The descent from the shrine was both a relief and a test of patience. The narrow path twisted and turned along jagged cliffs, the frosty air biting at our exposed skin. Each step away from the shrine’s oppressive energy felt like coming up for air after being underwater for too long.

Despite the heaviness of the battle we’d just survived, there was an undercurrent of relief that ran through the group. Ecclesion had been driven from the shrine, and the Frostblades would have no choice but to acknowledge our success.

Still, the tension lingered.

“You know,” Farron said, breaking the quiet as he stepped carefully over a loose rock, “if we keep taking out shrines like that, we should really start charging admission. ‘Come see the Chosen One! Watch him fight glowing maniacs and smash ancient artifacts!’”

“Sounds lucrative,” Orin muttered, his expression flat. “But I’d rather not turn this into a career.”

“Come on,” Farron said with a grin. “A little profit never hurt anyone. We could call it Chosen One’s Greatest Hits. Sell tickets. Make T-shirts.”

“Do you even know what a T-shirt is?” I asked, raising an eyebrow.

He shrugged. “No idea. But it sounds like something people would buy.”

Jessa snorted softly, which was as close as she ever got to laughing. “Keep talking like that, and I’ll make you fight the next priest yourself.”

“Sure,” Farron said, smirking. “I’ll just challenge them to a poetry contest. That’ll buy us time.”

“Pretty sure Ecclesion doesn’t do poetry,” I said.

“They should,” Farron replied, grinning. “Might make them less murderous.”

The levity didn’t last long as we descended into the Frostblade territory. The winding path gave way to wide, frozen plains, the wind sweeping across the snow-dusted grass. In the distance, the Frostblade camp loomed, its tall wooden watchtowers casting long shadows in the fading light.

Toren and Ryla led the way, their expressions stoic as ever. But even they seemed lighter now, as if the victory at the shrine had given them a renewed sense of purpose.

When we reached the camp’s entrance, the guards nodded to Toren and Ryla before stepping aside to let us pass.

“Time to face Kordek,” Jessa said, her tone neutral but her posture tense.

“Great,” Farron muttered. “Because he’s such a ray of sunshine.”

The Frostblade leader was waiting for us in the center of the camp, standing near a roaring fire. His warriors gathered in a loose circle around him, their faces a mixture of curiosity and suspicion.

Kordek’s piercing blue eyes fixed on us as we approached. His expression gave nothing away, but the weight of his gaze was enough to make me stand straighter.

“You returned,” he said, his tone cold but measured. “And the shrine?”

“Clear,” Jessa said. “Ecclesion’s forces have been driven out.”

Kordek studied her for a moment before shifting his attention to me. “You led this effort?”

“I did,” I said, my voice steady despite the tension.

He stepped closer, his imposing frame casting a long shadow over the fire. “And what did you find there? What power does Ecclesion seek in my lands?”

“The shrine itself,” I said. “It’s tied to the Nexuses, to their control. Whatever they’re doing, it’s about more than just spreading their influence. They’re anchoring their power to places like that.”

Kordek’s expression darkened, and he glanced at Toren and Ryla. “You vouch for this?”

Toren nodded. “We saw it with our own eyes. The Chosen One speaks the truth.”

The Frostblade leader was silent for a long moment, the crackling fire the only sound. Then he nodded slowly.

“You’ve proven your strength,” Kordek said. “And your cause is just. The Frostblades will join the fight against Ecclesion—for now.”

“For now?” Farron muttered under his breath.

Kordek’s sharp gaze shifted to him. “Do not mistake this for blind loyalty. The Frostblades fight for survival. If your crusade endangers my people, I will not hesitate to pull back.”

“Understood,” Jessa said quickly, cutting off any retort Farron might have had.

That night, the Frostblades hosted a feast in our honor—or at least, their version of one. The food was simple but hearty: roasted meat, thick bread, and a bitter ale that burned on the way down.

For the first time in what felt like weeks, the mood was light. The Frostblades laughed and sang, their voices carrying through the cold night air. Even Jessa allowed herself a small smile as she sat near the fire, her dagger resting at her side.

Farron, of course, thrived in the chaos.

“So, you’re telling me you killed a bear with your bare hands?” he asked one of the warriors, his grin wide.

The man—a hulking figure with arms like tree trunks—nodded solemnly. “It was during the first frost. Food was scarce, and the beast was guarding the only game for miles.”

“And you just... punched it?” Farron asked, his eyes wide.

