When Sorn opened his eyes, he found himself in a vast and unknown chamber. Before him stood five frozen thrones, tall and grim. Only three of them were occupied, and Sorn watched for a moment as they chatted amongst each other before turning his head. Beside Sorn, Toren shifted, his face pale and sharp. His smirk was as faint, mocking and silent as he raised a single finger to his lips just as Sorn was about to speak. The wound across Sorn’s chest throbbed, his wound searing.

"Keep silent if you wish to keep breathing," Toren murmured, his threatening words spoken as soft as falling snow.

Rage flared in Sorn, recent defeat and pain leading to an emotional state. But he swallowed it down, his gaze slipping to the far end of the hall, where Crystal stood. She was speaking to Keilan, her eyes flashing with anxiety. Keilan, in turn, watched her with a stone-faced expression.

One by one, figures began to file into the hall, their faces gleaming with barely hidden curiosity. Whispers rose, a rustle like dead leaves, as they took their places to witness the trial. Some lined up to Sorn’s left or right, but most took their place in a crowd behind. At last, Varian rose from his throne, his cloak heavy. His eyes fell upon Sorn with the cold scrutiny of a hunter. To him, Sorn was nothing but a nuisance.

Varian’s relentless voice rumbled through the hall. The murmurs grew silent the moment he spoke. “I hear you have the tongue of our land, Outsider. Is that so?”

Sorn’s eyes met his, steady as a blade held to his throat. “Yes.”

Varian’s gaze drifted to Toren, and he gave a single nod. “Then proceed. Tell the Ninth Council of your doings, Toren.”

Toren's words echoed through the hall as he recapped the recent events. Each syllable was dramatically calculated to elicit gasps and conversation. His recount of the capture painted him as a valiant hunter, speaking with pauses as he savored his tale. His lips curled with disdain as he gestured toward Sorn. “Unremarkable,” he scoffed, “a mere wretch with neither wit nor strength to match me.”

Sorn thought that Toren’s account would end here, but Toren's smirk broadened. The words he spoke now were louder now. “This boy,” he continued, “fell from a meteor in the sky. And not only did he survive, no. He was harbored by the Princess and the Sacrifice.” He paused, his gaze flicking over the Council, ensuring every pair of eyes was fixed on him. “Moreover, he possesses a strange power, and should it grow unchecked, it could be of potential threat to the Order.”

The hall broke into murmurs, and most faces were drawn with unease. Varian did bother trying to silence the crowd, but the moment he straightened in his seat, the chatter fell away.

Varian’s gaze turned first to Keilan. “And what do you say of this? This boy, this Outsider, was given shelter under your roof?”

Keilan’s face was a mask of indifference, each word a lazy drawl. “None of this involved me, my lord. By the time my impetuous sister decided to throw herself into the unknown, I was already returning to the Fortress. She made no mention of her intentions to me.”

Sorn knew that Keilan’s words were gilded lies, but with only Crystal and himself possessing this knowledge, none attempted to challenge the fib. Varian’s sharp gaze lingered on Keilan for a long, searching moment, as though he too sensed the layers beneath the prince’s nonchalance. “Is that so?” he asked.

Keilan’s reply was undeterred. “Yes, my Lord.” The tension was apparent between the two, a brittle string, until Varian shifted his gaze to Crystal.

“And you,” he said, “Princess, or I should say, future Empress, though one would not think it from your foolishness. This Fortress may one day be yours, but today it is mine. Under the sickness of your father, it is I who will see that it is kept safe. Did you truly think you were above consequences? Or are you simply reckless?”

Crystal's shoulders hunched, and her gaze dropped to the floor. The hall watched, the silence thick, until an unexpected thud echoed across the chamber. All eyes turned to the throne on Varian’s right, where Freyja, the Freezing Heart, sat, her cold beauty attracting all surrounding eyes. She had struck an ice-crafted needle against the floor, letting it break upon the impact.

