After their grueling journey through the Frostspire Mountains, Caelum, Lyra, and Garik found themselves resting in a secluded cave, the warmth of the hearth offering them temporary solace from the world's icy grasp. The Frostborn, though fierce and stoic, had granted them shelter for the night as a sign of respect after their success in the Trial of Ice.
Caelum sat near the fire, the shard placed carefully beside him. He felt the pulsating warmth of its energy, but the cursed sword within him still murmured—a constant reminder of the darkness creeping at the edges of his soul.
Lyra was sharpening her blades, a quiet determination in her movements. "You did well, Caelum," she said, breaking the silence.
Caelum met her gaze. "We did well, all of us."
"I wasn't sure if you could resist it," Garik chimed in from across the room. "The sword... it's insidious. It knows what you fear."
Caelum clenched his fists, feeling the weight of Garik's words. The cursed sword had tested his every limit. But the warmth of the shard reminded him of his true purpose—something greater than the lure of power. "I won't let it control me," he vowed softly.