They returned to the Black Post as dusk settled.
Midarion was still reeling when he noticed the figure near the entrance.
Short. Familiar. Impossible.
A silhouette he hadn't seen in two years.
His heart stuttered.
And the world seemed to narrow around that single shape.
She stood just beyond the outer torches, half-lit by firelight and falling frost. Her posture was straighter than he remembered, shoulders squared, feet planted with quiet confidence. Silver hair caught the glow like pale steel, braided loosely down her back. When she turned, amethyst eyes met his.
For a heartbeat, neither of them moved.
Then Reikika smiled.
It wasn't wide. It wasn't playful. It was restrained, careful—like someone holding back something too big for the moment.
"Mida," she said.
That was all it took.
He crossed the distance without thinking, boots crunching over frost-hardened ground. He stopped just short of her, suddenly uncertain, suddenly aware of how much time had passed. She was slightly taller now. Leaner. Sharper around the edges.
"You—" His voice caught. He cleared his throat. "You're here."
She nodded. "I was cleared this morning."
For a second, he considered hugging her. The impulse flared hot and instinctive—and died just as quickly. They weren't children anymore. Whatever stood between them now wasn't distance alone.
So he settled for grinning like an idiot.
"Took you long enough," he said.
She rolled her eyes, but there was relief in it. "You're one to talk. I heard you've been busy collapsing."
"Once," he protested. "Twice, maybe."
She snorted softly.
Behind them, Theomar watched in silence, expression unreadable. Ren lingered a few steps back, arms crossed, gaze sharp and assessing—not just of Midarion, but of Reikika too.
Selina arrived last.
She stopped when she saw them together. Something flickered across her face—surprise, then something tighter. She masked it quickly.
"Inside," Ren said. "All of you."
The briefing room was colder than usual, stone walls holding onto the night. A single brazier burned low at the center, its light casting long shadows across the table where they gathered.
Midarion sat beside Reikika. He could feel her presence clearly now—not just warmth, but density. The same way he'd felt Theomar's Kosmo demonstration. Subtle, controlled. Real.
Ren didn't waste time.
"You're both leaving tomorrow," he said. "That won't change. What will change is what you carry with you."
His gaze flicked to Midarion. "You awakened your Kosmo. Poorly. Violently. But it happened."
Then his eyes moved to Reikika.
"And you," he continued, "have been sitting on a truth for far too long."
Reikika stiffened. "Ren—"
Selina spoke before he could finish.
"She was chosen."
The words dropped into the room like ice into water.
Midarion blinked. "Chosen?"
Reikika turned toward Selina, shock flashing across her face. "Selina—!"
Selina's jaw tightened. "You think I didn't notice? The shift in your Aura. The way the air bends when you focus. You're not just trained anymore. You're bonded."
Silence stretched.
Midarion stared at Reikika, eyes wide—not with fear, not with doubt, but pure, unfiltered awe.
"You have a spirit?" he breathed. "Really?"
Reikika looked like she wanted to sink through the floor.
"It's not—" She hesitated, fingers curling against her sleeve. "It's not something I wanted to announce."
"Why not?" Midarion asked immediately. "That's incredible!"
Selina's lips pressed thin. "Because not all spirits are equal."
Theomar's gaze sharpened slightly, but he said nothing.
Ren leaned back against the wall. "Tell him how," he said simply. "Or I will."
Reikika closed her eyes.
When she opened them again, her voice was steady—but quiet.
"It happened during a mission," she said. "Not the last one. Earlier. Months before I was grounded."
Midarion leaned forward, listening.
"We were assigned escort duty for a supply caravan. Nothing special. Just watch, report, withdraw if necessary." Her hands rested on the table, fingers stiff. "Halfway through the route, we found another caravan. Broken. Burned."
She swallowed.
"There were cages."
No one spoke.
"Children," she continued.
Midarion felt something tighten in his chest.
"One of our scouts insisted we pull back and report. That protocol mattered. That reinforcements would come." Her voice dipped, edged with something bitter. "I agreed. For about ten seconds."
She lifted her gaze, eyes hard now.
"I couldn't wait. I couldn't stand there and pretend time was neutral."
Selina shifted slightly.
"I moved ahead alone," Reikika said. "Two mercenaries were guarding the rear. They saw me. Laughed."
Her jaw tightened.
"They thought I was just a child."
She exhaled slowly.
"I beat them."
Midarion blinked. "You—"
"Cleanly," she said. "Too cleanly. And that's when their leader finally noticed me."
The room felt colder.
