The frost temple was silent at dawn — the kind of silence that almost hummed, broken only by the wind curling through the narrow stone halls and the sound of running water beneath the floors. The morning light bled pale and silver through the temple's high windows, catching on every shard of frost that clung to the rafters.
Inside the training hall, mist hung low over the marble. A few flickers of candlelight fought to warm the cold.
Zayn stood in the middle of the open floor, stretching his shoulders, the ghost of yesterday's duel still fresh in his mind. His breath came out in pale clouds. Across the way, Erik was already training — shirtless despite the cold, his white hair sticking to his skin, every swing of his blade leaving streaks of frost in the air. He didn't even glance at the newcomers.
The great doors groaned open behind them. Flokki entered, his heavy blue coat draped over his shoulders, the morning's chill clinging to his beard. His single good eye swept across the room — calm, analytical, sharp.
"Enough idle movement,"
He said, his voice carrying through the room like gravel dragged over stone.
"We begin."
Zayn, Chauncey, Jasmijn, and Charolette assembled in a neat line. The air around Flokki seemed heavier, thick with something more than just presence — authority, wisdom, and a faint pressure that came from someone who had stood too long in the company of gods.
He began to pace, slow, deliberate.
"You've all seen strength in some form. Muscle, weapon, will. But that alone doesn't make a warrior. The true heart of battle isn't just power — it's understanding."
His boots echoed on the floor. He stopped, turning to face them fully.
"Each of you carries something unique. A current that lives within you. We call that current your Heart Codex — the shape of your soul when it is unchained."
The four listened intently. Chauncey, arms crossed, looked skeptical. Jasmijn, meanwhile, leaned forward as though trying to absorb every word.
Flokki turned his gaze to her.
"Jasmijn, I've heard you've already managed to manifest yours. Tell me — what do you think about when you call upon it?"
Jasmijn hesitated.
"I… don't really think. It just happens. It feels natural."
Flokki smiled faintly.
"And that is where most warriors fail to understand themselves. Many can use their codex — few truly comprehend it. Without understanding, they stagnate. Power without clarity is chaos."
He gestured toward the far side of the hall.
"Mira."
The serene woman looked up from her meditation. Without a word, she approached.
"Mira embodies calm,"
Flokki began.
"Tranquility in the storm. So naturally…"
He tilted his chin toward her. Mira extended her hands, her expression soft. Water began to form out of thin air — vapor condensing into liquid ribbons that circled her arms. It danced between her fingers in perfect spheres before dissolving into mist once more.
The 4 stared, awestruck.
"Her eminence is water," Flokki said. "It listens because she listens. It flows because she flows."
Chauncey, unable to contain himself, raised a hand.
"Okay, so… how do we get that? The flashy power stuff."
Flokki's eye cut to him, amused.
"There are many ways. Some meditate until their soul reveals itself. Others find it through conflict — through fear, love, loss. But the foundation is the same: you must first understand yourself."
Chauncey frowned, clearly unimpressed.
"Meditation? Sounds boring."
Flokki chuckled.
"It's boring until you meet the god that lives inside you."
At that, the old master motioned toward the far doors. His golden-eyed niece reappeared, reluctantly carrying a small wooden tray on which rested four crystal orbs. They glowed faintly, pulsing like hearts.
"These,"
Flokki explained,
"Are Spirit Readers — tools we use to translate the essence of one's heart into color. They can reveal what your codex will become… or what already hides inside you."
Charolette, who had been seated on a bench, froze when Flokki's eye fell on her.
"Come,"
He called to her.
"I—I'm not really a warrior. I don't think—"
"Nonsense," Flokki interrupted. "A Wraithfield who doesn't know her spirit? That would be a waste."
Reluctantly, she rose, brushing the frost from her sleeves.
Just then, the training hall doors creaked again. A tall figure stepped in — Kael, still in half-dressed training garb, his usual smirk already in place.
"You're late," Flokki said flatly.
Kael stretched lazily. "Overslept."
Flokki's brow furrowed. For a brief moment, his eye lingered — not with anger, but with something heavier, older. Jasmijn noticed. There was tension there, unspoken but sharp.
Flokki sighed, rubbing his stubble before turning back to the group.
"Now. Each of you — take an orb. Close your eyes, and let it feel you."
The 4 obeyed. The hall grew silent save for the low hum of energy. The orbs pulsed brighter — once, twice — then flickered with color.
Charolette's shone a deep violet with streaks of white — tranquil but potent.
Chauncey's glowed a stormy blue, edges sparking with something…untamed.
Jasmijn's radiated a warm amber light, stable, resolute.
