The ride back to Aqualis Citadel was filled with an uneasy silence. Twenty-seven Frostguard—each bearing the sorrow of their fallen comrades—moved in disciplined ranks, their Glacier Steeds traversing the paths across Aquindor's frost-bitten plains. The skies stretched clear, yet an unspoken weight pressed upon everyone's spirits. Although they had managed to snatch victory from the clutches of death, it felt empty without any true answers.
Lieutenant Varis led from the front, his frost-tinged cape billowing in the biting wind. He couldn't rid himself of the memory of a certain blackened crystal, carved with mysterious runes, that he had retrieved from a fissure. Then there were the lesser shards, found among the ashes of those fiery beasts—silent mementos of a power none of them fully comprehended. Every clash flashed through his mind, from the surge of elemental energy down to his final, desperate blows. The monsters strength alone was chilling, yet the lack of clarity only made it worse.
As they continued, Varis's thoughts drifted to the ranks of those who bore arms across Ilyrion. Warriors and swordsmen were countless, their blades as numerous as the stars scattered across the night sky. Yet, those who could sense the flow of elemental magic were far rarer—a gift that set them apart. To master such power and wield it with precision was an even greater rarity, reserved for the truly exceptional.
Among them, Ilyrion's ranking system brought order to the chaos. At the most basic level were the Neophytes, novices learning under the watchful eyes of their mentors. A step above were the Exemplars, hardened through trial yet still distant from true mastery. The Adepts, like the Frostguard, stood among those who had honed their craft to a fine edge, blending weaponry and elemental magic with remarkable skill. Beyond them rose the Luminaries, seasoned warriors like Varis himself, whose mastery of combat and magic earned them the trust to guide and lead others.
His mind wandered further, picturing the fabled Masters—those so skilled that entire fields of battle might shift under their prowess—and even the mythic Grandmasters, whose very presence shaped the path of wars. Rumour claimed that Alden Veyne, Aquindor's Supreme Commander, dwelled at that pinnacle. At the apex, though, were the fabled Sovereigns, who possessed the power to topple entire nations with a single stroke. Considering how three Adepts had been lost in a single skirmish, Varis understood just how perilous this new threat really was.
Their spirits remained subdued as the spires of Aeloria emerged on the horizon. Ordinarily, it'd bring them relief, but now the hush of dread lay thick around them. They passed through the city gates without a word, the sound of hooves striking frost-laden stones the only reminder of their approach. The imposing spires of Aqualis Citadel soon rose into view, their stone walls etched with centuries of frost, seeming to loom higher than ever—grave sentinels to the Kingdom's uncertain fate.
Upon arrival, Varis oversaw the steading of their Glacier Steeds and safeguarded the items they'd collected. He lingered to pay his respects to the makeshift stretchers that carried the three Adepts who would never again ride at his side. The weight of those losses clung to him like a chill that refused to leave. When finally he gathered his notes for the Council, there was no escaping the thought of how steeply these beasts had exacted their price.
By protocol, a Lieutenant would normally brief a superior, but Supreme Commander Alden Veyne demanded Varis's testimony directly this time.
As Varis passed through the towering gates of Aqualis Citadel, his gaze was drawn upward to the banner of Aquindor, hung high atop the citadel. Its deep blue and icy silver hues rippled against the ever-present wind, the sigil of the kingdom visible even from afar: a frost-encased bastion at its center, encircled by a wreath of frozen branches. Above it, a majestic snowflake crowned the emblem, symbolizing eternal frost and resilience. Beneath the sigil, a glowing flame encased in ice stood as a solemn reminder of the kingdom's greatest sacrifice and the enduring spirit of Lady Ilyana.
Etched along the banner's edge was the kingdom's timeless motto: "Eternal as the Frost, Unyielding as the Bastion." Varis found himself lingering on the words, their meaning gnawing at his thoughts. Aquindor had weathered trials since it's founding that should have broken it, losses that cut deeper than the frost—but now, even its storied strength seemed insufficient.
His fingers brushed the pouch containing the carved crystal, a silent weight pressing against his side. The monsters they had faced defied reason, their power alien and incomprehensible. Could they truly remain unyielding against a force they barely understand?
The corridors of the Citadel stretched before him, despite the familiar chill, something gnawed at Varis's insides, an intangible anxiety he couldn't quite banish. No solace came as he walked. He could feel the carved crystal's presence in his pouch, its silent whisper of otherworldly intent. Several smaller black shards had also been found in the monsters' remains, adding to his growing certainty that a powerful, hidden force lay at the root of these events.
