of frost beneath that shifted and swirled with his movements.
He wore robes of midnight blue, trimmed with silver that caught the light like stars. Upon his head sat a crown of ice crystals that seemed to grow directly from his brow, each facet refracting the chamber's dim illumination into rainbow patterns.
But it was his eyes that held me transfixed—bottomless pits of darkness where eyes should be, with tiny pinpricks of blue-white light swirling in their depths like miniature snowstorms. Those eyes contained neither malice nor mercy—only winter itself, endless and absolute.
In his hands, he carried a crystal the size of a human heart, pulsing with blue-white energy in perfect rhythm with the frost patterns that moved beneath his skin. The Heart of Winter—my objective, the artifact I needed to claim to complete my trial.
The Winter King reached the base of the stairs and looked up at us, his gaze moving from face to face.
"Visitors. How unexpected. It has been... some time since anyone completed the trials."
I'd planned what I might say in this moment. Some challenge or demand, perhaps, or a question about the curse that held Frostfall in its grip. But standing before him, words seemed inadequate, almost blasphemous in the face of such ancient power.
The Winter King ascended three steps—not approaching fully, but reducing the distance between us. Frost spread from where his feet touched the stone, delicate patterns radiating outward like living things.
"You," he said, turning his attention to Joran. "I know your blood. Your uncle stood where you stand now, a decade past. Torsten, was it not?"
Joran stiffened beside me. "How do you know his name?"
"I know all who enter my domain," the Winter King replied. "Just as I know you are Joran, son of Kalen—the man who now serves in my Frozen Court." He gestured toward the kneeling Reflectors. "Your father was brave. Foolish, but brave. Such qualities are... useful to me."
"Don't speak of him," Joran hissed, his hand tightening on his knife.
"Why not? He wishes to speak to you." The Winter King turned his unsettling gaze to the ranks of Reflectors. "Rise, Knight. Greet your son."
One of the armored Reflectors—not the one wearing Laina's father's armor, but another near the front—rose fluidly to its feet. It approached, its mirrored face catching our reflections and distorting them into expressions of terror I refused to feel.
When it spoke, the voice that emerged was human—a man's voice, rough with emotion and achingly familiar to Joran, judging by his shocked expression.
"My son," the Reflector said. "You've grown strong."
Joran took an involuntary step backward. "You're not my father."
"But I am," the creature insisted, its voice perfectly mimicking what must have been Kalen's tones. "I've waited so long to see you again. To tell you how proud I am of the man you've become."
"Stop this," I snapped, unable to watch the cruel manipulation any longer. "Whatever game you're playing, we're not interested."
The Winter King's attention shifted to me, those storm-filled eyes narrowing slightly. "No game, visitor. Merely a reunion long overdue." He tilted his head, studying me with uncomfortable intensity. "You... are not of Frostfall. Your essence resonates differently."
"I'm here for the Heart," I said bluntly, nodding toward the crystal in his hands. "Not conversation."
A sound like cracking ice emerged from the Winter King—laughter, I realized. "Direct. Refreshing." His gaze moved to Laina. "And you, daughter of flame. Have you nothing to say to your father?"
The Reflector wearing the golden pendant stepped forward, its mirrored face showing Laina her own tear-streaked reflection.
"My beautiful girl," it said in a voice that made Laina's breath catch. "Look how you've grown."
"No," she whispered, backing away. "You're not him. My father is dead."
"Not dead," the Winter King corrected, descending another step. "Transformed. Preserved. As all things in my realm are preserved." He gestured around the chamber. "This is my gift to Frostfall—eternal preservation, freedom from decay, from death, from the ravages of time."
"It's not a gift," I countered. "It's a curse. You've stolen their lives, their warmth, everything that made them human."
The Winter King regarded me with those empty eyes. "Human? What is human but a brief flame, extinguished almost as soon as it's lit? I offer permanence. Eternity. The perfect stillness of winter that never ends."
"Nobody wants that," I said, advancing a step down the stairs. The daggers in my hands responded to my anger—Heartseeker growing warmer, Frostbite colder. "You've trapped these people in a living death because you were afraid to face your own mortality."
The temperature dropped again, frost crackling across the steps as the Winter King's mood darkened. "You know nothing of what I've done, or why."
"I don't give a fuck," I replied, taking another step. "And I'm through with talking."