"Latisha! Latisha!" Rwaine's voice echoed through the dark corridors as he burst into the House of Mirrors, his boots sliding slightly on the glassy floor. In his trembling arms lay Fanaza — pale, limp, and barely breathing. Her skin had grown cold against his chest.
"Latisha, you old lonely woman!" he shouted again, his voice cracking with panic and desperation. The mirrors along the walls reflected his frantic image, dozens of Rwaines running through the room, all with the same haunted look in their eyes.
From the dim corner, a low yawn echoed. Slowly, Latisha appeared, hunched and wrapped in thick shawls, her silver hair tangled like cobwebs. She blinked sleepily, her cloudy eyes adjusting to the lamplight. But the moment her gaze fell upon the frail figure in Rwaine's arms, her weariness vanished in an instant.
"You brought her… to my sacred abode?" Latisha's voice rose sharply, the disbelief cutting through the silence.
"Help me, Latisha," Rwaine whispered, his voice trembling. His chest rose and fell too fast as if every breath pained him.
Latisha's sharp eyes softened slightly as she took a step closer, her wrinkled fingers tightening around the hem of her robe. "This won't be for free," she muttered, though her gaze lingered on Fanaza's unmoving face.
Rwaine swallowed hard, jaw tightening. "What do you want from me?" he asked, his tone flat but desperate.
"I'll think about it," she said vaguely, crouching beside Fanaza. Her hands, though old, moved with careful precision as she brushed Fanaza's hair aside and pressed her palm to her forehead. Her expression darkened immediately.
"This is a plague," Latisha said sharply, her tone laced with alarm. She looked up at Rwaine. "Rwaine, you could be infected!"
"I've been with her for hours," he replied quickly, shaking his head. "Nothing's happened. No rash, no fever, no changes on my skin."
Latisha's eyes widened as if something had just clicked in her mind. "Rwaine… you're immune. Do you realize what this means?" She looked down at Fanaza again, frowning deeply. "This plague— it's deadly, cruel. It spreads fast, kills faster. Once it enters the blood, it devours everything."
Rwaine's voice cracked. "What can we do? I can't let her die, Latisha. Not like this."
Latisha began pacing slowly, her robe brushing the floor. The glassy walls flickered with her reflection, dozens of her whispering the same words. "It's strange," she muttered, more to herself. "The kingdom hasn't seen a plague like this in generations." Her eyes lifted to meet Rwaine's.
"Long ago, something similar spread through the southern lands. I remember the physicians then used a rare herb — a plant found deep in the Frostveil Mountains. It was said to slow the disease."
"I'll go find it," Rwaine said immediately, his voice filled with determination. He rose to his feet, ready to run out the door, but Latisha caught his arm.
"Rwaine!" she warned, her voice heavy. "Those herbs won't cure her. They can only slow down the pain, ease her suffering. It won't save her completely."
"That's good enough," he said, his tone firm. Without another word, he turned and stormed out into the night.
Latisha stood there for a moment, her old hands trembling slightly. She looked down at Fanaza's pale face, her chest tightening. "May the mirrors guide you, fool boy," she whispered, before turning back toward the dying flame.
******
The streets were swallowed by silence, one that was broken only by the faint clinking of chains. The plague doctors stood in dark rows, their long cloaks fluttering in the cold night breeze. Torches flickered in their hands, their light reflecting off the smooth glass of their birdlike masks.
One by one, the infected were dragged into the square, their thin, trembling bodies with hollow eyes. Some cried. Others didn't have the strength left to.
"We are here for salvation," the leader of the plague doctors said, his voice calm, echoing faintly through the mask. "We will heal this kingdom. Trust us. Believe in us. We cannot do this alone."
Queen Lisa stood at the edge of the crowd, her shawl pulled tightly around her shoulders. Her eyes — sharp, suspicious — followed every movement of the doctors. She leaned close to King Loban. "I don't trust these people," she whispered, her voice trembling.
Loban's face was tired, his eyes shadowed. "We are out of options, Lisa," he murmured, glancing at the torches burning low.
"My king," the leader called out smoothly, inclining his head. "May we speak in private?"
Loban kissed Lisa's forehead softly, then followed the masked man into a shadowed alley. The sound of chains and cries faded behind them.
"What do you want?" Loban asked sharply, his tone cracking with restrained anger.
The leader tilted his head slightly. "Your sons," he said softly. "They aren't joining the transport?"
"My sons are in quarantine," Loban replied coldly. "They have nothing to do with you."
The leader lifted a gloved hand in mock surrender. "I was only being considerate, Your Majesty. No need to shout."
"You have what you came for. Now leave my kingdom," Loban snapped.
The man chuckled under his mask, the sound dark and hollow. "I am only doing the Kingsmaker's work. Don't stand in my way. Your sons are safe for now, they're not vomiting green blood yet." He stepped closer, voice dropping to a whisper. "Let's keep it that way."
Loban's fists clenched, rage flickering in his eyes. "Leave," he growled.
The leader bowed mockingly, then turned to his men. "Let's go."
The carriages rolled out through the fog, wheels creaking over cobblestones. They travelled far until they reached an ancient monastery.
The building loomed like a grave marker against the stormy sky, its stone walls cracked, covered in crawling moss, its windows hollow and black. The air was heavy with dampness and the faint, foul scent of rot.
Around it lay the remnants of an almost dried lagoon — a vast stretch of frozen mud and shallow ice, where the last puddles shimmered faintly under the pale light.
"Release them," the leader ordered, his voice low and firm.
The plague doctors jumped down and unchained the prisoners. The infected stumbled out, their chains clattering, eyes wide with fear as they stared at the ruined monastery.
"Where are you taking us?" a woman cried, clutching her coughing child tightly.
