The Bellkeeper's path wound down through a gulley lined with pine roots thick as ship ropes. The ground was soft with years of fallen needles, muffling their steps. Above, a sliver of dawn pressed against the ridgeline, the pale light too weak to burn away the mist that clung low.
Qin Mo felt the wolf king's shard warm and cool in irregular pulses against his chest, as if caught between breaths. The system's earlier warning still flickered in the corner of his vision: Choose alignment before infusion.
He had no intention of choosing in ignorance.
The Bellkeeper slowed near a break in the ridge where the pines thinned into frost-burnt stumps. The air changed—drier, sharper, with a sting that bit at the nose. A wind came through the gap, rattling the dead branches with a hollow sound like chimes made from bone.
"Here," she said quietly.
At first he thought she meant the clearing beyond, until a darker shape separated from the mist—broad-shouldered, still as a carving. The scaled cloak hung in folds of white and pale blue, rimed with frost that didn't melt.
The ice man.
He didn't reach for his weapon. His eyes, pale as glacier melt, took in Qin Mo with the indifference of a predator that has already decided the kill can wait.
"You carry the king's heart," he said. His voice was slow, unhurried, every syllable exhaling cold. "And something older."
Qin Mo's hand brushed the hilt. "You tried to kill me in the pass."
"I tried to see if you were worth the trouble," the man said. "The sect wastes its wolves on any warm body. I prefer to cull for strength."
The Bellkeeper stepped between them, bells at her hip giving a soft warning tone. "Cull your own, frost-born. This one is under my ring."
His gaze flicked to her. "Your ring won't warm him when the mountain closes its hand. He'll freeze slow, and you'll be too far to hear the bells."
Qin Mo felt the air tighten between them—an old familiarity wrapped in threat. "You know each other," he said.
"We've crossed," the Bellkeeper replied, eyes still on the frost man. "Different debts, different winters."
The man tilted his head, and for a moment the faintest smile cracked the ice of his expression. "Tell him what's in his chest before the heat eats it."
"I'll tell him when the time won't kill him," she said.
That drew the first real shift in his stance—an almost imperceptible forward lean, like a blade tipping out of scabbard. "You're already too late."
[Alert: External essence attempting shard resonance.]
The warmth at Qin Mo's chest flared, but not with fire—it was a deep, invasive cold, sliding along bone toward the heart. He stepped back instinctively, Flame Step twitching in his muscles.
The Bellkeeper's bells screamed—a high, shattering chime that broke the cold's hold. The frost man didn't flinch. He simply let the pressure fade and turned away, as if bored.
"Keep him if you like," he said over his shoulder. "When the choice comes, he'll bleed frost, not fire."
He walked into the mist, each step erasing him more than distance could.
The Bellkeeper's breath was slow and controlled, but Qin Mo saw her hands tighten on the bell straps. "He's not supposed to be here yet," she muttered.
Qin Mo straightened. "Then tell me now—what's in the shard?"
Her eyes met his, measuring. "Two veins. Fire from the king. Frost from whatever they planted before it was yours. You can feed one and starve the other, or try to balance both. But balance is the hardest path, and every step will try to tip you."
"And him?"
"He's the tip," she said simply. "If the frost wins, you're his."
Qin Mo looked toward the mist where the man had vanished. His pulse still carried a faint chill under the heat, like the shadow of a wound. The system's warning pulsed again, steadier now, as if it could feel his hesitation.
[Quest Updated: Lines of Fire and Frost — Alignment choice deadline approaching.]
The Bellkeeper turned away, starting down the gulley again. "Decide soon. The mountain doesn't care if you freeze or burn. It only cares that you fall."