“You forget yourself, Varian.” The leader of the Dancing Blade spoke coldly, her blue eyes gleaming as she leaned forward, “You are here to judge with fairness, not berate children like some bitter father. And I will do you the honor of warning you now. If you continue to hurl insults at the Princess, you may find yourself regretting it.” Her words were a challenge, and the audience was silent as they anticipated Varian’s response.

Varian held her gaze, but after a beat of silence, he turned back to Crystal, lips pursed. “Go on then, girl. Tell us your story.”

To Sorn’s surprise, Crystal was truthful as she spoke, laying out the tale without embellishment or excuse. She explained how she had found Sorn near the meteor’s crater and how she had offered him shelter out of compassion. She made no mention of Keilan, and omitted their adventure in the cave, but was otherwise honest. “As for these supposed powers,” she said, glancing at Toren, her future husband, “I have seen no such thing. He is a stranger in our land, yes, but I see no threat in him. He remembers only his name and tongue, and beyond that, his memories are nonexistent.”

A snicker came from the throne at the very right end. Cedric, the Lord of Chains himself, leaned forward, his lank hair falling over his forehead. “Oh, is that so? “How convenient, don’t you think? The Outsider remembers his name and our language, yet claims all else is lost to him? One would almost think he’s a charlatan.”

Crystal bit her lip in a moment of raw frustration. Her gaze wandered for a brief moment, then finally came to rest on Varian. “All I ask of the Council,” she began, her voice shaking slightly, “is that you speak with him. He’s as lost in all of this as any of us. He deserves to be spared—”

But Cedric cut her off with a sneer. “Who gave you permission to make demands here, girl?” he spat. “Did we ask for your opinion? Was it not enough to recount your tale?”

This time, no one interrupted to defend her. Crystal, cheeks flushed, gave a stiff bow, her voice tight. “My apologies, my Lord,” she murmured, gaze averted. “I spoke out of turn.” Her eyes drifted away, finding neither Sorn nor any Council member.

Varian then turned his attention to Sorn. He cleared his throat, his tone scrutinizing. “Now, then. Sorn, is it? Can you confirm the story we’ve been told?”

Sorn’s gaze flitted to Crystal, then back to Varian. “Yes. Every word Crystal has spoken is true.”

From beside him, Toren let out a low, mocking chuckle, just loud enough for only Sorn to hear.

Varian nodded slowly . “Very well. Order, my brothers and sisters, has been the backbone of our land for centuries. It has kept us strong, has brought prosperity, and will be our greatest shield as we prepare for the ‘Promised Day’—a day that will come sooner than we can plink. We have lost much— recent events have made our ranks thinned—and yet now, from nowhere, this boy arrives with no past to explain.” He paused, letting the weight of his words settle like dust on the silent hall. “This kind of disruption cannot be tolerated. It is a wound upon the Order, one that will fester if we do not treat it properly.”

His gaze fell upon Sorn with a harsh, unyielding stare. “I propose we remove this threat before it grows,” he declared, his voice steady, almost casual. “His execution is the best path to restore balance.”

The words hung in the air, heavy and final. Words that were now aimed at Sorn’s very life.

This mention of the Order had made Bjorn stir for the first time, his eyes gleaming with a spark of disdain. The ;arge man let out a contemptuous laugh. “Bah! You Spears and your endless prattling on ancient traditions, you all talk as though there are icicles lodged up your asses!”

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Freyja spun a delicate ring of ice around her fingers. “I find myself believing my son,” she said coolly, glancing toward Toren. “But I will also trust the judgment of my future daughter-in-law. There are places to enforce the Order, Varian, but there are also times when chaos must be embraced. Killing a harmless and innocent boy is beneath this Council.”

Varian pressed on, ignoring Freyja completely. “Any other comments?” He scanned the Council, but none spoke. “Very well,” he continued, refusing to acknowledge anyone who had spoken against him. “All in favor of execution?”

