The Monastery of Wizardry reigned atop the icy pinnacle of Snežni Nordtop like a glittering crown pressed defiantly against the heavens. An awe-inspiring marvel, its crystalline spires shimmered on the frostbitten summit of the northern range, their brilliance rivaling the very stars. Within its frozen corridors, ancient magic pulsed like a living, throbbing heart. Eldritch murmurs curled languidly through the chill air like tendrils of silver smoke, while glowing runes flitted along the vaulted ceilings in slow, sinuous spirals. Cloaked figures glided among those towering spires, their robes cascading like liquid starlight in the harsh wind—and yet, not one ever succumbed to the treacherous gleam of the ice.
Since childhood, Feredis had dreamt of joining these exalted ranks. In his fevered imaginings, he commanded the ramparts with his staff raised high, summoning tempests with a mere flick of his wrist, his incantations setting the very cosmos trembling in submission.
Instead, fate had him crouched beneath Master Vedran Frostbinder's extravagant snow-silk bed, scrubbing cold stone floors with a rag steeped in lemon aroma, muttering bitter curses under his breath.
"I didn't scale a mountain crawling with frost-wraiths just to polish chamber pots," he growled, his voice thick with simmering frustration.
"Less grumbling, more scrubbing," came Vedran's deep, calm tone from across the room, laced with an amused undercurrent that did little to soothe Feredis' burning indignation.
Peeking out from his cramped space, Feredis snapped, "I enrolled to master ancient sorcery, not to be your glorified towel boy!"
"Magic," Vedran intoned without so much as turning, his words measured and deliberate, "demands humility, discipline, and immaculate surroundings. Enlightenment does not blossom in filth."
Muttering a barbed phrase in Elvish—a crude dismissal of fate that might have translated to "frost-bitten goat"—Feredis retreated under the bed, his dreams smoldering like embers left in a cold hearth.
Later that day, after dutifully serving the seventieth-eighth perfectly steeped cup of elderberry-silverleaf tea—a brew whose timing Vedran claimed was measured by the gentle beat of the heart—Feredis stormed out of the chamber. His scowl deepened upon catching sight of Hoki lounging near the eastern archway, idly nibbling on dried mountain berries as if she'd wandered into an impromptu, carefree picnic rather than a bastion of ancient magic.
With a frustrated thud, he flopped onto the icy bench beside her.
"Well," Hoki cooed with a lilting tone, her gaze teasing, "how fares the prodigy of frost and furniture arrangement?"
"I hate it here," Feredis muttered, his voice a heavy blend of anger and longing.
"Still cleaning?" she prodded softly.
"And pouring tea. And ironing socks with a charm I invented just to stop them from burning," he replied, voice laced with both scorn and hidden yearning.
"Sounds like true mastery," she smirked, her eyes sparkling with mischief.
He shot her a glare that was both exasperated and strangely tender, prompting her to raise her hands in playful surrender.
"You thought you'd be hurling fireballs by now," she teased gently. "Maybe phasing through solid walls?"
"I should be!" Feredis snapped, his frustration mingling with an undercurrent of desire. "I shattered the entrance crystal! Do you know how many souls have managed that feat in the past hundred years?"
"Three," Hoki replied with a sultry certainty. "You, Vedran, and that poor fool who actually exploded at the celebration."
"Exactly!" Feredis sighed, running a hand through his tumultuous hair. "And here I am... folding robes."
Hoki reclined, her gaze drifting to the swirling, ghostly fog that slithered through the monastery's spires. "Well, you did want to join the Order."
Feredis grunted in response.
"But between you and me," she murmured in a low, intimate tone, "I believe your power already eclipses even the famed Arcane Brothers."
Feredis's eyes widened in disbelieving astonishment. "What?"
"Even Master Vedran might agree," she whispered, her voice laden with a secret promise.
"Are you praising me?" he asked, the heat in his tone smoldering beneath the surface.
"Don't let it inflate your pride," she admonished playfully, popping another berry into her mouth. "But I witnessed what you did in the Vale of Echoes. You didn't merely cast a spell—you commanded the very storm, bending the sky to your indomitable will."
For a fleeting moment, the harsh wind seemed to lose its bite. Feredis steadied himself as a subtle glow kindled in his chest, igniting a spark of something far more potent than mere magic.