Then there was Zayn.
His orb blazed gold — brilliant, radiant — and then, for a heartbeat, another color bled through beneath it. Black and crimson, writhing like smoke behind glass. The glow grew so intense it cracked the orb, sending thin veins of light crawling across its surface.
Flokki's eye widened.
He had been briefed on the dual soul within Zayn — but he hadn't expected this. The presence inside him wasn't dormant. It was watching. Waiting.
Flokki's thoughts tightened.
Kelios… so you really are awake.
The light faded. Zayn opened his eyes, unaware of the weight that had just fallen over the room.
Flokki cleared his throat, masking his concern.
"Good. You all have much to learn. And much to unlearn."
He turned away, hiding his troubled expression.
"We'll begin with meditation. The first step toward power," he said, "is knowing what sleeps in your heart."
Behind him, Zayn looked down at the cracked orb in his palm — the faintest trace of gold still flickering, like a heartbeat he didn't yet understand.
"Uhh…so what about breakfast?"
Chauncey inquired after seeing Flokki almost turn to leave.
Flokki stood before the four of them, his hands folded behind his back. His shadow stretched long across the frosted floor.
"No breakfast,"
His words were as plain as day.
The words hit like stones dropped in still water.
Chauncey blinked.
"Wait— wait, what?"
Flokki's gaze was steady, unreadable. "You'll eat when I see something worth giving you breakfast for."
Zayn raised a brow. "You mean—"
"A breakthrough,"
Flokki interrupted, his eyes focused on Zayn.
"The first spark of your soul's manifestation. Not borrowed strength, not mimicry. Your own aura. When it does appear, you keep it going until I say otherwise.
Chauncey groaned, his stomach already betraying him with a loud growl.
"That's cruel and unusual punishment."
"Discipline,"
Flokki corrected.
"The spirit obeys the body. If the body is weak, the spirit will starve too."
Charolette muttered under her breath,
"Yeah, well, the body's already starving."
Flokki ignored her and turned toward the entrance, where Valdyr'sSix began to file out for breakfast — boots echoing against stone, conversation low and casual. Kael led the group with his usual swagger, giving the foreigners a look of mock pity.
Behind him, Flokki's golden-eyed niece lingered by the doorway. She looked back at the four sitting cross-legged on the floor — exhausted already — and smirked.
"How many days you think it'll take before they quit?"
Kael asked her, half teasing, half serious.
The girl shrugged, folding her arms. "Give it a few hours, I'd say."
A few of the other members laughed — Lyra, Renn, and even Mira, who rarely showed amusement. Solas, however, stayed silent.
Kael glanced over.
"Hey, Solas, what about you?"
The tall man shot him a glare so sharp it silenced the laughter, then turned on his heel and walked away. His long white cloak drifted behind him like a wisp of smoke.
"Touchy,"
Kael muttered, chuckling to himself as the group disappeared down the corridor toward the dining hall.
Back in the training chamber, the cold air felt heavier than before.
"Wait—so, no breakfast?"
Chauncey repeated, disbelief coating every word.
Flokki didn't even glance back.
"Not until you make me see something real."
Then, quietly:
"The hunger might help."
He left them with that, his footsteps fading beyond the doors.
For a long time, there was silence. Only the sound of wind seeping through the cracked windows and Chauncey's grumbling stomach.
"Well," Charolette muttered, sitting cross-legged beside Zayn,
"Nobody said this was going to be easy."
Zayn nodded faintly, settling into a calm breath.
"It's training. It's supposed to hurt."
"Yeah, but I didn't think it'd starve us,"
Chauncey said, glaring toward the empty doorway.
"Stop complaining and focus,"
Jasmijn spat quietly, already closing her eyes. Her breathing was slow, controlled — a commander's discipline channeled into meditation.
The hall grew still again.
Minutes turned into half an hour.
The light shifted across the floor, from pale silver to warmer gold.
Then — faintly — a glow shimmered around Jasmijn. Like sunlight bending through amber glass. The air around her pulsed, warm and steady. The faint scent of burnt oak lingered.
Her aura flared — a calm yet resolute flame.
Zayn opened one eye, faintly smiling.
"Show-off."
"Shut up and focus."
It took forty-five minutes more before Zayn's energy stirred.
The temperature spiked. The frost melted beneath him in a slow radius. The faint shimmer of gold flickered around his shoulders — alive, radiant. It pulsed with something deeper, something older. For a moment, another light — faintly crimson — flared and vanished beneath it, unseen by the others.
Zayn exhaled sharply, forcing it to fade. His body steamed from the heat of it, sweat trickling down his temple.