Varian raised his hand first. Beside him, Cedric followed. No one else shared the sentiment, and Varian turned to glare at Lyra, who had not spoken a word until now. His former teammate looked up at Varian with quiet defiance. “I do not wish to see him killed,” she said simply.

Sorn felt a rush of relief. He glanced toward Crystal, and for the first time since the trial began, he saw a glint of hope in her eyes, which in turn gave him the same feeling.

Varian’s gaze narrowed, and as he moved his gaze over to Bjorn, the Marauder shrugged lazily from his seat, letting out a yawn. “Because it doesn’t matter,” he said, his words a careless drawl. “Outsider or not, the boy lost a fight to that little twink,” he nodded towards Toren, whose face twisted in scorn. “Hidden abilities or not, he’s no threat to our cause. Kill him, keep him alive—nothing will change.” The man looked almost disappointed with how this trial had gone.

Varian seized on the remark, his confidence swelling. “Well then. It appears Bjorn’s simplicity has, for once, served the Order. The vote is tied.” He paused, savoring the moment. “And when the council is split, we defer to the Emperor for a final ruling. As the Emperor is ill, I, head of the Council, shall make that ruling.”

A spear of ice formed above Varian’s head, and it aimed itself toward Sorn. The weapon hovered, shimmering as Varian raised a hand. From the corner of his eye, Sorn saw Keilan seize Crystal’s arm, holding her back as she strained forward, eyes wide with desperation.

“Sorry, boy,” Varian murmured, his voice heavy. “You die here.”

Sorn closed his eyes, bracing himself for the end. The council, the bitter faces, the bitterer words—all seemed to fade. A strange calm settled over him. He had known his fate since the moment he had awakened in this hostile room. But just as he surrendered, a heavy silence fell over the hall, and a shadow moved in front of him.

Opening his eyes, Sorn saw a figure standing before him—a boy he hadn’t noticed before. The boy was sturdy, with cropped blue hair and a fierce stare that met the Council without flinching. Even Varian seemed taken aback.

“Oden, what is the meaning of this?” Varian demanded, his voice betraying the fury simmering.

Oden held his ground, his voice resonant as he addressed the five great people before him. “O Council members, heed my words,” he paused, letting his words carry a boldness that made the onlookers lean in, drawn by his conviction. “You call this boy a threat, yet you dismiss the very signs that might explain his presence here. He fell from the skies. He is not some wanderer from a dead society to the South. You think his fractured memory is suspicious, yet that alone is proof of his origin.”

This was the longest the Council had been silent.

“This boy,” Oden continued, “was sent to us by the Gods. It is Seraph’s will that he is here, a gift sent to aid us in the battle of the Promised Day! Killing him would be to spit in the face of that divine will, to cast aside the very hand that might grant us victory.”

A rumble of chains disrupted Oden’s speech, the heavy clanking echoing ominously through the hall as Cedric shifted, his gaze now fixed on Oden with a malevolent gleam. "Insolent fool," he spat, his voice cutting through the room like a whip. “You are beneath even the girl who dared speak out of turn, yet here you stand, spewing drivel as though our holy council were some pit for jester's tricks.” His contempt flared with each word, and he was so animated that he had risen halfway from his seat.

Bjorn raised a brow, and though he remained calm, his tone was no less dangerous. “Tread carefully, Cedric. The boy you scorn is my nephew. Disrespect my blood, and you’ll pay with the lives of yours.”

The threat was preposterous by any sensible measure—none in their right mind would slaughter an entire clan over a single insult—but it was enough to shut Cedric’s mouth. He scoffed, slumping back into his chair with a scowl.. Bjorn then leaned forward for the first time, his attention fully on his nephew. “This boy speaks on my behalf. Continue, Oden.”

Oden inclined his head, grateful yet undaunted. “Councilors, I offer an accord,” he declared, carrying the conviction of a zealot preaching gospel. “In two weeks’ time, we face the Night of Prophecy, followed by the Tournament. Allow the Marauders to house the boy, to sharpen whatever skills he may possess. Toren claims he’s gifted with a power unlike any we’ve seen. This is something worth testing. The Pythia, as you know, will never ignore a sign from the skies. They will surely have something to say about this matter in two week’s time.”

