||| THE PATH OF THE BLIZZARD: ADAM |||
[Quarantine Room, Tower of Nexus]
Adam could not help but paced around the all-white bedroom, musing worriedly about the Fenrir and his ill intention toward the people of the Wintry Valley. He initially tried to reason with Pascal – to allow him to have an audience with the Council of Eight, but only to have his request brushed off by Morgana’s scolding.
The man’s electric blue eyes darted toward the spear leaning idly against the corner of the room – perhaps he should just storm out of the room and head straight to the Council’s chamber. “No, no, that’ll be a very bad idea,” Adam softly reprimanded himself. He then felt a sudden chill in his chest, followed by a prickling, needle-like sensation. Out of time – that was the situation he was currently in. Though he managed to slow it down, he knew without a doubt that the Cold Spot was spreading throughout his body.
All of a sudden, he heard the door behind him swung open which was soon accompanied by a heavy set of footsteps. Spinning around, he was greeted by the sight of a slender woman with hair as red as the autumn leaves and eyes as purple as amethyst.
“Rowanna,” Adam uttered, prompting his visitor to stop dead in her tracks. He was anticipating the woman to spit out some scathing remarks but for some unknown reason, she remained silent. “Is there anything I can help you with?” the man asked.
“That depends,” Rowanna replied before shutting the main door.
In that instance, Adam noticed the woman’s right wrist was wrapped in bandages – traces of blood could be seen permeating through the fresh white cloth. There were also a few cuts on her hand which seemed to be at least a day old. “So, what brings the Captain of the Swallowtail to this kind of place?” Adam began.
“I heard about what transpired in the Frozen North. The Cold Spots, the Fenrir’s escape and his subsequent triumph over the local’s Overseer.”
“As you can see,” Adam paused as he gestured at the dignity he was currently wearing. “The stories were true, sadly. Though, I could tell you’re not here simply to ask about my well-being.”
“Hm,” Rowanna huffed as she crossed her arms together.
“And what’s the tale behind that bandaged arm of yours? Did one of the fledgling bites you during a spar?” Adam inquired amusingly, causing Rowanna to gradually narrow her eyes.
“Courtesy of your northern friends,” the woman retorted with a hint of annoyance in her voice. “I’ve got to admit – those Terrouges were a tough bunch, but I faced tougher.”
“You…were in Krio?” said Adam, his brows drew together.
“Against my will, of course,” Rowanna sighed aloud. “After your recent mishaps in Krio, I was ordered to escort the Froghoppers to the Prison of the Four Winds – to protect them while they investigate that cursed place.”
“Huh, I thought you would decline the job.”
“I did – or at least, I tried to. But Thomas seems to be ignoring the fact that I’m no longer a Hornet. Either way, the Froghoppers managed to find some interesting things – one of them being signs of tampering with the prison cell.
“Tampering?” Adam murmured as he recalled the words uttered by the Fenrir. “So, that crafty wolf was telling the truth about trying out some new things.”
“That’s not all,” Rowanna interjected. "They also found three sets of footsteps: yours, the Fenrir, and someone else.”
Adam’s tired eyes fluttered as he processed the new piece of information. He then spun around, scowling directly at the tiled floor. ‘Who could have done it?’ The man pondered quietly, ‘Who could have set the Fenrir free despite knowing the calamity he will bring upon the land?’
“Which brings me to the crux of the problem,” said Rowanna as she walked towards the lone single bed. Tracing her fingers along the foot of the bed, the woman’s gaze settled on the resting spear for a fleeting moment before shifting back to Adam. “Who might be crazy enough to let the old wolf out of his solitary confinement? At first, I thought it might have been one of the residents of the Wintry Valley but that will be too obvious – plus, the handiworks were too…precise.”
“Too precise?” Adam repeated, his head tilted slightly to the right.
“Each crack and hole was done purposefully – as if they knew where to strike. The Prison of the Four Winds is…was designed to be an impregnable fortress, and the blueprints of the entire structure were destroyed at the end of its construction. To make matters worse, the person who built it died nearly a thousand years ago,” said Rowanna, her lips drawn back in a snarl. “Unless the architect came back to life, then I can only assume there is someone out there with the surviving copy of the prison’s layout.”
“That sounds like an…interesting theory,” Adam responded before deciding to approach the wall across the bed. “But unless you can find proof to support your claim, I don’t think Thomas would be interested in theories especially when it involves an ancient bloodthirsty creature that can conjure a blizzard with a snap of his fingers.”
