The bitter cold hung heavy over the battlefield, a desolate, frozen expanse littered with the fallen. Crius, the Frost Wyvern, loomed above the scattering remnants of Aurelia’s forces, his breath an icy fog that settled like death over all it touched. Neil, shaking off a layer of frost clinging to his armor, knew that their only chance of victory was hanging by a thread—and time was slipping away.
In the middle of the fray, Neil’s voice cut through the biting wind, directing what few remained around him. His eyes found Peter and Donald, who had been fighting valiantly alongside him.
“Peter, Donald—we have one chance left.” His voice was tense, and the urgency in his eyes made them listen sharply. “I’ll draw Crius' attention using illusions. If I can keep him distracted long enough, we can guide him away from our wounded.”
Peter nodded, instinctively moving to protect Neil. “You focus on the casting, and I’ll keep you covered.”
Neil turned to Donald, who was already calling his wolves to heel. “Donald, gather the survivors. Lead them to safety; they’ll need your help.”
Donald’s expression darkened, but he nodded. “I’ll get them to the valley’s edge. You’ll be able to hold him off?”
“We have to try,” Neil said, glancing back at Crius. “I’ll need all of you to make this work. Good luck, Donald.”
With a final nod, Donald sprinted off, his wolves weaving around him as they sought out the injured and those still able to run, their eyes bright against the desolate white expanse. Peter gripped his sword, ready to defend Neil from any unexpected assault, while Neil turned his full attention to the ring on his finger. The Mirage Pearl glinted faintly in the frozen light. Neil took a deep breath, feeling the burden of every knight who had fallen, every friend who lay frozen in the snow around him.
He clenched his fist, focusing on his ring, pushing its power to the very limits. The ring shimmered as a hazy mist began to seep from it, forming faint figures that circled Crius like ghosts. They moved swiftly, flickering between the real and the unreal, shifting with every twist of Neil’s will.
As Neil cast each illusion, the toll on him was brutal, a sharp, tearing pain as if the very essence of his being was being drained into the air. His hands shook, sweat mixing with the icy chill on his brow. Each flicker of illusion, each false knight he summoned, sapped more of his strength. He could feel his life ebbing with every image that sprang into existence.
“Come on,” he whispered, his voice shaking. “Just… a little more…”
Crius’ massive head swung side to side, his cold, calculating gaze tracking each illusion. The beast snarled in frustration as he struck at one phantom after another, each swipe of his claws shattering another frozen specter of Neil. The wyvern roared, scattering ice and snow, but still Neil held the illusions, forcing them to dance around Crius, to keep him occupied.
Just as all hope seemed to be slipping away, the Mirage Pearl on Neil’s finger began to glow. It pulsed with a soft, ethereal light, cutting through the blizzard and surrounding him in warmth. Neil stared down at the ring, feeling the energy within it surge through his veins, a protective force calling him to act.
The voice of his mentor, Master Gordon, echoed in his mind, reminding him of the power of the rings—gifts from the Heavenly Father himself, imbued with life force. The Mirage Pearl wasn’t just a token of his heritage; it was a powerful artifact, capable of bending reality itself.
Neil raised his hand, and the glow of the pearl intensified. The warmth spread from his hand to the ground beneath his feet, and suddenly, the world around him began to shift. Where once there was cold, now there was light, as the Mirage Veil unfolded around him.
——
Miles away, King Chris Elysionsonn was braving the icy terrain on the royal train, surrounded by the soft whir of the locomotive and the steady, pounding rhythm of his heartbeat. He gasped, clutching the ring, bewildered by the intensity of the sensation. It was as though the Thunder Crown was calling out to something—someone—across the icy expanse.
Lord Apollo, riding beside him, saw Chris' reaction. “Your Majesty?” he asked, glancing with concern at the young king.
Chris shook his head, eyes wide. “My ring… it’s responding to… something.”. But I don’t know what to.”
The Thunder Crown glowed steadily, pulsing as if in time with Neil’s heartbeat, linking the two rings in an echo of distant power. He didn’t know what awaited them at the lake, but he could feel something monumental unfolding—something he had to reach in time.
——
A shimmering dome of light, a protective mirage, spread over the remaining soldiers, shielding them from the biting cold of Crius’ approach. The soldiers gasped as the icy wind seemed to stop in its tracks. Inside the veil, they could breathe again, the frost lifting from their armor, the weight of despair momentarily lightened.