Inside the grand council chamber, High Steward Thalyra Frostsong presided at the head of a long oak table leaning on the high back chair, while the other council members sat in their respective places. Among them Alden Veyne sat to one side, a reminder of both his rank and his reputed Grandmaster prowess. Kael Ashmere and Lady Eryndra Vale were in attendance, eyes alert as they regarded Varis—and, more importantly, the evidence he carried. Prominent on the table lay an unusually large black crystal, faintly pulsing with an otherworldly glow, its strange markings shimmering under the Citadel's luminescent glow.
Thalyra's gaze fell upon varis, her tone measured yet resonant in the hall, addressed him with a level voice. "Lieutenant, we've read your preliminary reports, but we require your unfiltered account. Proceed."
Varis offered a brisk salute. "High Steward, Supreme Commander," he began. Though steady, his voice carried an undercurrent of urgency. "We confronted creatures near the southern border—fiery, shadow-like beasts unlike anything we've ever seen. Even though every member of the Frostguard is an Adept in elemental combat, we lost three of our own. These monsters shifted between solid flesh and dancing flames and made organized attacks, not blind rushes." He paused, recalling the chaos. "We managed victory only by capitalizing on a narrow opening with precision strikes from our ice-forged weapons."
He drew out a smaller black shard from his pouch and placed it on the table. "We found crystals like these amid the ashes of their remains. They radiate an unpleasant, oppressive energy." He then gestured to the larger crystal. "That particular one, though, was retrieved from within a fissure. It's covered in intricate carvings and has a faint silver glow that enhances the etchings. It feels alive, or bound to some vast power i can't yet understand."
Alden's grim voice carried across the chamber. "Lieutenant, do you suspect the fissures and monsters are a mere happenstance or a fraction of something larger?"
Varis remembered the terrifying onslaught that had nearly broken his squad. "They acted with a focus that felt deliberate. I suspect this is only the beginning."
Kael Ashmere leaned forward, voice tinged with worry. "We've seen fissures in the north before, but never like this—layers of crystal, monstrous forms, strange carvings. Could they be tied to the Trilok Sangharsh? If so, alerting our neighbouring Kingdoms and considering alliances might be prudent."
Shifting his gaze to Alden, Varis answered, "It might be connected. If these creatures are remenants—or minions—of a force awakened from that war we can't underestimate their reach. Even at my level, as a Luminary, I found their numbers and coordination overwhelming."
Alden's expression hardened. "The Trilok Sangharsh left scars that never fully healed. If this new menace springs from those remnants—or heralds something else—we'll need more than the usual defenses."
Lady Eryndra, her fingers steepled, spoke up. "We must respond, but let's not create widespread panic just yet. Our Frostguard has succeeded once. Let's expand our knowledge before taking bold steps."
Thalyra, her silvery-white hair catching the luminescent glow, inclined her head and declared, "I agree. However, if more fissures materialize, we may have to reconsider alliances. At present, I'm mandating that these crystals—especially the carved one—be sent to Archmage Elorith at the Mage Tower for urgent examination. We need thorough research and immediate findings."
She turned her gaze to Varis. "Lieutenant Varis, continue your inquiries, gathering any new evidence. We can't afford ignorance. Time is critical."
He saluted crisply. "At once, High Steward. We'll maintain vigilance."
She looked around. "If there's nothing else, this council is adjourned."
Even as the council members dispersed, a tense hush lingered. Varis lingered by the larger crystal for a moment, unsettled by the silence of its pulse, then finally turned away making his way to the courtyard. The corridors stretched lonely before him. Outside, in the courtyard, a cluster of Frostguard awaited, their eyes, full of unspoken questions, mirrored his own anxieties. Beyond them, ice-laden settlements loomed, and the sky had darkened into a silent spread of starlight.
Varis exhaled, even as a Luminary, he suspected that if the threat intensified, they might require the aid of Masters, Grandmasters, or—gods forbid—Sovereigns. The mere thought of such power invoked both awe and dread.
He paused at the main gate, greeting the icy wind that stung his cheeks and forced him back to the present. Overhead, a clear canopy of stars winked down, offering little solace. Varis rubbed the hilt of his frost-forged sword, remembering how easily those monstrous creatures had taken three Adepts.
A quiet voice inside him insisted that resilience alone might not be enough. The uneasy sense of a storm gathering threatened to overshadow Aquindor's storied defenses.
"We survived the first clash," he murmured to no one in particular, "but there's more to come, and it's going to be far greater than a single battle."
Somewhere in the vast snowy fields stretching into darkness, a new menace stirred, and all of Aquindor's might would soon be put to the test.