The dreams grew stronger.
Each night, Kaelan walked the glass mountain in his sleep—watching the black veins spread across the Ice Wall, feeling the pulse of the Heart of Frost weaken like a dying star.
"It's not just a vision," Frosthael said one morning, perched on Kaelan's shoulder as he practiced forms in the snow. "It's a warning. The corruption is searching for the Heart."
"How do I stop it?" Kaelan asked, breath fogging in the cold.
"You don't. Not yet. But you can prepare."
That afternoon, Ryn led them deep into the island's core—a cavern no map had ever recorded, hidden beneath a frozen waterfall.
"This is where the first Frostveil queen drew her power," Ryn said, voice hushed. "This is where the Heart of Frost on Valryke sleeps."
Kaelan stepped forward.
In the center of the cavern, embedded in glacial ice, pulsed a crystal the size of a human heart—blue, radiant, humming with ancient energy.
"A shard of the true Heart," Frosthael whispered. "Planted here to guard the island. If this falls… Valryke becomes vulnerable."
Darok crouched beside it. "It's beautiful."
"And dangerous," Ryn added. "Only a true Frostveil heir can touch it without being frozen solid."
He looked at Kaelan. "Prove you are worthy."
Kaelan didn't hesitate.
He placed his palm on the ice.
Cold seared through him—not pain, but recognition. The crystal flared, light flooding the cavern. Images flashed:
—His mother, placing the locket around his neck.
—Queen Vaelira, swearing the oath.
—A dragon, wings spread, roaring over the Ice Wall.
Then—a voice, ancient and vast:
"Blood of Frostveil… you are seen."
The light faded.
Kaelan stood, unharmed.
Ryn nodded, eyes gleaming with something like pride. "You passed."
That night, Darok couldn't sleep.
He paced the Frostheart chamber, knife in hand. "Something's wrong. The ravens are gone. The wolves won't howl."
Kaelan sat by the fire, Frosthael coiled around his shoulders. "It's coming closer."
"To the Heart," Frosthael confirmed. "It senses the shard. And it hungers."
Just before dawn, they found it.
At the edge of the western woods—a stag, frozen mid-leap, black veins pulsing beneath its skin. But this time… it wasn't alone.
Three more bodies lay nearby. All corrupted. All facing the same direction: the cavern.
"They're drawn to it," Darok whispered.
Ryn arrived, face grim. "We can't burn them all. The corruption is spreading faster than we can contain it."
Kaelan looked at the shard in the cavern. "Then we move it."
"You can't," Ryn said. "It's bound to this place. Only the true Heart beneath the Ice Wall can be moved—and even that requires a pact with a dragon."
All eyes turned to Frosthael.
The spirit-dragon's form shimmered. > "I am not whole. But I am enough."
Kaelan stepped forward. "Then we go to the Wall."
Ryn shook his head. "You're nine years old. The journey alone would kill you."
"I'm not alone," Kaelan said, glancing at Darok. "And I'm not just a boy. I'm the heir of Frostveil."
Silence.
Then Ryn sighed. "If you go… you go as warriors. Not children."
The next week was brutal.
Ryn trained them harder than ever.
Kaelan learned the Final Form—a sequence so precise, it could freeze an opponent's blood with a single strike. He practiced until his hands bled, until his body moved without thought.
Darok mastered Shadow Step—a barbarian technique that let him vanish between heartbeats. He could cross a snowfield without leaving a single footprint.
At night, Kaelan dream-walked with Frosthael, learning to navigate the visions, to pull truth from illusion.
One evening, Frosthael showed him something new:
"The Heart of Frost lies beneath the central spire of the Ice Wall. Guarded by ancient wards. Only a Frostveil heir, bonded to a dragon, can awaken it."
"What happens if we fail?" Kaelan asked.
"The Wall falls. The North falls. And the world… burns."
Three days before the planned journey, the corruption struck the ruins.
Kaelan woke to screams—not human, but animal. Twisted. Wrong.
He ran outside.
In the courtyard, a pack of wolves circled, eyes glowing violet, veins black as tar. They weren't attacking. They were… waiting.
For him.
Darok appeared beside him, knife drawn. "They know."
Ryn stepped forward, sword in hand. "Go. Now. I'll hold them off."
Kaelan hesitated. "I can't leave you."
"You must," Ryn said. "This is why you've trained. This is why you're here."
Frosthael landed on Kaelan's shoulder. > "The journey begins now."
With one last look at his uncle, Kaelan turned and ran—Darok at his side, Frosthael a silent flame on his shoulder.
Behind them, steel rang against fang.
Ahead—snow, storm, and the distant gleam of the Ice Wall.
Kaelan touched the frostwolf locket.
He wasn't ready.
But the world didn't wait for readiness.
It waited for courage.
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