Neil could feel the power of the ring growing within him, and he knew he had to act fast. The veil was not just for protection—it was a tool, a way to confuse and deceive Crius, to buy them precious time.
Closing his eyes, Neil concentrated, drawing on the full power of the Mirage Pearl. He could feel the energy coiling inside the ring, like a spring waiting to be released. With a deep breath, he sent out a pulse of magic, casting an illusion across the battlefield.
Suddenly, there were not one but many Neils, each identical to the original, spread out across the snowy plains. Illusory figures moved with precision, dashing in different directions, their forms flickering in and out of sight like ghostly mirages. Each duplicate mimicked Neil’s movements, their eyes locked on Crius.
The titan paused, confused by the sight of so many Neils. His icy blue eyes scanned the battlefield, searching for the real threat, but each mirage moved with the same fluid grace, giving nothing away. Crius snarled, his frustration evident, as he swung his massive tail, shattering the ice where some of the illusions stood—but they disappeared like mist, only to reappear elsewhere.
Neil knew the illusions wouldn’t hold forever. Crius was growing more aggressive by the moment, his icy roar shaking the earth. The titan, though confused, was still too powerful, and Neil could feel his strength waning. The protective veil around the soldiers flickered as the Mirage Pearl struggled to maintain its power.
But there was one last hope—the heart of the North, buried deep beneath the frozen lake at the farthest reach of the north. Neil had read about it in the ancient texts, a legend woven with sorrow and power. According to the records, Crius, the mighty frost wyvern, had torn his heart from his own chest, casting it into the depths of the icy lake in a moment of despair, sealing both his fate and that of the northern lands. This heart was no mere remnant; it was a powerful artifact, carrying the very essence of Crius, and its power rivaled that of the titan himself.
Neil recalled passages describing the heart as a "core of frost" that resonated with the same immense energy found in the core of Atlas. This "Heart of the North" was believed to be the separated core of Crius, embodying the full breadth of his might and essence, a key that could both unleash and bind his spirit. If he could reach it, if he could harness its energy, Neil knew he might stand a chance of sealing Crius for good, putting an end to the wyvern’s reign of ice.
"If I can just lure him to the lake," Neil muttered under his breath, his eyes narrowing in determination.
With a final surge of willpower, Neil directed his illusions toward the frozen lake in the distance. The shimmering mirages darted across the snow, each one moving with purpose, leading Crius farther away from the soldiers and toward the icy waters.
Crius, still enraged, followed the illusions, his massive form crashing through the tundra. The closer he came to the lake, the more agitated he became, as if some long-buried memory was stirring within him. His heart, though lost, called out to him, drawing him nearer.
Neil’s real form darted alongside the illusions, staying out of Crius' direct line of sight. He could feel the pull of the lake, the resonance between the Mirage Pearl and the titan’s heart growing stronger. The air around him buzzed with energy, and he knew the moment of reckoning was at hand.
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As Crius reached the edge of the frozen lake, Neil raised his hand, the Mirage Pearl glowing brighter than ever before. The ring pulsed with power, its magic intertwining with the frozen waters beneath the ice.
The lake began to tremble, the ice cracking beneath Crius' feet. The titan hesitated, sensing the danger too late. From the depths of the lake, tendrils of water—imbued with the same ethereal glow as the Mirage Pearl—shot upward, wrapping around Crius’ legs and wings.
Crius roared in fury, thrashing against the tendrils, but they held fast, their grip tightening with every passing moment. The resonance between the ring and the heart grew stronger, and Neil could feel the titan’s power weakening as the lake itself seemed to come alive.
The icy tendrils, like living chains, pulled Crius downward, the titan’s massive body sinking into the frozen lake. Neil could see the desperation in Crius' eyes, the realization that he was being drawn back to the place where his heart lay buried.
The lake’s surface cracked and shattered, creating a whirlpool of ice and water that dragged Crius into its depths. The titan’s wings flailed, his roars echoing across the tundra, but the pull of the lake was too strong. The waters began to frost over, freezing solid once more as Crius was pulled under, sealing him within the frozen cavern.
As the last echoes of Crius’ roar faded, the lake stilled, its surface once again smooth and unbroken. The tendrils of water retracted, leaving no trace of the battle that had just unfolded.
Neil stood at the edge of the lake, his breath heavy and his body trembling with exhaustion. The Mirage Pearl dimmed, its power spent, but the battle was won. Crius, the titan of ice, was sealed once again, his heart dormant beneath the frozen waters.
