The Emberroot Plains were eerily quiet after the Poring King's fall. The air hung heavy, thick with the mingled scents of charred earth and frostbitten grass. The battlefield that had moments ago been chaos now lay in uneasy silence, save for the slow drip… drip… drip of melting ice against scorched stone.
Gideon stood over the fallen hooded man, his massive shoulders rising and falling with each breath. "Wake him," he growled, still bristling from the fight.
Eliakim crouched, giving the stranger a rough shake. The man's head rolled to the side before cold, gray eyes blinked open—sharp despite the exhaustion etched into his features.
"You're awake," Eliakim said flatly. "Start talking."
The hooded man's lips curved faintly, as if amused at being ordered around by someone who had just saved him. "I was following it—the dark smoke. It leads to anomalies like this one. The Poring King wasn't my quarry… only a side effect. I was tracking the thing that made it."
Ezra, sitting cross-legged with Skyling perched on her shoulder, tilted her head, her voice low and unsettling. "And what is that?"
He shook his head slowly. "Not here. Not now. But what you fought? That wasn't the heart of the rift. It was a guardian."
Gideon's expression hardened. "Then where's the real threat?"
The hooded man lifted one weary arm, pointing toward the far edge of the plain. Mist coiled low to the ground there, heavy and cold, but within it something moved. Massive paws crunched over frost and ash, and out of the fog stepped a beast unlike any they had seen—half fur, half crystal, steam curling from its jaws. Shards of ice jutted from its flanks, glowing faintly, while veins of molten light pulsed along its shoulders and spine. Its eyes burned in mismatched colors—icy blue and ember red—mirroring the dual-element stone that now pulsed faintly in Gideon's palm.
The beast's breath came ragged, each exhale releasing a cloud of frost tinted with heat shimmer. It was beautiful in a brutal way, like a living fragment of the anomaly itself.
Ezra's gaze locked on the stone. Her voice dropped to a near whisper. "That's no ordinary crystal. It's the Pyrafryst Core—a crystallized mana convergence of fire and frost. If it truly belongs to that creature… it's more than just a gem. It's part of its heart."
The beast gave a low, guttural sound—not a challenge, but a wounded plea.
Gideon's claws flexed around the gem. "If I keep this, I kill it. But if I give it back…"
Eliakim's eyes narrowed. "It becomes whole again."
For a long moment, Gideon said nothing. Then he stepped forward, boots crunching over frost-scorched earth. The beast did not move away—it simply lowered its head, watching him with those mismatched eyes. Gideon lifted the Pyrafryst Core, holding it in his palm, and pressed it against the beast's forehead.
Light burst outward, fire and ice spiraling together in a dance of opposites. Crystal veins re-knit themselves across its body, its fur regaining a faint sheen of vitality. The molten lines along its frame pulsed brighter, and its breathing steadied.
When the glow faded, the beast leaned forward and pressed its massive forehead to Gideon's chest in silent acknowledgment.
Ezra's expression was unreadable. "It's bound to you now. You've tamed it."
Gideon smirked faintly, running a hand over the jagged crystal crest on its head. "Then I guess I made a friend."
The creature's sheer size was intimidating—shoulders nearly at Gideon's height, crystalline tail spiked like an icicle mace. It didn't speak—whether from exhaustion or the lingering effects of separation from its Core—but its eyes held a quiet intelligence. Whatever its full power was, this was barely a fraction… and yet even now, the air around it hummed with elemental energy.
A fragment of the Pyrafryst Core, small and perfect, broke away as the fusion completed. It floated briefly before falling gently into the frost at Ezra's feet. She knelt, picking it up with trembling fingers. "A shard," she whispered. "Still alive with dual-element mana." Her lips curved ever so slightly. "It will serve me well… my Sacred Keystone."
The hooded man stirred then, pulling himself up with effort. His whip coiled at his belt once more. This time, he drew back his hood, revealing sharp, pale features framed by black hair streaked with silver. On his right hand gleamed a ring of twisted blackthorn, and in the corner of Eliakim's vision… his shadow lagged a heartbeat behind him before curling into an almost imperceptible smile.
"Nathaniel Blackthorn," he said smoothly, inclining his head in something like a mock bow. "Some call me the Whispering Blade. Assassin, spy… survivor."
Ezra's gaze sharpened. "That ring… it's whispering."
Nathaniel's smile didn't quite reach his eyes. "It always does."
The faintest hiss, like a breath against the ear, slithered from the ring: When the heir dies, you will be free.
Eliakim stiffened. "And whose side are you on?"
Nathaniel chuckled softly. "Whichever keeps me alive." He turned toward the fading mist where the dark smoke still curled faintly. "Enjoy your victory. This was only the first step."
With that, he walked away, shadow swaying unnaturally as though it followed a rhythm only it could hear.
Far beyond the plains, the rift pulsed once—like the beat of something vast and alive.