The air inside the elven palace was heavy that night — the kind of silence that came before a storm.
Ryn had just finished arguing with a guard about dinner etiquette when the sound of footsteps drew his attention. Ilyndra walked toward him down the corridor, her presence like sunlight in human form — serene, and yet sharp enough to cut through air.
Lysandra followed behind, expression tight. She had been trying to convince Ilyndra to let Ryn leave. It wasn't going well.
"I've told you," Lysandra said, voice strained, "he isn't your prisoner."
Ilyndra smiled. "He isn't. He's… my guest."
Ryn gave a weak wave. "More like decorative hostage, but sure."
The elf princess turned her gaze to him — slow, deliberate, like a predator deciding whether to play or pounce. "You still hide behind that mask. I wonder… what are you protecting? A secret? A scar? Or a soul?"
"Privacy," he said. "Rare thing these days."
Her eyes narrowed. "Then perhaps I'll have to see it myself."
Before Ryn or Lysandra could react, the vines along the corridor sprang to life. The walls sealed, the floor shimmered with green light, and a dozen roots surged from the ground — forming a living barrier between Lysandra and them.
"Wait—!" Lysandra shouted, rushing forward, but the vines slammed shut, locking her out.
The chamber sealed with a sound like a heartbeat.
Ryn was trapped with Ilyndra.
He sighed. "You know, this is exactly how bad stories start."
"Don't fight it," Ilyndra said softly, stepping closer. "I only wish to see the truth beneath your frost."
Her hand glowed green, magic circling her fingers like tendrils of light. The vines twisted toward him, wrapping around his arms and chest before he could move.
Ryn gritted his teeth. The humor in his voice vanished. "Let go."
She tilted her head. "Why hide your face from those who wish to know you?"
"Because it's not for you to know," he said quietly.
The vines pulled tighter. The air trembled with her power — thick, humming, ancient. "If you are truly the Ice Fox reborn," she whispered, "then let me see the creature who sleeps beneath your skin."
Her magic reached for his mask.
Frost burst from him like lightning.
The vines froze mid-motion, crystalizing in the air. The temperature dropped so fast that even Ilyndra's breath misted.
Her eyes widened — not in fear, but awe.
Ryn's voice came low, calm, stripped of its usual humor. "You really shouldn't have done that."
He lifted his hand — and for an instant, the world went blue.
Frost sigils spiraled around him, smaller than before, dimmer… but sharper. Two percent of the Ice Fox's power was enough.
The vines shattered. The floor split with a sharp crack, frost crawling outward like veins of silver fire.
Ilyndra staggered back, her gown catching ice at the edges. "You—"
"Two percent," Ryn said quietly, stepping forward. "Any more, and your forest would stop breathing."
Her lips parted — a faint tremor of power running through her body as the frost halted inches from her face.
"You would threaten me, here, in my own realm?" she asked, voice soft but trembling.
"Not threaten," he said. "Warn."
His eyes glowed faintly through the mask, pale and endless. "Next time you even imagine removing this mask… don't."
The vines around them wilted. The air stilled.
For the first time, Ilyndra looked at him not as prey or puzzle — but as something far older than both. Something that shouldn't exist.
Then the frost faded. Ryn stepped back, letting the chill dissolve into mist. His voice was calm again, but colder than before.
"I told you before," he said. "This isn't curiosity. It's a cage with flowers."
He turned toward the sealed door and snapped his fingers. The frozen vines cracked open like brittle glass, scattering frost into the hallway.
Lysandra stumbled in, sword half-drawn, eyes wide. "Ryn! Are you—"
He brushed past her. "Fine. Just done with botany lessons."
The corridor was silent as he walked away, cloak brushing frost off the floor. Behind him, Ilyndra stood alone in the ruin of her own magic — frozen vines glittering around her like broken jewels.
She touched her cheek, where a flake of frost had landed, and whispered, half to herself, "Two percent…"
And somewhere deep within Ryn's mind, the Ice Fox's voice purred in satisfaction.
You are learning to control me, thief.
He didn't answer. He didn't smile.
For once, there was no joke left to hide behind.