The warrior shrugged. “It’s not as hard as it sounds.”

Farron turned to me, his grin widening. “You hear that, Ash? Next time we run into trouble, just punch it.”

“I’ll keep that in mind,” I said dryly.

Ryla, who had been unusually quiet during the feast, approached me as the festivities wound down. She gestured toward the edge of the camp, where the wind carried faint whispers through the trees.

“Walk with me,” she said simply.

I followed her, the cold air biting at my face as we left the warmth of the fire behind.

“You did well at the shrine,” she said after a moment. “Better than I expected.”

“Thanks,” I said, unsure how to take the compliment.

“But this is only the beginning,” she continued. “Ecclesion’s power runs deep, and their influence will spread farther than these mountains if they aren’t stopped.”

“I know,” I said, gripping my dagger tightly. “That’s why I’m here.”

Ryla nodded, her sharp eyes fixed on the horizon. “The Frostblades will fight. But remember, alliances are fragile. If you falter, they will break.”

“I won’t falter,” I said, my voice firm.

She glanced at me, her expression unreadable. “For all our sakes, I hope you’re right.”

When we returned to the fire, the others were already settling in for the night. Farron was sprawled on a pile of furs, snoring softly, while Jessa leaned against a log, her eyes closed but her hand resting on her dagger.

I sat near the dying embers, staring into the faint glow of the coals.

The Frostblades had joined us, but it was clear their loyalty was conditional. And with Ecclesion growing stronger every day, there was little room for error.

As I stared into the embers, the weight of the task ahead settled heavily on my shoulders.

But for the first time in weeks, I felt a flicker of hope.

The Frostblades were with us.

The fire crackled softly as the camp settled into a tense quiet, the echoes of the Frostblade songs fading into the icy winds that howled through the mountains. I leaned back against a sturdy post near the edge of the gathering, watching the Frostblade warriors trickle away toward their shelters, their camaraderie tempered by the cold reality of war.

Jessa sat a few feet away, sharpening her blade in steady, rhythmic strokes. She hadn’t said much since Kordek’s declaration, but the tension in her posture spoke volumes.

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“You think they’ll stick with us?” I asked, breaking the silence.

She glanced at me, her expression unreadable. “For now. But like Kordek said, their loyalty depends on how useful we are. If we falter, they’ll pull back—and we can’t afford that.”

“Yeah, I got that vibe,” I said, staring into the fire. “It’s just... a lot.”

“It’s war, Ash,” she said bluntly. “It’s always a lot.”

Orin joined us, his movements as quiet as ever. He crouched near the fire, his knife in hand as he idly carved at a small piece of wood.

“You’re both overthinking it,” he said, not looking up from his work. “Kordek made his choice. For all his bluster, he knows Ecclesion’s a bigger threat than we are. He’s not stupid enough to turn on us unless he has to.”

“Comforting,” I said dryly.

“It should be,” he replied. “The Frostblades are fighters. As long as we keep winning, they’ll stay in the fight.”

“And if we stop winning?” I asked.

Orin glanced up, his dark eyes meeting mine. “Then we’re dead anyway.”

Farron, who had been uncharacteristically quiet, ambled over, his hands stuffed into the pockets of his worn coat.

“Well, aren’t we a cheerful bunch tonight,” he said, flopping down onto a log with exaggerated flair. “Come on, Ash, lighten up. We’ve got allies now, don’t we? That’s worth celebrating.”

I gave him a look. “You’re forgetting the part where they’ll ditch us if we make one wrong move.”

“Sure,” he said with a grin. “But that’s a problem for future-us. Right now, we’ve got a campfire, food in our bellies, and no one trying to kill us. That’s as good as it gets out here.”

Jessa rolled her eyes but didn’t argue.

Ryla and Toren approached, their heavy boots crunching on the frozen ground. Toren carried a small cask, which he set down near the fire with a thud.

“What’s that?” Farron asked, his interest piqued.

“Winter ale,” Toren said gruffly, opening the cask with a practiced motion. “Made from glacier barley. It’s strong enough to keep the cold at bay. For a while.”

“Now that is worth celebrating,” Farron said, eagerly grabbing a cup.

Ryla handed me one as well, her sharp eyes watching me carefully. “To your victory at the shrine,” she said, raising her cup.

“To not dying at the shrine,” Farron corrected, lifting his own.

The others joined in, and for the first time in what felt like forever, I allowed myself a small smile.