The battlefield fell silent, the howling winds finally dying down. Neil looked back toward the fort, where the remaining soldiers stood in stunned silence, watching him. They had witnessed the impossible—a scholar, not a soldier, had just singlehandedly lured and defeated a titan.
——
Chris stood by the frozen lake, his breath catching in the bitter chill as he took in the scene of haunting desolation. Beside him, Lord Apollo and his son, Vincent, dismounted, stepping forward with solemn reverence. Their eyes traced the lake’s frozen expanse, scattered with the figures of fallen soldiers preserved in icy stillness—a field marked by both sacrifice and unyielding resolve.
In the distance, they spotted a lone young figure on the lake’s edge. Exhausted and pale, the unknown warrior leaned against the frost-covered ground, his face drained but his eyes still focused on the frozen titan at the lake's center. The other soldiers, gathering nearby, looked to him in awe, their faint cheers rising through the silence like a tribute to his victory.
Vincent was the first to break the silence. “Who is he?” he murmured, eyes fixed on the stranger. “He stood alone… against Crius.” He shook his head in quiet disbelief, admiration coloring his voice. “Not even a knight, and yet…”
Lord Apollo’s expression softened, respect evident in his gaze as he took in the young man. “Sometimes, the fiercest strength doesn’t come from titles or armor. Whoever he is, he fought beyond fear, beyond reason.”
Chris’ gaze lingered on the young warrior, and he felt a stirring of gratitude, mixed with the weight of what this victory must have cost. “One man standing against a titan… for the sake of us all,” he murmured. There was something almost sacred in the image—this lone figure, unnamed, uncelebrated, yet carrying the quiet pride of one who had seen the battle through.
As they watched, a pair of soldiers helped the young man to his feet, clapping him on the shoulder, their gratitude and respect clear even in their weary faces. His breaths came slow and shallow, but the look in his eyes remained steady, filled with the weight of both triumph and loss.
Vincent’s voice softened. “He’s earned our respect—whoever he is. Most men would’ve faltered. But he stayed, right to the end.”
Apollo placed a hand on his son’s shoulder, his gaze contemplative. “Remember this, Vincent: courage isn’t always found in those with titles. It’s found in those willing to sacrifice, even without recognition.”
Chris nodded, a quiet resolve forming within him. “We’ll return to Aurelia with this victory, and his name will be known,” he said, though he knew not yet what it was. “This is a day that will be remembered.”
The three men stood in silence, watching as the soldiers gathered around their unnamed hero, honoring his triumph. A symbol had emerged on this battlefield, unassuming yet undeniable—a reminder that loyalty and courage need no title, and that sometimes, the strongest protector is the one fighting in solitude.
As Chris turned to his companions, he added quietly, “Come. We owe them all more than our thanks. We owe them a future that honors their sacrifice.”
——
Neil’s eyes fluttered open, adjusting to the dim light of the infirmary. His body felt heavy, every muscle aching from the battle, but he was alive—and for that, he was grateful. The room was filled with the quiet murmurs of survivors, each soldier resting from the trials of the day. Amid the stillness, two familiar faces appeared beside him, grinning with undeniable pride.
“Look who finally decided to wake up,” Peter chuckled, folding his arms as he leaned over Neil’s bed. “Thought you’d be out for a week after that little stunt you pulled on the lake.”
Neil managed a weak laugh, the sound catching in his throat. “Oh, come on. I thought I looked pretty heroic,” he murmured, attempting to sit up but quickly realizing his limits. Donalds reached out to help, steadying him with a smirk.
“Heroic, yes. Suicidal? Also, yes,” Donalds said with a shake of his head. “The way you went out there alone like that… you gave us all quite the scare, Neil. Next time, maybe give a little warning before you decide to take on a titan single-handedly?”
Neil managed a faint grin, his eyes glinting with a mischievous light despite his exhaustion. “Well, I had to show you two how it’s done. You’d think after all these years, you’d finally learn something from me.”
Peter barked a laugh, nudging Donalds. “Hear that? He thinks he’s teaching us! This is the same guy who tripped over his own sword last winter, and now he’s sealing titans?”
“Exactly,” Donalds said, his tone teasing. “I think the titan was more scared of your clumsiness than anything else. It probably froze itself just to avoid you.”
Neil chuckled, though his laughter soon turned to a weary sigh as the weight of what had happened settled on him. “Honestly, I thought I was done for out there. If it weren’t for all of you, I wouldn’t be lying here at all.”