Flokki, watching from the far balcony above, narrowed his eye. Controlled, but unstable.
Twohours later, Charolette finally stirred. She'd been perfectly still, her hair fallen around her face, her jaw clenched in frustration. Then — slowly — the frost beneath her hands softened into water. The droplets hovered faintly, swirling around her like floating glass beads.
Her aura was pale violet, gentle but firm — like dawn mist carrying hidden lightning.
She opened her eyes, exhaling shakily.
Zayn smiled.
"You did it."
She didn't answer, but her expression softened.
Then there was Chauncey.
Two hours and nothing. His legs had gone numb, his stomach was eating itself, and his patience had long since died.
He cracked an eye open and saw everyone else glowing like lanterns.
"Oh, come on!"
Zayn chuckled under his breath.
"Focus, Chauncey."
"I am focusing!" he barked, voice echoing.
"It's just— nothing's— working!"
Flokki's voice boomed from above, startling him.
"Then you're thinking too hard. Stop chasing your power like prey, Wraithfield. Let it find you."
Chauncey glared up toward the balcony.
"Let it find me? How the hell am I supposed to do that when I'm starving?"
Flokki smirked faintly.
"Then maybe hunger will teach you patience."
The old man turned away, cloak swaying as he disappeared down the stairs.
The four sat in silence again, exhaustion thick in the air.
Zayn's aura flickered faintly, the last traces of gold fading from the hall.
Charolette leaned back against the wall, sighing.
"You'll get it, Chauncey. Just… stop fighting yourself."
He groaned, burying his face in his hands.
And somewhere deep within his chest — faint, nearly imperceptible — something stirred.
….
The light in the training hall had changed from the crisp blue of morning to the tired gold of approaching midday. The frost that once coated the windows had melted into fine rivulets, trailing down the glass in slow, uneven streaks. Dust and light danced together in the air, and all that could be heard was the quiet hum of wind pressing against the high walls of the temple.
Chauncey sat cross-legged at the center of the floor, sweat beading on his forehead, his stomach twisting itself into knots. His eyes were half-open, jaw tight — trying to feel something, see something — but all he felt was the ache in his back and the hollow pit of hunger clawing at him.
Across from him, Jasmijn exhaled softly, her aura dimming until only faint motes of light remained around her shoulders. She opened her eyes, the sharp discipline she wore like armor slowly softening into fatigue.
"Well, look."
She began, pushing herself to her feet.
Her knees cracked as she stood, brushing dust from her trousers. She looked toward the doors leading out into the hall — where she could faintly smell roasted grain, salt, and warm bread carried by the draft.
Zayn glanced up at her from his own meditation spot. His crimson eyes glimmered faintly under the light, the last of his aura still curling like heat smoke around his arms.
"Already? But Flokki said—"
Jasmijn rolled her shoulders.
"It's almost midday. Flokki can punish me later — I'm getting breakfast before I pass out."
Zayn sighed, standing as well. He stretched, his joints popping audibly. The warmth in his aura vanished entirely as he clapped Chauncey on the shoulder on his way out.
"You'll learn soon,"
He said, giving a reassuring grin.
"Don't worry."
Chauncey didn't look up. He just grunted, his jaw clenched as he tried again to focus — to reach for something that refused to be reached.
The hall seemed colder around him now that the others were leaving.
Charolette lingered a moment, torn between her own exhaustion and the guilty knot in her chest. She looked toward Jasmijn and Zayn's retreating figures — then back at her brother, sitting alone on the floor, his breathing shallow and heavy.
For a second, she hesitated. Her hand curled into a fist at her side. Then she knelt down beside him, her voice soft, barely a whisper beneath the whine of the wind outside.
"I'll sneak you something to eat, alright?"
He didn't respond. Not even a nod. His face stayed still — but his eyes, unfocused and tired, flickered faintly with something like gratitude.
She gave a faint smile anyway, standing and brushing the dust from her knees.
As she followed the others out, the heavy wooden door creaked shut behind her, muffling the sound of distant chatter and the faint scent of food from the main hall.
Chauncey was alone.
The silence returned — heavy, biting. The sun had shifted to the far side of the temple, casting long shadows that stretched toward him across the floor. He swallowed hard, closing his eyes again.
"Let it find me,"
He whispered under his breath, repeating Flokki's words.
The ache in his stomach deepened.
The cold pressed harder.
And somewhere deep inside — deeper than the hunger, deeper than the frustration — a pulse of warmth stirred, faint but steady.
A breath in.
A heartbeat.
Then silence.