The ale was bitter and burned on the way down, but it brought a surprising warmth that settled deep in my chest. The conversation around the fire grew lighter, the tension easing as the group shared stories of battles won, losses endured, and moments of levity between the chaos.

Toren told a tale of a lone Frostblade warrior who had survived an avalanche by outrunning the snow itself, while Farron spun an obviously exaggerated story about wrestling a boar with nothing but his bare hands and a “winning smile.”

“And did the boar surrender out of sheer embarrassment?” Jessa asked, smirking.

“Of course,” Farron said, grinning. “What other choice did it have?”

For a brief moment, the weight of the war felt distant, the laughter and camaraderie a fragile reprieve from the darkness looming over us.

But as the fire burned low, the reality of what lay ahead crept back in.

We weren’t done here. Kordek’s alliance was only the beginning, and Ecclesion’s influence stretched far beyond the Frostblade lands.

I glanced at the others—Jessa’s quiet determination, Orin’s stoic focus, Farron’s easy grin masking a sharp wit—and felt a flicker of gratitude.

This wasn’t just my fight.

We were in this together.

The next morning, the camp was already alive with activity when we woke. Frostblade warriors moved purposefully through the icy air, sharpening weapons, inspecting armor, and preparing for whatever battles lay ahead.

Kordek was waiting for us near the central fire, his spear planted firmly in the frozen ground.

“You’ve proven your strength,” he said as we approached. “The Frostblades will honor our alliance—for now. But if Ecclesion pushes further into our lands, we will respond with everything we have. Be ready.”

“We will,” Jessa said firmly.

Kordek studied us for a moment before nodding. “Toren and Ryla will accompany you. They know these lands better than anyone and will ensure your journey south is swift.”

“Thank you,” I said, though the words felt inadequate.

“Don’t thank me yet, Chosen One,” Kordek said, his blue eyes gleaming like ice. “Your war is far from over.”

As we left the Frostblade camp, the mountains stretching endlessly before us, I couldn’t help but feel the weight of Kordek’s words.

The Frostblades had joined us, but alliances were fragile, and Ecclesion’s power was growing with every passing day.

The road ahead would be long and dangerous, filled with battles we couldn’t afford to lose.

But for now, we had won a small victory.

And as we descended into the cold, unforgiving wilderness, I held onto that fragile thread of hope.

Because sometimes, hope was all we had.

The descent from Frostblade territory was a study in contrasts—brutal terrain and biting cold, offset by moments of camaraderie that made the journey bearable. The Frostblades had granted us their trust, albeit conditionally, and Toren and Ryla’s presence gave a sense of stability, even if their stoicism made Farron’s chatter seem doubly obnoxious.

The morning sun glinted weakly off the ice-crusted rocks as we wound our way down narrow paths. Every step felt precarious, the frost-dusted ground threatening to give way beneath our boots.

“How much farther until we’re out of these mountains?” Farron asked, his voice carrying over the crunch of snow.

“Not far,” Ryla said, her eyes scanning the trail ahead. “A day, maybe two, if the weather holds.”

“If it doesn’t?” Orin asked, his tone flat.

“Then we’ll freeze, or we’ll fall,” she said matter-of-factly.

“Great,” Farron muttered. “Always good to have options.”

We stopped at a rocky overhang to catch our breath. Below us, the jagged cliffs gave way to rolling plains, a stark contrast to the harsh peaks that loomed above.

“This is where the Frostblade lands end,” Toren said, his voice gruff. He gestured toward the horizon, where the plains stretched endlessly. “Beyond here, it’s Freehold territory.”

“Neutral ground,” Jessa said, her gaze distant. “Or at least it used to be.”

“Neutral doesn’t mean safe,” Toren added. “The Freeholds are fractured, and Ecclesion’s influence is spreading. Some of their leaders are already in the empire’s pocket.”

“And the ones who aren’t?” I asked.

“They’ll be watching,” Ryla said. “The Freeholds don’t trust outsiders, and they don’t care about causes. If you want their help, you’ll have to earn it.”

We pressed on, the harsh cliffs gradually softening into gentler slopes. The cold didn’t let up, but the wind died down, leaving the air crisp and quiet.

“Farron,” Jessa said suddenly, breaking the silence.

“What?” he asked, looking up from where he’d been doodling something on a frost-covered rock.

“You’re on scouting duty,” she said. “See if the path ahead is clear.”

“Scouting?” he repeated, feigning offense. “What am I, a pack mule with eyes?”