A smile played at the corner of Oden’s mouth, and he turned to face his uncle, who grinned back like a madman. “And if the boy fails in the Tournament, if he proves unworthy or weak? We can dispose of him like the fodder he is, no harm done.”

Bjorn threw back his head and laughed, a sound as fierce and unforgiving as a storm breaking across the cliffs. “You never fail to impress me, boy! A brilliant idea!”

Varian’s gaze tightened, though he couldn’t entirely mask his intrigue. His icy spear still hovered above Sorn, casting a large shadow across the Outsider’s face. “I admire your cunning,” he admitted, his voice laced with reluctant respect. “But cleverness alone does not erase the threat that lies before us. If this boy was given to us by the Gods, then surely they would not allow us to kill him so easily.” The spear dipped lower, its lethal tip a single command from Sorn’s brow.

Oden held his breath, his argument seemingly spent. Sorn felt the crushing weight of Varian’s verdict closing in around him, the inevitability of death looming.

But then a ripple went through the hall—a collective intake of breath as every person in the room, including the Council members, suddenly knelt, their heads bowed as if compelled by an unseen force.

“Good afternoon, Emperor,”

Varian intoned, his voice tight and controlled. “What brings you out of bed to be here?”

Sorn’s heart raced. Emperor?

He turned, and the crowd parted, murmurs spreading as a frail, stooped figure shuffled through the hall’s center. The Emperor’s robes trailed behind him like frost on the ground, and in his grasp was an ice staff keeping him upright. His hair was white as snow, save for a few strands of pale blue that hinted at the once-vibrant man he must have been. The crown, studded with sapphire gems, sat heavily on his brow, but it was his eyes—piercing and knowing, the gaze of a man who had seen countless generations rise and fall—that silenced even Varian.

“Rise,” the Emperor commanded softly, and though his voice was faint as a whisper, the room rose at once. The Emperor’s words fell like snowflakes, gentle yet bearing a chill that lingered. He looked to Varian, his gaze sharp as shattered ice. “It seems, Varian, that your enthusiasm for our sacred traditions has pushed this Council toward unseemly haste.”

He addressed Varian as he spoke. “Winter ends soon, and with it comes Spring. It will thaw the ice from our hearts of ignorance. With it will seep in compassion and understanding. Varian, it seems our time apart has polluted your mind. The Order you speak of is one made by both mine and your ancestor. The first Emperor and his Spear Aelon and Aethril. They did it to honor the Great Seraph’s name.”

Sorn had no idea what he was talking about.

“Yet here, you deny a snowflake that he granted us.” The Emperor slowly lifted up his arm, pointing his finger at Sorn. This was the first time the Emperor acknowledged his existence. “It is through beautiful snowflakes that we can create a beautiful blanket of snow. Once again, your haste blinds you Varian. Where you see poison, I can only see a light chosen by my daughter herself.” The Emperor gave a gentle smile to Crystal, whose face was painted with shock.

“But surely, even in these times of peril, you will not allow a potential threat to the Order?” Varian didn’t even try to hide his frustration.

“Your worry is well thought,” the Emperor calmly replied. “But to deny a sign of the sky violates the core mandate we follow. The young man earlier gave a proposition that I agree with. The Prophecy will decide the Outsider’s fate.”

“You… were listening the whole time?” Varian asked, defeated.

“I’m always listening, Varian.”

With the Emperor’s words, the balance of power shifted. In the event of a tie, it was the Emperor’s decree that held sway, and just like that, Sorn found himself granted a reprieve—though he could scarcely believe it. Yet, before he could fully process his newfound freedom, Oden strode forth, flanked by a girl whose muscular frame and determined gaze marked her as no ordinary attendant.

“Quick,” Oden said urgently, "We must leave immediately."