"Move!" one of the doctors barked, shoving her forward. The group stumbled toward the lagoon, trembling as their chains dragged through the frozen earth.
The leader stood still, his gloved hands clasped behind his back. His masked face tilted toward the dark monastery. "After years of failure," he murmured, a smile touching his voice, "finally, the Kingsmaker's work begins."
******
Meanwhile, Rwaine climbed through the Frostveil Mountains, each step heavier than the last. The air was so cold it burned his lungs. His cloak, stiff with frost, clung to his shoulders. Snow fell endlessly from the gray sky, blanketing the world in silence.
The trees stood tall and lifeless, coated in thick white, their branches frozen mid-sway. The only sound was the soft crunch of his boots against the snow and his harsh, uneven breathing.
At last, the forest opened into a vast frozen lake, smooth and glasslike, stretching endlessly before him. The surface gleamed faintly under the dim light, its beauty eerie and unnatural.
Rwaine exhaled slowly. "It's really cold here," he muttered, rubbing his numb hands together before stepping forward.
The ice groaned under his weight. Cracks whispered beneath his boots. Still, he kept moving, every thought fixed on Fanaza's face — her weak breaths, her fading warmth.
Halfway across, a sound broke the silence — a low, guttural growl. Then another.
Rwaine's hand went straight to his sword. From the fog ahead, large shapes began to move closer to him, hulking figures covered in white fur, running low on all fours. They were Yetis.
Within seconds, three of them charged, their massive bodies shaking the ice. Rwaine braced himself, drawing his blade in one fluid motion.
"Come on then," he muttered, the words clouding in the freezing air.
The first yeti swung a huge claw. Rwaine ducked, the strike slicing past his head and cracking the ice with a thunderous sound. He slashed upward, his blade cutting into thick fur barely enough to draw blood.
Another yeti lunged from behind. He spun, blocked, and the impact sent him skidding backward. The ice beneath him groaned loudly, spiderweb cracks spreading outward.
The yetis roared, the sound echoing through the empty mountains. They charged again, and the rink trembled under their weight.
"Stop!" Rwaine shouted though he knew it was useless. He took a step back and the world split open with a deafening crack.
The ice shattered and everything dropped.
The freezing water swallowed him whole. It hit him like knives, cutting, crushing and stealing his breath. His limbs flailed helplessly as the world turned blue and silent.
Above him, the light dimmed, and the thrashing shapes of the yetis vanished into shadow.
Rwaine's chest burned. He kicked upward, pounding against the solid layer of ice that sealed the surface. No escape. The cold crept into his bones, numbing everything.
"No…" he gasped weakly, bubbles escaping his mouth. "Not here. Not now. I have to save her…"
A shadow moved beside him, it was larger than a man, gliding effortlessly through the water. A soft, furred hand reached out, grabbed him firmly, and pulled him into the depths. His vision faded.
When Rwaine awoke, everything was quiet. Warmth surrounded him. He was wrapped in thick furs, lying beside a flickering fire that glowed orange against walls of ice. Steam rose softly where the heat met frost.
He sat up slowly, disoriented. His body trembled, his teeth chattered, but he stretched his hands toward the fire, savoring its warmth.
Then a voice spoke behind him, gentle and low. "What brought you here?"
Rwaine turned sharply. Standing a few feet away was a yeti but unlike the others, her eyes glowed softly, filled with an emotion he hadn't seen in any of the beasts.
"I mean no harm," she said quickly, raising her hands slightly. "I'm not like them. I won't hurt you."
"How am I supposed to believe that?" Rwaine said through clenched teeth. "Your people tried to kill me."
"Some of us are different," she replied quietly. "Just like humans, some are cruel, some are kind. I mean no harm."
Rwaine searched her face, uncertain, but found no malice only sincerity. "Why did you save me?" he asked finally.
"I…" She hesitated, her voice softening. "I couldn't just watch you freeze to death."
Rwaine said nothing, though the tension in his shoulders eased slightly. When she reached toward his hood, he instinctively flinched.
"I didn't mean to startle you," she said quickly, smiling faintly. "There's a snow fly on your hood."
"A… snow fly?" he asked, confused.
"It bites sometimes," she said.
Rwaine exhaled, shaking his head. "I have to go. I need to find a plant."
"What plant?" she asked.
"Why do you care?" he muttered, already turning away.
She followed quietly. Every time he stopped, she stopped too. Finally, he turned, frustrated. "Why are you following me?"
"I just want to help," she said softly. "What kind of herb are you looking for?"
"A rare one," he said. "It's known for its healing power."
"You mean the Veil Flower," she said immediately.
Rwaine froze. "You know it?"
She nodded. "Follow me. I know where it grows."
He hesitated, then followed. They moved through a narrow path of tall ice pillars that shimmered like glass. Frost glittered in the air like falling stars.
When they reached the heart of the cavern, flakes of frost fell softly from above, shattering like glass upon the ground.
"Be careful," she warned. "The frost here can cut through skin."
At last, they reached a small glowing flower, ts petals translucent, shining faintly blue. She knelt, plucked it carefully, and handed it to him.
"This is it," she said gently.
Rwaine took it with both hands, a faint smile breaking through the exhaustion. "Thank you."
"You're welcome," she said softly. "It's been so long since I've met a human."
He nodded. "I have to go. My friend is dying."
She bowed her head. "Then go. I hope the gods favor her."
Rwaine turned and ran, clutching the flower tightly.
When he finally burst into the House of Mirrors again, the cold air of the mountain still clinging to him, his heart sank. Latisha was on her knees beside Fanaza and green liquid spreading slowly around them like a curse.
He rushed forward, panic flooding him. "What's wrong?"
Latisha looked up, her eyes wet with despair. "I can't feel her pulse, Rwaine."