The morning after the restless night came without warmth, the cold even sharper than the day before. Zarin barely slept after his unsettling exchange with Maros by the fire. The figure he thought he had seen in the dark still lingered in his mind, a shadow on the edge of his thoughts, growing more menacing the longer he tried to push it away.
They moved in near silence, the weight of the journey and the growing tension between them making conversation feel unnecessary. Zarin kept glancing at Maros, watching for anything out of place—some sign of deceit, some shift in his demeanor—but the old mage remained as stoic and enigmatic as ever.
The Frozen Spire was still a distant silhouette on the horizon, but it seemed closer now, towering against the endless stretch of frozen land. Zarin felt a pull toward it, a strange connection that he couldn’t quite explain, like the Spire itself was calling to him. He could feel his power stirring beneath the surface, growing more restless with each step they took.
Reya, as usual, led the way, her posture tense, every movement deliberate. Zarin could sense her unease too, though she hadn’t spoken about it. She was always the one to keep her emotions locked away, her focus sharp. But even she couldn’t ignore the way Maros had been acting. Zarin knew that Reya was watching him just as closely as he was.
After hours of trudging through the snow, they reached a small ridge that overlooked the barren landscape below. Reya stopped at the top of the ridge, her eyes scanning the horizon. Zarin joined her, squinting into the distance.
“There,” Reya said quietly, pointing toward a cluster of jagged rocks. “That’s the pass we need to take. It’ll lead us closer to the Spire, but it’s exposed. If the Ascendants are tracking us, they’ll be waiting for us there.”
Zarin nodded, his stomach tightening at the thought. He hadn’t forgotten the Ascendants—the silver-haired man and the golden-eyed woman. They would come for him again, of that he was certain. His power was no longer a secret, and they wouldn’t let him reach the Spire without a fight.
Maros joined them at the ridge, his eyes narrowing as he looked toward the pass. “We have no choice,” he said. “We must move quickly. The pass is dangerous, but it’s the fastest route to the Spire. Any delay could be fatal.”
Reya gave him a skeptical look. “We’ve already come this far without incident. What’s changed?”
Maros didn’t answer immediately. His gaze remained fixed on the distant pass, his face drawn in concentration. Zarin couldn’t help but notice how pale the old mage had become, how the lines of exhaustion on his face had deepened.
“The closer we get to the Spire, the more we’re exposed,” Maros finally said. “The magic that surrounds it… it attracts attention. And not just from the Ascendants.”
Reya stiffened. “What else is out there?”
Maros sighed, his expression darkening. “The Wastes are not as empty as they seem. There are creatures here—beasts twisted by the Old Magic, drawn to the Spire’s power. They roam the land, hunting anything that dares come too close. And they’re not the only ones.”
Zarin’s stomach churned. “What do you mean?”
Maros turned to him, his eyes hard. “There are others who seek the power of the Spire. Wanderers, mercenaries, sorcerers—people who believe they can tap into the Old Magic for their own purposes. They are dangerous, desperate. And they will not hesitate to kill anyone who stands in their way.”
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Reya let out a low breath, her hand resting on the hilt of her sword. “So we’re walking into a trap. Perfect.”
Zarin’s heart pounded in his chest, but he forced himself to stay calm. “We don’t have a choice. We have to get to the Spire.”
Reya nodded, though her jaw was clenched. “Then we move quickly. Stay alert.”
They descended from the ridge, the wind picking up as they neared the pass. The jagged rocks rose around them like the broken teeth of some long-dead beast, casting jagged shadows over the snow. The air was colder here, sharper, and Zarin could feel the tension in the air, like a storm brewing just out of sight.
The closer they got to the pass, the more Zarin’s unease grew. His senses were on high alert, every sound, every movement catching his attention. The world around him felt hostile, like the land itself was watching them.
As they approached the mouth of the pass, Zarin’s eyes caught a flicker of movement in the distance. He froze, his hand instinctively reaching for his sword.
“Did you see that?” Zarin whispered, his voice tight.
Reya glanced over, her eyes narrowing. “Where?”
“There,” Zarin said, pointing toward the shadows between two large rocks. “Something moved.”
Reya’s expression hardened, and she drew her sword in one fluid motion. “Stay ready.”
Maros moved up beside them, his staff in hand, his eyes scanning the area. “It could be one of the creatures I spoke of. Or it could be something worse.”
Zarin’s heart raced as they moved cautiously into the pass, the jagged rocks rising around them like walls of a canyon. The snow crunched beneath their feet, the only sound in the eerie silence. Zarin’s grip tightened on his sword, his senses sharp.
They were being watched. He could feel it.
Suddenly, there was a loud crack, and before Zarin could react, a figure leapt from the shadows, landing in front of them with startling speed. It was humanoid, but its body was twisted, its skin pale and mottled with dark veins. Its eyes gleamed with an unnatural light, and its limbs moved with an unsettling fluidity, like a creature not bound by normal anatomy.
Reya lunged forward, her sword flashing in the dim light as she struck at the creature. But it was fast—too fast. It dodged her attack with a sudden, inhuman jerk, its movements erratic and unnatural.
Zarin didn’t hesitate. He let his power surge through him, and with a shout, he unleashed a burst of raw energy, sending a wave of force crashing toward the creature. The blast hit it square in the chest, knocking it back into the rocks with a sickening thud.
The creature screeched, its body contorting in agony, but it wasn’t finished. It pushed itself up, its movements jerky and disjointed, and then it lunged at Zarin with a speed that took him by surprise.
Before Zarin could react, Maros stepped forward, slamming his staff into the ground. A shockwave of energy rippled out from him, freezing the creature in midair. It hung there for a moment, suspended in the air, its eyes wide with fury.
Maros’ face was calm, but his voice was filled with cold authority. “This is what happens when you meddle with powers beyond your understanding.”
With a flick of his wrist, Maros unleashed a pulse of energy, and the creature’s body disintegrated, crumbling into ash before their eyes.
Zarin stood frozen, his heart pounding in his chest. The display of power from Maros had been unlike anything he had seen before. It wasn’t just the raw strength—it was the control, the precision with which Maros had dispatched the creature.
Reya lowered her sword, her eyes narrowed as she looked at Maros. “You’ve been holding back.”
Maros didn’t respond immediately. He turned away, his expression unreadable as he began to walk deeper into the pass. “We need to keep moving,” he said quietly. “There will be more.”
Zarin watched him go, his mind racing. There was something different about Maros now, something colder, more dangerous. Zarin had always known the old mage was powerful, but this… this was something else. It was as though Maros had tapped into a deeper well of magic, something darker and more primal than what Zarin had seen before.
Reya exchanged a glance with Zarin, her expression grim. She didn’t need to say anything—Zarin could see the doubt in her eyes, the same doubt that was gnawing at him.
As they continued through the pass, Zarin couldn’t shake the feeling that something had changed between them. Maros had revealed a glimpse of the power he had been hiding, but what worried Zarin most wasn’t the magic itself.
It was the question of why Maros had kept it hidden.
And what else he was hiding from them.