“Look, I don’t expect you to believe me, but that’s the only theory that makes sense-.”
“I never said I didn’t believe you,” the electric blue-eyed man corrected as he leaned his back against the cold steel wall. “Ugh,” Adam let out a groan as he felt mild tenderness below his chest.
“The old wolf got you good, didn’t he?” said Rowanna, staring at the man concerningly. “I thought Pascal would have administered the cure by now?”
“He should have but the antidote only lasts for a month. The last Cold Spots case was 800 years ago and I doubt our predecessors stored several vials of the cure in cryostasis in case the Fenrir escaped,” Adam grunted.
“What does the good doctor say about this?”
“That he’ll try to find a substitute for the active component, but I told him we have no time for trials and error,” as Adam expressed his frustration, a muscle in his jaw twitched. “Dozens of lives have already been afflicted by the Cold Spots and who knows how long they will last until the doctor finds what he is searching for.”
“Or are you looking for an excuse to go back out there – into the lair of the beast himself? In your current condition?” Rowanna asserted; her suspicion was soon confirmed by Adam who silently averted his gaze. “You are seriously trying to get yourself killed, aren’t you? But who am I to talk,” the woman further remarked before her hand slipped into her back pocket, searching for something. “Here.”
If you discover this tale on Amazon, be aware that it has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road. Please report it.
Adam caught a glimpse of a silver glint flying out of Rowanna’s hand and as soon as he caught the object, a familiar coldness akin to a freezing steel imbued into the palm of his own hand. Slowly, he spread his fingers apart, revealing a snowflake-shaped pendant – one that he thought had been taken away by the avalanche.
“I told you to keep that thing in a safer place. Didn’t you say it was your family heirloom or something?” Rowanna ranted.
“I did. Thanks,” Adam countered bashfully before giving the woman a sharp nod.
“Thanks?” said the woman, rolling her eyes upward, “Spending time with people of the Wintry Valley has softened you, Salvia. Keep in mind that we are not a group of philanthropists; we’re soldiers – and in our line of work, relationships can be a liability especially when we’re dealing with civilians.”
“Are you implying that they have anything to do with the Fenrir’s escape?”
“I’m advising you to be more mindful with whom you put your trust in. Not all of them viewed us as their friends, let alone their equals,” Rowanna stated sternly. “Sure, you might say there are still good people in this world, but even good people make some bad decisions.”
“Duly noted,” Adam reluctantly acknowledged the woman’s comment.
“Good,” said Rowanna, a tiny smile appeared across her face for a brief second before it was replaced by her usual frown. “Anyhow, why did you do it, Salvia?”
“What do you mean?” Adam inquired even though he could already tell where the conversation was heading.
“You know exactly what I meant,” the auburn-haired woman blurted out, a hint of anger could be heard in her voice. “I’ve read your report – you visited the Fenrir, knowing that he will try to get into your head.”
“I was…um,” Adam took a deep breath before letting out a deep sigh. “I was trying to confirm my suspicion of the Fenrir’s involvement with the recent Cold Spots’ cases. As you can already see, I’ve got my answer.”
“It wasn’t just for that single reason, was it?” Rowanna stated, her head tilted slightly to the left, “You were hoping the Fenrir would have a change of heart during his incarceration, am I right?”
Adam instantly dropped his gaze to the floor; a wave of cold air washed over him along with a fuzzy feeling building inside his stomach. He parted his lips to respond to Rowanna’s question but not a single word came out of his mouth.
On the other hand, Rowanna's right hand instinctively reached for the nape of her neck as she felt her shoulders tensing up. “I have no idea what you were thinking back there, Salvia, but despite what you believed, no one could change the nature of the Fanged Avalanche – no one,” the amethyst-eyed woman emphasized the final two words. After finishing her sentence, Rowanna calmly fixed her collar before heading toward the main door. As the woman grabbed the knob, she turned her head toward Adam and said, “Oh, and one more thing, about The Fenrir – one of the scouts spotted him heading north, to the old castle on the mountain.”
Adam’s eyes widened; both of his fists clenched so tightly that he could feel his nails digging into his skin. “The Alpine Graveyard,” the man murmured. “Of course, he’s laying low at the site of his first triumph.”