The teasing faded, and Peter placed a firm hand on Neil’s shoulder. “You were the one out there, Neil. You fought. And you won. Don’t ever downplay that.”
Before Neil could respond, the sound of footsteps echoed in the quiet of the infirmary. All three of them turned, their voices falling silent as Master Gordon entered. The old scholar looked at Neil, his expression a mixture of concern and pride. The weight of his gaze seemed to carry a thousand words, each unspoken yet deeply felt. Peter and Donalds exchanged a look, nodding at their friend before stepping back.
“We’ll give you two a moment,” Peter said quietly, patting Neil on the shoulder one last time.
With a smirk, Donalds followed Peter toward the door, adding, “And no more running off to fight titans without us, got it?”
Neil smiled as his friends walked away, their footsteps fading down the corridor. As they left, Master Gordon took a seat beside him, his gaze softening as he studied Neil’s face. For a moment, neither of them spoke, the silence heavy with meaning.
"You did it, Neil," Master Gordon said softly, his voice steady and reassuring. "Crius is sealed once again. The north is safe—for now.”
Neil didn’t respond right away. His eyes were fixed on the his ring, his mind still processing everything that had just happened. The power of the Mirage Pearl had saved them all, but at a cost. The bodies of fallen soldiers littered the battlefield, their lives cut short by the brutal clash with the titan.
"I couldn’t save them all," Neil whispered, his voice heavy with guilt. "So many died... I thought I could do more.”
Master Gordon’s grip on his shoulder tightened, his expression softening. "You saved as many as you could, Neil. You can’t carry the weight of every life lost on your shoulders. This war... it’s bigger than any one of us.”
Neil shook his head, frustration bubbling up inside him. "But if I had been stronger, if I had known how to access the ring’s true power sooner... maybe they wouldn’t have had to die. Maybe I could’ve stopped Crius before the battle even started.”
Gordon turned to face Neil fully, his gaze sharp but filled with understanding. "You’re still young, Neil. You’re still learning the full extent of your powers. Don’t mistake that for weakness. The strength you showed today wasn’t just in your ring—it was in your heart, your will to protect others, no matter the cost. That’s what truly matters.”
Neil looked down at the Mirage Pearl on his finger. Its glow had dimmed, but he could still feel the remnants of its power humming beneath the surface. He had always seen the ring as a relic of his identity. But now, he understood its true purpose. It wasn’t just a tool or a weapon—it was a responsibility. One that he had to bear, whether he was ready or not.
"What if I’m not strong enough next time?" Neil asked quietly, voicing the fear that had been gnawing at him since the battle ended. "What if another titan awakens, and I can’t stop it?” Gordon sighed, his weathered face lined with years of wisdom. "That’s a fear we all carry, Neil. But strength doesn’t come from being invincible. It comes from standing up and fighting, even when the odds are against you. You’ve proven today that you have that strength. And as long as you continue to learn and grow, you’ll be ready for whatever comes next.”
Neil frowned, his fingers tracing the surface of the ring. "The rings... they’re more powerful than I ever imagined. The stories you told me, the legends—they barely scratch the surface of what they can do.”
Gordon nodded slowly. "The rings are indeed powerful, each one forged by the Heavenly Father with a piece of his own life force. But they are also a mystery. Even I don’t fully understand all of their secrets. There are ancient texts that speak of the rings’ true names, but those have been lost to time.”
Neil looked up at his mentor, curiosity flickering in his eyes despite the weight of the day. "The true names?”
"Yes," Gordon replied, his voice thoughtful. "The true names of these rings, if found, could unlock even greater potential.”
Neil’s mind raced with the possibilities, but he quickly shook the thoughts away. Now wasn’t the time for speculation or scholarly curiosity. "I don’t know if I’m ready for all of this, Master," Neil admitted, his voice wavering.
Gordon’s expression softened, and he draped an arm around Neil’s shoulders. "You don’t have to be ready for all of it at once, Neil. None of us were. Not even me. But you take it one step at a time, one battle at a time. And when the time comes, you’ll find that you’re stronger than you think.”
He turned to Gordon, a small, determined smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. "I’ll keep fighting. For them—for everyone who can’t.”
Gordon smiled proudly, his eyes glinting with approval. "I know you will, Neil. And you won’t be alone. You’ll have your friends, your allies, and the strength of the ring at your side.” The two glanced at the door as more footsteps seemed to approach.