CHAPTER IX
The Oath Beneath Ice and Star
The Frost Tunnels stretched onward like the frozen veins of the world, winding ever deeper beneath the Ironspine Mountains. Here the air was so cold it seemed to ring like crystal, and every sound—every breath, every footfall—echoed with unnatural clarity, as though the stone itself listened.
Alaric walked in silence beside Lysa, his father borne upon a makeshift litter of woven cloaks and spears, the ranger's breathing shallow but steady. The mark upon Alaric's chest still glimmered faintly beneath his tunic, a dull ember that refused to fade, as if it now belonged to him as surely as his own heartbeat.
They had left the cavern of the frost-drake behind, but not the sense of being watched.
Not by the cult alone.
By the world itself.
At last the tunnels widened, opening into a vast hollow where the ceiling arched so high it vanished into darkness. At its center stood a lake of ice, perfectly smooth, its surface reflecting the faint blue light of countless crystals embedded in the walls. Above the frozen water, the air shimmered with pale radiance, and within that glow, shapes moved like slow-falling snow.
"This is a crossing," Lysa whispered. "A thin place between the waking world and the elder realms. The elves of ice once kept watch here, before they withdrew beyond time and storm."
As if summoned by her words, the light above the lake coalesced, forming tall, slender figures of silver and frost. Their forms were graceful, their features sharp and beautiful, and their eyes shone like distant stars caught in ice.
The Aesryndel.
The Ice-Elves of the First Age.
They did not walk upon the ice. They hovered above it, their presence more spirit than flesh, bound to this place by memory and oath.
One stepped forward, her hair flowing like spun moonlight, her voice a chime of winter bells.
"Blood of Ember," she said, gazing at Alaric. "The Covenant stirs again. Long have we waited to see whether it would awaken in flame… or in ruin."
Alaric felt the warmth in his chest answer her words. "I am no lord of dragons," he said. "I am only a man who wishes to keep his world from burning."
The elf regarded him with a sadness that seemed to span ages. "So spoke Luminaryx, when first he turned from the path of dominion. And so spoke those of your blood who bound the Crown of Ash, that it might never again rest upon a brow untempered by mercy."
At the mention of the Crown, the ice-lake darkened, and within its depths, images formed.
A great dragon of light and fire, wings spanning the sky. A host of lesser wyrms circling in reverent silence. Mortal kings and mages standing in a ring of runes. And at their center, a circlet of star-metal, glowing with both flame and frost.
"The Crown was not forged to rule dragons," the elf continued. "It was forged to remind them. Of law. Of balance. Of the promise made when the world was young: that fire would warm and forge, not only consume."
The vision shifted. Shadows crept across the scene. A colossal form of black and crimson flame rose in defiance—Vorthraxx, the Eternal Inferno. The Crown was lifted against him, and the sky itself seemed to tremble.
"But the Crown was lost," the elf said. "Hidden when the war of Elder Dragons tore the heavens and the deep places alike. Its resting place lies beyond ice and flame, in a realm where time coils upon itself. Only one marked by both Covenant and Choice may find the path."
Her gaze sharpened. "That path now opens before you."
The Aesryndel raised her hand, and the air above the lake split like a curtain of light. Beyond it, Alaric saw a vision of towering spires of crystal and frost, of a throne carved from ancient ice, and above it, a star burning with cold blue fire.
"The Heart of Winter," Lysa breathed. "The counterbalance to the First Flame."
"There you must go," the elf said. "Not merely to seek shelter, but to swear the Oath that will bind you to the ancient law. Without it, the Crown will devour your will, as it has devoured others before you."
Alaric stepped forward onto the ice. It did not crack. Instead, warmth and cold met beneath his feet, holding him as if the world itself acknowledged his presence.
"What oath?" he asked.
The elves lifted their voices together, and the cavern filled with a chorus like wind through frozen trees.
"The Oath of Balance," they intoned.
"To guard the world from the tyranny of flame and the silence of endless frost.
To stand between dragon and mortal, not as master, but as warden.
To wield fire with wisdom, and power with restraint.
To remember that creation and destruction are born of the same spark."
The mark upon Alaric's chest flared, and pain and clarity washed through him in equal measure. He saw, in a heartbeat, the long ages of war, the fall of kingdoms, the rise and binding of Elder Dragons, and the fragile, enduring hope that mortals and dragons might yet share a future not written in ash.
He knelt upon the ice.
"I swear," he said, his voice steady despite the storm within him.
"By the blood of Ember and Thorn.
By the First Flame and the Last Frost.
I will not seek dominion, but balance.
I will not serve the Eternal, nor seek his destruction without measure.
I will stand, as my forebears stood, between fire and the world it would consume."
The light blazed.
Above him, the ice parted, revealing the night sky far overhead, though no such opening should have existed. Stars shone down, cold and clear, and one among them burned brighter than the rest, tinged with gold and red.
"The Fire-Star," the elf whispered. "The herald of returning dragons."
When the light faded, the Aesryndel were gone. The cavern was silent once more, save for the soft breathing of Edrin Thorne and the distant, almost imperceptible rumble of something vast shifting far beyond the mountains.
Lysa placed a hand on Alaric's shoulder. "It is done. The Oath is sworn. The path to the Crown of Ash will now reveal itself… when the time is right."
Alaric rose slowly. He felt changed—not stronger in body, but deeper in spirit, as if a weight he had never known now rested upon him, and yet gave him purpose.
"Then we go to the Heart of Winter," he said.
"Yes," Lysa replied. "And beyond it, to the hidden ways of the First Age. For the Crown stirs, the seals weaken, and the Elder Dragons are no longer content to sleep."
Far to the south, unseen but felt, a pulse of heat rolled through the ley-lines of the world, and in the depths of a prison older than memory, the Eternal Inferno turned once more in his chains and smiled.