The moon hung low over the canopy of twisted trees, casting long shadows across the frozen terrain, their sinuous silhouettes stretching like ghostly fingers across the snow. The forest, known in fearful whispers as Elrien's Maw, was infamous—not merely for its relentless chill, but for the eldritch enchantments that slumbered beneath its ancient, snow-laden soil. The place breathed dread and mystery in equal measure. Few dared enter its icy clutches. Fewer still returned unscarred. But Ais had no choice. Her next lead—perhaps the final piece of the puzzle that could shift the tide of war—lay hidden deep within the Maw, and every labored step she took bore not just the hope of her people, but the unyielding echo of her parents' vanished legacy.
Behind her, the companions she'd begun to trust—Leor, Serin, Kael, and the silent-eyed archer Nyra—moved with a determination honed by shared hardship. Each of them bore scars, physical and otherwise. From the brutal siege at Valehollow to the phantom ambush in the cursed Mirror Glades, they had endured more in recent weeks than many knights did in lifetimes. But something had shifted after their incendiary strike on the enemy's vital supply caravans. They no longer trailed a monarch—they marched with a battle-scarred soul whose grief now mirrored their own.
The cold bit deeper than skin, gnawed at their resolve like a living thing. Even with Serin's magical wards lining their path like spectral lanterns, the forest pressed against them, oppressive and hungry. Trees creaked and moaned as if mourning centuries of forgotten dead, their frost-covered limbs clawing at the wind. Ais forged ahead, her breath a silver cloud, her eyes scanning the twisted terrain with unwavering vigilance. Her jaw clenched with both focus and fire.
Then came a sound—not human. A cry, raw and primal, ruptured the silence. It was neither beast nor wind, but something torn from a throat not meant for this world.
Everyone froze.
Kael instinctively raised his sword, its edge gleaming with moonlight. "What was that?"
Nyra was already in motion, loosing an arrow into the shadows. It vanished into the dark with a whistle, followed by a gurgled, choking growl.
"They've found us," she whispered grimly, drawing another arrow.
From the forest's depths surged the Tainted—ghastly remnants of humans twisted by malevolent sorcery. Their eyes gleamed with feral amber light, limbs grotesquely misshapen, moving with disjointed yet chilling purpose. They poured out like a flood of nightmares, a horde shaped by suffering.
Ais stepped forward, her boots encased in swiftly forming ice. With a fierce sweep of her hand, a jagged wave of frost erupted, impaling the first line of the Tainted in a barricade of crystal spikes. The rest roared forward—only to meet Leor's twin blades, whirling like storms, and Serin's booming incantations, each word striking like a thunderclap.
"Protect the circle!" Ais cried above the chaos. "We hold them here—no matter the cost!"
Time lost meaning. They battled through exhaustion, each heartbeat a war drum. Ice cracked, fire roared, arrows danced through the bitter air. Screams blended with spells. Steel rang against bone. And at last, when the final Tainted fell in a heap of steaming viscera, silence returned so suddenly it stung their ears.
They stood amid mist and frozen blood, chests heaving, eyes wide with the hollow aftermath of survival.
"That wasn't random," Leor muttered, wiping gore from his blade. "They were guarding something."
Ais looked deeper into the Maw, her breath steadying. "Then we're near. Stay sharp."
—
At the heart of Elrien's Maw lay a shrine so ancient it seemed to hum with forgotten voices—a circle of cracked black ice, partially buried under centuries of snow, surrounding a low pedestal that shimmered with ghostly light. Runes, older than spoken language, pulsed across the surface in serpentine spirals.
"It's a covenant seal," Serin murmured, wonder in his voice. "This... this was forged by the First Queens themselves."
Ais stepped forward, heartbeat hammering. The pedestal pulled at her—not with force, but with memory. Within its glow, she saw moments flicker: her mother's joyous laughter, her father's firm hand guiding her first sword stroke, the night the skies burned with fire and dread...
She pressed her palm to the icy stone. Light exploded outward in a blinding surge.
The world melted away.
Suddenly she stood atop a vast frozen lake, beneath a sky devoid of stars. Wind howled like mourning spirits. And ahead—awaited a figure cloaked in majesty. Tall. Regal. Eyes as endless as time.
"You've come," the figure spoke, voice like wind over snow. "At last."
Ais felt her soul tremble beneath the weight of history. "Who are you?"
"I am Aralyn—the First Flame, the First Frost. Your blood. Your beginning. And I am here to test your worth."
"What must I do?"
"Endure," came the answer.
The ice beneath her cracked. Fire screamed from the heavens. Shadows with her brother's voice and her mother's scream lunged at her. But Ais fought—not just with the freezing fire of her hands, but with the iron of her will. She endured visions of betrayal, suffered illusions of failure, stood within storms of her deepest grief.
When she had no more strength to resist—she chose to stand still.
And the tempest faded.
Aralyn stepped forward, gaze softened by ancient understanding. "You carry the heart of ice, the soul of flame. You are worthy."
From within her robes she drew a blade—Elethryn, etched in runes and radiant starlight.
"This is the blade of balance. It chooses not the strongest, but the truest. Take it, Queen Ais."
As her hand clasped the hilt, power coursed through her. Not brute force—but clarity. A truth sharpened into purpose.
She gasped.
And the vision broke.
She stood once more at the shrine's edge, her companions circling her in stunned silence. The pedestal had vanished. But in her grip, Elethryn pulsed with quiet fire.
Kael dropped to one knee. "My Queen."
Ais looked up. Above them, the clouds parted, revealing stars like beacons.
The night no longer felt as dark.
They had the blade. They had hope.
But the war had only just begun.
And her greatest trial lay ahead.