"He didn't rush me. Didn't draw his blade at first. Just looked… disappointed. Like someone realizing a nuisance had wandered too close." Her lips curled faintly. "He told me to drop my weapon. Said I'd been brave. Said bravery didn't change outcomes."
Midarion's fists clenched under the table.
"I asked him what he was going to do with the children," Reikika said quietly.
No one missed the way her shoulders tightened.
"He smiled," she went on. "Didn't answer."
She paused.
"Then he moved."
Her breath hitched—only slightly.
"He was faster than anything I'd faced. Stronger. He broke my guard in seconds. Disarmed me. Put me on the ground."
Midarion's heart pounded.
"Our scouts rushed in," she said. "Two of them."
Her voice dropped.
"He killed them immediately. Didn't even look at them when he did it."
Silence pressed in.
"Then he turned back to me," Reikika whispered. "And said he'd answer my question now. That he'd tell me what he needed the children for… and then kill me."
Her fingers trembled against the table.
"He said they were being sold. Slaves. For very powerful masters." Her jaw tightened, teeth clenched. "Masters who liked children."
Something dark flickered behind her eyes.
"And that's when something inside me… cracked."
Midarion felt ice crawl up his spine.
"I don't remember my own past," she said softly. "Those memories are sealed. Locked away." Her hand pressed lightly to her chest. "But the feeling wasn't. The fear. The helplessness. The certainty that no one was coming."
Her voice wavered.
"It all came back at once."
She drew a sharp breath.
"I felt something snap."
The brazier's flame flickered.
"And then," she said, almost reverently, "I heard him."
Midarion swallowed. "the spirit."
She nodded slowly.
"A presence. Vast. Still. Watching." Her eyes unfocused slightly. "He told me my grief had weight. That my will had reached him. That winter listens when suffering becomes resolve."
Ren's gaze sharpened.
"He told me his full name," Reikika continued. "And told me to call it."
The air seemed to tighten.
"I stood up," she said. "Broken. Bleeding. And I spoke."
Her voice dropped, steady and absolute.
'Veynar, the Eternal Ice.'
The brazier dimmed, frost creeping along its rim.
"My Aura changed," she said. "The ground froze. The air slowed. Everything became… still."
Midarion could barely breathe.
"The leader tried to move," she went on. "He couldn't. Tried to scream. Sound wouldn't carry."
She closed her eyes.
"I didn't feel stronger," she whispered. "I felt inevitable."
Silence stretched.
"When it ended," she said quietly, "there were bodies frozen in place. Cracked like glass."
Her voice shook.
"The children lived. Most of them." A pause. "But not all."
Theomar finally spoke. "And since then?"
"Ren trained me," she said quietly. "To control it. To not let it control me."
Midarion turned toward Ren, stunned. "You never told me."
"You weren't ready," Ren replied flatly.
Midarion scoffed. "I still might not be."
"That's accurate," Ren said. "But you're closer."
Selina crossed her arms, tension visible now. "So that's it, then. Two spirits. Two prodigies."
Reikika flinched.
Midarion frowned. "Selina—"
She looked away. "Forget it."
Theomar cleared his throat. "Enough. This isn't a contest."
Selina didn't respond.
Later that night, frost fell harder.
Midarion and Reikika walked the outer path of the Post, boots crunching over ice-dusted stone. Lanterns glowed faintly behind them. Ahead, the land dropped away into darkness.
"You didn't have to tell them," Midarion said.
She shrugged. "It was going to happen eventually."
He studied her in profile. "I'm glad you did."
She glanced at him. "You didn't look scared."
"Why would I be?" he asked. "You're still you."
A small smile tugged at her lips.
"I was afraid you'd think I was different," she admitted.
He snorted. "You are different. You've always been."
She laughed quietly at that.
They stopped near the cliff's edge. Snow drifted lazily around them.
"Does it hurt?" Midarion asked suddenly.
She tilted her head. "What?"
"Having a spirit," he said. "Sharing yourself like that."
Reikika thought for a moment. "Sometimes. Mostly, it's… heavy. Like carrying winter inside your chest."
He nodded. "Filandra said there was a cost."
Reikika's eyes flicked to him sharply. "She warned you too?"
"Yeah," he said. "Didn't explain."
"Spirits never do," Reikika said quietly. "Not until you're ready to pay."
They stood there for a long time, watching frost gather on stone.
Behind them, the Black Post loomed—silent, watchful.
Ahead of them, Astraelis waited.
And somewhere beyond sight, forces far older than either of them had begun to stir.