"And perhaps," she added with a roguish glance, "that's precisely why Vedran has you steeping tea and ironing socks. He isn't crafting a mere student. He's sculpting a successor."
Feredis stared down at his hands, still dusted with soap bubbles and faint, effervescent runes, wondering if all this drudgery was nothing more than an elaborate trial meant to humble him before his destined rise. His heart pounded like the drum of an impending storm. "You think he really—?"
"I think," Hoki said, leaning in as her voice dropped to a sultry whisper, "he's preparing you for unparalleled greatness."
A furious passion flickered in Feredis's eyes as he rose abruptly. Before any further word could escape, he seized her wrist and pulled her into a shadowed alcove within the corridor—a sanctuary of hushed heat amidst the cold stone.
"Feredis—what the hell?" Hoki hissed, caught between shock and an undeniable thrill.
Without hesitation, he claimed her with a kiss—a savage, electrifying collision of desire and frustration. Initially, her body tensed in surprise, then gradually dissolved into yielding fervor. The shock of his boldness melted into anger, which soon transformed into an inferno of lust so intense it seemed to defy the chill around them.
"If this is another of your reckless stunts—" she began, but her protest faltered as he drew her closer, their kiss deepening into an urgent, ravenous embrace. It was a melding of passion and rebellion, their mouths colliding with the imperious force of a storm. He pressed her against the cold, unforgiving stone wall, the icy chill starkly contrasting the smoldering heat radiating from his body. Around them, the corridor seemed to hold its breath in reverent awe.
"Here?" she murmured, not as a question but as an invitation, her voice trembling with excitement.
He laughed low and throaty against her lips. "Just a quick taste of rebellion. Then back to the drudgery of socks."
"You're impossible," she teased with a sultry smile, sealing her words with another searing kiss.
Clothes became abandoned obstacles as they were shed in a frenzy of desire, their fingers exploring heated terrain with reckless certainty. Her delicate fingers slipped beneath his robes, uncovering a raw hunger that had been carefully suppressed for too long. His robe pooled at his feet, and with each stolen caress, her breath caught as his touch trailed wickedly down her spine. In that charged moment, the world narrowed to a single, fierce orbit of desire—just the two of them entwined within a voluptuous storm of passion.
"You're going to get us caught," she breathed between soft laughs and moans of surrender.
"Then be silent," he murmured against her heated neck, his voice as commanding as the storm itself.
She gasped as he lifted her effortlessly; their bodies meeting with a desperate urgency, moving in a rhythm born of pent-up yearning . Her grip tightened around him while his lips, relentless and determined, traced fiery paths along her skin. In that cavern of passion, nothing existed except the raging inferno between them.
"Almost there," he growled, his voice a trembling caress of anticipation.
"Then hurry up," she demanded, pulling him deeper into their shared blazing climax.
Their union exploded like thunder, a force that stole the very breath from their lungs, leaving them standing, motionless and radiant with ecstasy. Their chests rose as one, foreheads pressed together in a silent vow, their mingled warmth defying the cold that pressed in from every side.
Finally, Feredis stepped back with a wild grin, the vivid glow of satisfaction lighting his eyes. "I needed that."
Hoki, ever graceful even in the aftermath, smoothed her rumpled clothes with practiced ease. "You're a menace," she said lovingly, her tone carrying both exasperation and tender amusement.
Later, laughter echoed along the spiral stairwell as Feredis ascended toward Vedran's chamber—the sound light and somehow free, a sharp contrast to the weight of his official duties.
Inside, the ancient wizard sipped his tea with deliberate calm, his gaze fixed on the ethereal northern lights that danced seductively across the sky. Without turning, he observed Feredis's entrance.
"You've returned," Vedran stated softly, his voice imbued with quiet scrutiny.
"Yes, Master," Feredis replied, his cheeks flushed and eyes bright like molten silver. "Back to my duties."
Vedran's raised brow was a silent inquiry amidst unspoken acknowledgment. "You're smiling. That, dear boy, is most suspicious."
"Just contemplating tea. And excellence. And socks," Feredis said mock-seriously as he set down the tray with a flourish.
Vedran merely grunted and turned back to the luminous window, but in his eyes flickered a trace of pride that spoke volumes.
Far below, beyond the ancient, impenetrable walls of the monastery, the enchanted wards murmured to each other through the frosty air, their whispers laden with portent:
A storm is coming.