Two weeks had passed since the failed mission at the Tainia stronghold.
Marshall sat on the thin floor mattress in the temporary disciple hall inside the Chastity Tower. Leaving the tower was prohibited. Exploring the tower was prohibited. But staying in the same hall was boring.
Wyn's family had their own floor, so Marshall couldn't ask the snow deity what he knew about Lou Yumei and the sabotaged mission. If the disciple had known this would happen, he would've asked sooner.
Meanwhile, Sun Hayden was retelling the stories he had heard from the other disciples. After the third tale, Lai Rylan began working on the skill of rolling his eyes all the way to the back of his head before his patience thinned.
"Would it kill you to stay quiet for five minutes? You've been talking nonstop. My head hurts," Lai Rylan muttered, dragging Sun Hayden to lie down. "Take a nap or something."
"I'm not sleepy, and there's nothing else to do!" Sun Hayden defended himself, then cast a glance at Marshall.
He gave the zoned-out disciple a push, "Marsh, are you sick of me talking too?"
"Eh?" Marshall lifted his head from the mattress, earning a pouting expression. "Huh? Oh, I'm listening, keep going."
"Never mind. I'll go talk to someone who cares," Sun Hayden got up, yellow robes stirring the air in frustration as he walked across the hall.
Marshall watched him go with a guilty blink. He exchanged an awkward glance with Lai Rylan and flopped back on the mattress.
They were left lying there all day, nothing to do, nowhere to go.
After a few minutes of long sighs, Marshall unfurled like a starfish, stretching every muscle in his body.
Lai Rylan rolled to the side as Marshall rose to his feet. "Where are you going?"
"To take a look around the other floors," the disciple responded, not bothering to hide his true intentions.
"Breaking rules for fun? You got nothing better to do?" Lai Rylan questioned sarcastically.
"I'll be fine as long as you don't snitch on me," Marshall quipped, leaving.
He stealthily crossed the hall, sneaking out of the area dedicated to disciples. A marbled staircase stopped him.
"Up or down...?" he murmured under his breath, wondering which floor he should explore.
The sound of voices traveled up from below. Marshall reflexively leapt up a few stairs, moving to a higher floor in order to avoid running into anyone. Then, he recognized one of the voices and halted.
Caught in the clutches of curiosity, Marshall cautiously headed down a few sets of stairs, staying on his toes to make no sound.
Once he was right above the floor the voices were coming from, he grabbed onto the railing for support and poked his head out to see what was going on.
From where he was standing, he could see a part of a sterile-looking, white hall.
Wyn's back was turned to the staircase, but Marshall could see Lord Chioni's face. Narrow, disapproving eyes bore into the snow deity. The corners of his thin lips were tilted up into a calculating expression of peace.
"Must I remind you that the person you executed was an official of the Chasity Tower? You and I both know it was an impulsive decision..."
"...however, I need you to admit it so we can move on. One must acknowledge his mistakes in order to improve," Lord Chioni urged.
Even though Marshall could only see Wyn's back, the tension in his shoulders was palpable. His fingers were seemingly wrapping around an invisible sword as if preparing for a battle.
"It was not a mistake. I would do it again if I had to. Demonic presence should not be tolerated."
Marshall scratched his head. It didn't seem like they were talking about the recently failed mission.
Lord Chioni smirked impassively, staring down Wyn. Even though Marshall wasn't on the receiving end of the chilling glare, he couldn't help but shudder.
"If you wish to retain your title as the Young Lord Chioni, you will have to tolerate much more than demonic presence..."
"...or do you expect to gain power without sacrificing your comfort? Do not be foolish, such a thing is impossible to achieve."
Wyn's hand twitched at Lord Chioni's words. Marshall could only imagine how severe of an expression the snow deity must have been wearing.
As if to answer his thought, Lord Chioni scolded his son, "Control yourself. No one will respect you if you let your emotions show on your face so blatantly."
With that, Lord Chioni turned on his heel and walked towards the staircase. Marshall's heart almost dropped to his stomach. He managed to quietly lean back, freezing on the stairs.
Slow, steady steps made their way down, leaving the snow deity alone in the hall. The disciple slowly peered down again, watching Lord Chioni's white-robed back walk down a few sets of stairs before disappearing from sight.
Wyn didn't stand there for too long either. He didn't even turn around, forcing out a sigh and walking out of Marshall's perspective. A click of a door shutting echoed.
The disciple waited a little longer, then tip-toed down the stairs and entered the white hall. It was wrapped in pale tones, much like a place of eternal winter. The rich rays of the setting sun entered through the windows, making the walls shimmer like the surface of freshly fallen snow.
The temperature was so low that Marshall could even see handfuls of spiritual snow drifting along the marbled floor, piling up in the corners.
With careful steps, the disciple passed a few doors, slightly leaning forward like a thief. The sound of his steps still echoed slightly.
Why were there so many doors? Did one family really need over a dozen rooms?
While Marshall had been distracted by counting them, one of the doors opened. His hair bounced in surprise, and he swiftly slid behind one of the columns.
The column was cold to touch, and the longer his hands remained on it, he noticed an oddly familiar stinging sensation. But by the time he spotted the frosty swirls on the surface of the column, it was too late.
Spiritual frost. A string of curses ran through his head, as he tried to pull away, but couldn't.
He was frozen to the column the same way his hand had been frozen to Cheimon. Yet, this time he couldn't run anywhere. That is, unless he figured out a way to lift the column and make a dash for it.