When Leos and Minoros finally reached the foot of the snowy mountain, their bodies felt as if all strength had drained away. Every step was heavy as stone, their legs trembling, their knees buckling into the freezing snow beneath them. The wind from the summit swept down their backs, carrying thin flakes of snow like white tears mourning their brutal journey. Neither of them spoke a word. They simply sat beside each other, leaning against an ice covered boulder, their breaths mingling together as if sharing the last traces of warmth.
Zaphurne, their loyal beast of burden, lay waiting nearby. Its thick fur shivered in waves. Leos gently stroked its neck, a silent gesture of gratitude.
Three days later, when the light from King Kyros compass shifted completely into a deep emerald green, they knew Neosis was close. They did not allow themselves to rest any longer. Rising on unsteady legs but with unwavering resolve, they secured their packs, climbed onto the carriage, and resumed their journey home. This time, there were no monsters blocking their path.
After days of travel, the city of Neosis finally appeared like a scene pulled from legend. Its domed rooftops curved gracefully above pillars of white marble, and jade colored lanterns shimmered over the slick stone streets. Snow fell thickly, covering every roof tile, every staircase, every weathered wooden door.
The citizens murmured in astonishment as the two figures stepped through the gates: one a prince, the other a hero of the kingdom. Their bodies were smeared with dirt, their clothes torn, their hair tangled, yet there was a fierce and indescribable light in their eyes. It was the light of men who had returned from the edge of death.
Without resting, Leos and Minoros headed straight to the royal grand library with the sacred artifact: the shard of eternal ice, the Tear of Brimora. At the foot of the library tower, the ebony doors rimmed with gold swung open, revealing a deep passage leading down into the halls where ancient, arcane knowledge was kept.
Inside, scholars and mages were already waiting, wearing specially crafted gloves made from the hide of sacred beasts, able to withstand the biting cold of the ice that never melts. The shard was placed on an ancient stone table whose surface had faded into grayish blue with age, still icy to the touch and trembling slightly at every contact.
Under the blaze of the torches, the ice emitted a soft pale blue glow so pure it felt as though it could reach into one's soul. It was as if those frozen tears were still falling from the heart of the goddess Brimora.
Using a refined technique, the scholars began shaping the ice into thirty-three needles, each as thin as a strand of hair and as sharp as the first crescent moon. These needles were more than mere objects. They carried the will to heal and the power to suppress the burning force of the sun.
Leos and Minoros stood close by, watching without blinking. After days of unconsciousness, Aerax had been brought in. His body had grown thinner, yet his arms and shoulders still held the solid strength of stone. His upper garments were removed, revealing the glowing red wound like the mark of a spear forged by the god Elion. Along his spine, each vertebra stood tense beneath the strained skin.
The room fell into an unnatural silence.
The first needle was inserted. A groan broke from Aerax throat as his body jolted, arching as though struck by lightning. Blood welled around the base of the needle but froze instantly. His breath grew ragged and uneven. Then came the second, the third, one after another, until all thirty-three ice needles pierced the vertebrae with flawless accuracy and unbearable pain.
Aerax writhed continuously. Sweat and blood mixed on his skin. His lips trembled, his eyes wide open as if clinging to the last fragments of consciousness. Groans rose into cries, and cries into roars. Yet no matter how agonizing it became, he did not surrender.
Leos gripped Minoros hand so tightly that the veins stood out beneath his glove. Minoros stood frozen in place, his gaze fixed on Aerax, his jaw clenched as though trying to bear the pain in his place.
When the final needle was driven in, the entire chamber fell still. Time itself seemed to stop. A heavy breath escaped Aerax, then his body shuddered once more. From his lips came a cold yet radiant exhale, like a wind sweeping across the plains at dawn. His eyes opened, the dull cloudiness slowly clearing until they shone again, like a mirror wiped clean after a storm.
The burning red mark across his chest and shoulder no longer throbbed with pain. It had become a scar, running from his left shoulder down to his hip, etched deep into his flesh but no longer tormenting him. It was a mark of his encounter with a god, a seal that could never be erased.
Aerax had been saved.
The healers quickly moved him to a special recovery chamber high within the library tower. He lay quietly on a stretcher draped in white cloth, his breathing weak but steady. Leos followed behind, worry tightening in his chest.
Minoros walked beside him in silence. He knew well that although Aerax had survived, this was only the beginning. The trials ahead would be far more merciless.
The door closed behind them, sealing the chamber where Aerax now rested, leaving in the air the faint scent of melting snow, fresh blood, and sacred frost.
Aerax lived.
But fate still had much left unsaid.