The moment the crippled grandmaster's final words faded into the misty silence, every gaze turned at once toward the small figure sitting quietly near Lucas's still form.
The Ice Belle.
She was perched on the ground, her tiny hands clutching the hem of Lucas's robe, her eyes gleaming faintly with that otherworldly light that had unsettled and awed them all before. It took only a heartbeat for the connection to click in everyone's mind...the black mist ahead of them, the one that even the crippled grandmaster had called suicide to cross, was born of corruption. And she, the Ice Belle, carried a divine energy so pure it could scatter corruption like light dissolving shadow.
Mirielle was the first to speak. "She… she might be the key," she whispered, her voice trembling with cautious hope.
Theron exhaled sharply, rubbing his temple. "That's madness," he muttered, though even he didn't sound convinced. "She's just a child."
