The silence of mourning blanketed the Shadowkin village like snow.
Farakin's broken body lay in reverent stillness, surrounded by flickering orbs of soft violet fire as the elders performed rites of passage. Every villager, young and old, stood in silent circles, eyes wide and wet with the horror of what they'd learned. It wasn't just death that clung to their hearts—it was desecration. Their kin, their brethren, had been slaughtered… and their remains forged into armor.
Selena stood at the edge of the gathering, fists clenched at her sides. She had heard whispers before—but never like this. Now, confirmed, it felt like a blade carving through her chest. Across the crowd, she saw Anikin, shoulders heavy, eyes empty. Even he seemed swallowed by the weight of this moment.
When the rites ended, and the gathering began to dissolve into hushed murmurs and fearful glances, Selena stepped forward.
"Where is Ariwin?" she asked, voice sharp.
No one answered.
"Where is she?" she demanded again, louder this time.
An elder stepped forward slowly. "We followed the trail… but her presence vanished beyond the forest. Taken. We fear she's on the sea now, headed north."
Selena's heart twisted. "Then let's bring her back," she said. "We gather a force and we go after her."
A long silence followed. Then a young Shadowkin woman said softly, "Our magic does not work on them."
"And they slaughtered our own," another added, trembling. "Even the strongest of us."
"We are not warriors!" an old man shouted. "We are survivors!"
Selena turned, eyes burning. "You let them take your daughter? Your wife? Your people?" Her voice cracked as she faced Anikin directly. "You… say nothing?"
He looked away. His silence answered her.
Selena's voice trembled now—not with fear, but fury. "If no one will come… I'll go alone."
A gust of wind rustled through the trees. Somewhere, Stormclaw growled low.
Kael stepped forward first. "Not alone," he said, planting his staff into the earth. "Never alone."
Then Luther. "Markas wouldn't forgive me if I let you go without me."
Arya rolled her eyes. "You think we've come this far to let you play the martyr? You'll need someone to keep your temper in check."
Stormclaw gave a snort and padded beside them.
The village stood still, breathless, as Selena walked toward the heart of their civilization.
Toward the Icehart.
Anikin took a step forward. "Selena—don't—"
But he didn't finish.
No one dared to move as Selena stopped before the towering iceberg that hummed with ancient magic. Its crystalline form shimmered in the dappled light—alive with silent power. She raised her hand.
Her fingers brushed the frozen surface.
A pulse.
A shockwave of magic burst from the Icehart. The ice glowed a brilliant sapphire blue, and a beam of light shot up into the sky like a spear to the heavens. The force knocked several villagers to their knees, eyes clutched shut as the light seared across their vision.
Stormclaw howled. Arya shielded her face. Anikin dropped his staff in stunned awe.
And then—it stopped.
Silence fell again. But now it was reverent. Terrified. Awed.
Selena floated gently back to the ground, her feet touching down without a sound. Her eyes shimmered with a glow that didn't belong to her—powerful, ancient, and unreadable.
She said nothing.
She simply turned… and began walking toward the village gates.
The others followed. One by one. No more words.
Only purpose.
Behind them, the Icehart pulsed once—soft, slow—as if acknowledging what had been awakened.
And from the silence, Arya's voice came gently, a whisper barely heard over the wind as she walked beside Luther.
"Good night."