Jessa shot him a pointed look. “Do you want to be useful, or do you want to keep complaining?”

“I can multitask,” Farron said with a grin, but he set off ahead anyway, his bow in hand.

As Farron disappeared around a bend in the trail, Jessa turned to me. “We need to talk about the Freeholds,” she said, her tone serious.

“What about them?” I asked.

“They’re not like the Frostblades,” she said. “The clans value strength, but the Freeholds value leverage. Every decision they make is calculated, and they won’t take risks unless there’s something in it for them.”

“Sounds like a headache,” I muttered.

“It will be,” Jessa said. “But we need them. Ecclesion’s reach is growing, and the Freeholds are the only thing standing between them and total domination of the south.”

Toren nodded. “Convincing them won’t be easy. They’ll want proof that you’re worth backing.”

“I’m getting really tired of proving myself,” I said.

“Get used to it,” Jessa said.

Farron returned a few minutes later, his expression unusually serious. “Path’s clear, but there’s a group camped ahead. Looks like travelers, maybe merchants. Hard to tell from a distance.”

“Merchants?” Ryla asked, her brow furrowing.

“That’s what it looked like,” Farron said. “Could be nothing, but...”

“But it could also be Ecclesion,” Jessa finished, her hand drifting to her dagger.

“Exactly,” Farron said. “I figured we’d want to check it out before walking into an ambush.”

We approached cautiously, staying low as the camp came into view. A group of people huddled around a fire, their wagons loaded with crates and barrels. They didn’t look like soldiers, but their relaxed demeanor didn’t sit right with me.

“Too comfortable,” Orin muttered. “If they’re traveling this close to Frostblade territory, they should be more alert.”

“Agreed,” Jessa said. “Stay sharp.”

As we stepped into the open, the travelers looked up, their conversations halting. A man with a thick beard and a patched cloak stepped forward, his hands raised in a gesture of peace.

“Greetings, travelers,” he said, his voice warm but guarded. “What brings you to these parts?”

“We could ask you the same,” Jessa said, her tone carefully neutral.

“Trade,” the man said, gesturing to the wagons. “We’re heading south, to the Freeholds. Supplies are always in demand there.”

Jessa’s eyes flicked to the wagons. “You’re taking a dangerous route for a trading expedition.”

The man shrugged. “Dangerous times call for bold actions. But you don’t look like merchants. What’s your story?”

Before Jessa could respond, a low whistle pierced the air.

From the shadows of the wagons, figures emerged, their movements smooth and practiced. Within seconds, we were surrounded by at least a dozen armed men and women, their weapons trained on us.

The bearded man’s warm smile turned cold. “You’ll forgive the deception,” he said. “But these roads aren’t safe, and we’ve learned to be cautious.”

“Cautious, my ass,” Farron muttered, his hand inching toward his bow.

“Easy,” Jessa said, holding up a hand. She turned to the man, her expression calm. “If this is a robbery, you’re wasting your time. We don’t have anything worth taking.”

“Oh, I don’t know about that,” the man said, his gaze settling on me. “Word travels fast in these parts. A Chosen One, they say? That sounds like a prize worth taking.”

“Great,” I muttered. “Guess I’ve officially made it onto the wanted list.”

The standoff was tense, every muscle in my body coiled like a spring. But just as I was bracing for a fight, Toren stepped forward, his axe glinting in the firelight.

“Stand down,” he said, his voice low and menacing. “Unless you want to see how Frostblade steel cuts.”

The bearded man hesitated, his eyes flicking between Toren and Ryla, who had nocked an arrow and drawn her bowstring back to her cheek.

Finally, he raised his hands again. “No need for violence,” he said. “We’re just trying to survive, same as you.”

“Then stop wasting our time,” Jessa said coldly. “And get out of our way.”

The man nodded reluctantly, and his group melted back into the shadows.

As we walked away, Farron let out a low whistle. “Well, that was fun. Let’s never do it again.”

“Agreed,” Jessa said, though her hand stayed on her dagger as we moved farther down the trail.

By the time we made camp that night, the plains stretched endlessly before us, the Frostblade mountains a distant silhouette against the horizon.

As I sat by the fire, staring out into the vast expanse, I couldn’t help but think of what lay ahead—the fractured alliances of the Freeholds, Ecclesion’s growing shadow, and the battles we’d have to fight to win even a shred of hope.

But for now, we had survived.

And tomorrow, the fight would continue.