“And you didn’t hear that from a certain someone in a certain place at a certain time,” Rowanna added before briskly leaving the Quarantine Room.
||| THE END OF THE PATH OF THE BLIZZARD |||
ɹɹ********************************************
[Meanwhile…]
[Forest of the Bandit Lord, The Land of the Opal Sun]
“Ow!” Lucy yelped as the surgical needle pierced her shoulder, followed by Sam apologizing to her.
“Sorry about that. It has been a while since I sutured a wound.”
“And it’s been a while since I’m the one who needs the suturing,” Lucy grumbled, her mouth twitching every time Sam punctured her skin.
“Which is a good thing…considering you have two injury-prone teammates,” Sam retorted before taking a hurried look at the woman’s restless expression. “The thing that surprised me the most is that you’ve nearly spent all of your stamina in your little scuffle with Aria. It must have been one hell of a fight to make you lose your cool.”
“It was annoying,” Lucy interjected. “Aria, no…the punk that controlled Aria, he or she was fond of playing hide-and-seek like a child and shooting arrows from the shadows.”
“Well, I would say he was smart for doing that. He knew he wouldn’t be able to defeat you in close combat.”
“Smart?! Hmph, coward – that’s who he was!” the female Nightingale huffed. “What about you? It must have been tough going against Theo even with the support of my brother.”
“Tough? That’s one way to put it,” Sam let out a humorless chuckle.
“Then, how would you describe the fight?”
“Catastrophic, disgraceful, and absolutely horrendous,” spouted Sam, waggling his eyebrows. “But, to your brother’s defense, he fought quite well. If it wasn’t for him, I might not be able to take Theo down.”
“That still doesn’t explain why he had a chain mark around his neck.”
Sam briefly paused his stitching; his nervous eyes met with Lucy’s curious gaze. “Like I said, it was…catastrophic,” the man muttered before carefully snipping the black suture with a pair of scissors. However, he suddenly felt pins and needles around his right wrist which gradually crept up to his elbow. “Now, that’s weird,” Sam grimaced as he repeatedly clenched his fist.
“Roll up your sleeve,” Lucy asserted, causing Sam to look at her with a perplexed expression.
“Pardon?”
“I said, roll up your sleeve. We need to make sure it’s nothing serious.”
Although hesitant at first, Sam eventually did as he was told by pulling his right sleeve until it reached above his elbow, revealing the reddened skin underneath.
“Hm, looks like a first-degree burn,” said Lucy; her brows knitted together. “It must have been one hell of a fight, huh?” The ponytailed woman said with a smirk across her face.
“Oh, you’re gonna play that game with me now?” Sam lashed back.
“Relax, I’m just trying to lighten the mood,” Lucy chuckled before placing the palm of her left hand down against the shallow water surface. “Now, hold still. It’s gonna feel a bit…weird.”
At first, Sam intended to ask Lucy about her prior comment but decided not to after noticing the seriousness in the woman’s eyes. A few seconds later, a tendril of water climbed along her ring finger, enveloping it like a film. She then brought her hand over Sam’s reddened forearm, carefully lowering her finger until it made contact with the man’s skin.
Sam fidgeted as he felt a familiar coldness spread throughout his arm, but oddly enough, he could not recall where and when he experienced such a sensation before.
“Oops, sorry about that,” Lucy swiftly apologized as the film on her ring finger crept unto Sam’s forearm, wrapping around his limb like a piece of transparent cloth. “There you go. All done.”
“So…what is it?” asked Sam while staring astonishingly at the gel-like covering.
“It’s just something I’ve been working on for the past couple of weeks,” the young Nightingale declared proudly. “That thing right there will soothe the pain a little bit and should accelerate the healing process.”
“Should?”
“Don’t worry, it’s not gonna explode…nor turn you into pickles. I think,” Lucy giggled.
“You think?” Sam exhaled loudly. “Obviously, you’ve been spending too much time with Miss Strelitzia.”
“A-hem.” Sam and Lucy darted their heads upward hearing the sudden cough, only to see Rupert hanging upside down with a sneer across his face. “Sorry, am I interrupting something?”
“How long have you been up there?” asked Lucy, glaring at her brother.
“Not long enough it seems,” Rupert casually replied before sitting himself up. “I didn’t mean to interrupt your little chit-chat but the princess and her bodyguard woke up – and they want to talk with you about…what was it, again…the Cerulean Mausoleum?”
“Is that so?” said Sam, nodding his head solemnly. “We shouldn’t keep them waiting then.”