The glacier groaned beneath their feet.
Each step was a whisper of finality—a reminder that the path ahead was carved not by wind or time, but by something waiting.
Aryelle wrapped her cloak tighter, though it did little to stave off the cold. Not the surface chill, but the deep one—the kind that sat under the ribs, pressed into the marrow. The kind of cold that watched.
They stood now before a towering crescent wall of black ice, smooth as obsidian and veined with gold that pulsed faintly beneath the surface. At the center, frozen between cracks like ancient ribs, was a door.
No hinges. No carvings.
Just an outline that refused to be ignored.
"The Glacier Cathedral," Kael murmured.
Aryelle looked up at it. "It looks like a tomb."
"It was," Kael said. "And maybe still is."
Halric gave a sharp breath and muttered, "Gods help us. That thing is humming. I can feel it in my teeth."
"It's not humming," Kael said. "It's calling."
The Door Opens
Aryelle stepped forward.
Her brand—now fully bloomed across her shoulder and part of her neck—flared with heat as her palm met the ice.
A ripple passed through the glacier.
Then—a breath.
A low exhale, so large it shook the earth. Snow lifted in waves. Cracks split the wall.
And the door began to slide open, not with a grind of stone but a groan of recognition.
They stepped inside.
The temperature plummeted.
The Cathedral Interior
Columns of frozen bone spiraled toward the ceiling, twisted with veins of gold and red—fire caught mid-motion, preserved in the ice. A long aisle stretched forward, ending in an altar surrounded by shattered mirrors and statues.
The Seal hovered just above the altar, suspended midair, spinning so slowly it looked still.
But between them and it…
Something slept.
At first, it looked like stone.
Then it moved.
The Guardian
It unfolded itself slowly.
Massive.
Towering.
Not beast, not man.
A construct of ice and scarred gold, shaped like a knight in broken armor, fused into the cathedral floor by its lower body—half statue, half living sentinel.
Its chest glowed softly. Inside: fire.
Its head turned toward them, slow and seismic.
Then it spoke, voice like glaciers collapsing:
"Who comes to break the final chain?"
Aryelle stepped forward. Her voice did not shake.
"I do."
The guardian turned its head. "Flamebearer. Crownbound. Oath-burdened."
Kael's shadows tensed around him.
"You are not the first."
"I'll be the last," Aryelle said.
The guardian turned to Kael next.
"Shadow-kin. King-killer."
Kael held his ground. "I'm not here to take the Crown."
"Then why do you follow her?"
Kael looked at Aryelle. "Because no one else will keep her human."
Halric snorted. "Can I just say I hate this place?"
The Trial
The guardian raised a hand.
The doors slammed shut behind them.
Ice crept across the floor.
"Only one may pass."
Aryelle stepped forward.
"No," Kael said sharply. "We do this together."
"I don't think it's giving us that option," Halric said, eyes on the wall now encased in frost.
Aryelle looked at them both. Then took a step into the aisle alone.
The guardian watched her approach.
Its arm raised again.
And this time, the air cracked.
A blade of frozen light surged toward her.
Kael shouted—shadows leaping—but the spell hit Aryelle first.
She staggered, dropped to one knee.
The cathedral shook.
In her mind—visions.
Of a thousand futures.
Of cities burning under her rule.
Of children kneeling, begging for her mercy.
Of Kael, dying by her fire.
Of the Crown speaking in her voice.
She screamed.
The Flame Awakens
Her brand exploded with heat.
Real fire erupted from her back in a vortex of gold and red—not summoned, not controlled.
Unleashed.
It collided with the guardian's beam, shattering the spell midair and sending chunks of molten ice in every direction.
Kael ran to her side, grabbing her hand—ignoring the heat, ignoring the flames curling around her skin.
Aryelle blinked.
The fire calmed.
Kael didn't let go.
The Final Seal Breaks
The guardian slowly lowered its hand.
"You are… not as expected."
Aryelle stood, weak but breathing. "Good. I'm done being what anyone expects."
The guardian turned to the altar.
"The Seal is yours. The path is open."
The seal drifted into her hands.
It didn't burn.
It sank into her skin.
A third ring of thorns spread from her mark, now fully crowned—curved, spiraled, pulsing like a heartbeat.
Kael looked at her, eyes wary.
Halric stepped forward slowly. "So… that's all three?"
The ground shook.
The ice above cracked.
From deep below the cathedral, something ancient awoke.
The Crown Stirs
Far beneath the cathedral—in a chamber untouched for a thousand years—a mass of black-gold roots shifted. Fire pulsed between its thorns.
The Crown was not resting anymore.
It was listening.
And above, in the snow…
Aryelle whispered, "It's calling me."
Kael looked toward the altar. "No. It's luring you."
Aryelle met his gaze.
And in her eyes, something else flickered.
Not madness.
Not power.
Not yet.
But hunger.