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Chapter 167
The storm hit just after sundown. Not snow this time, but a different kind of cold sharper, quieter, filled with whispers that didn’t carry on the wind but inside it. As if the air itself was remembering something terrible.Mina pulled her cloak tighter as they crossed the frost choked causeway that led to the cliffs beneath Highbarrow. Few knew about the entrance there, and even fewer had permission to pass. But Elias had made the arrangements.This was no longer a matter of command. It was history. And history, as Elias had warned, lived in the Black Archives.The door to the archives was stone and rune sealed, older than the city above it. According to Elias, it had been carved by the mountain's first settlers, back when Highbarrow was only a scattering of firewatch towers guarding against the northern glaciers.A sentinel waited at the threshold half man, half spectral construct, eyes glowing with glacier light. It didn’t speak. Only stared as Elias pressed a copper disc into a
Chapter 166
They left Highbarrow at dawn. No fanfare. No banners. Only silence and the scrape of steel against sheaths as soldiers checked their weapons. The sky hung heavy with ash stained clouds, streaks of pale gold breaking through like a promise too fragile to speak aloud.Forty blades rode with them. Mina led the vanguard on foot, her bow strapped across her back, eyes scanning the narrow canyon road ahead. Oliver rode behind her, Shiveredge at his hip, Twinblade across his back. Elias had lent him a cloak woven with glimmerthreads half shadow, half light. Even under the rising sun, it made him look like something half remembered from a myth.They marched for the Valley Forge. Where the second Iceborn general Korrin Flameshield was said to sleep beneath a mound of frozen earth. Waiting to rise. Waiting to burn.The valley itself had once been a smith town. Ruined now. The Glacari had razed it in their first march south melting the forges with frostfire and binding the survivors into ston
Chapter 165
They reached Highbarrow on the third morning after the battle at Frostline Pass.The journey was cold and silent. Even the wind seemed to mourn. Smoke from the smoldering funeral pyres behind them had followed the group like a second shadow, clinging to their clothes and clumping in their lungs.But Highbarrow stood untouched. A city of stone and stormlight. Carved into the western cliffs, it had been the last true bastion before the lowlands fell into Glacari control. Its outer walls were forged from obsidian black granite, each slab carved with ancestral runes that flickered faintly when touched by moonlight. Twin towers flanked its main gate each housing a guardian bell that had not rung since the last king of Barrow died nearly a century ago.It looked like a tomb. It felt like a warning. Oliver tightened his grip on the reins of his frostbitten horse and turned to Mina. “Ready?”She didn’t answer. She just nodded. The surviving Winter Guard followed behind what remained of a fo
Chapter 164
The first wave hit just after dawn. The sky above the Frostline Pass had turned the color of old blood, streaked with ash clouds that shimmered like glass. Glacari foot soldiers surged forward tall, blue skinned brutes wrapped in bone and frost steel. Their weapons pulsed with black veins of ice magic, leaving trails of frost behind every strike.Oliver stood at the front line, blades drawn. Twinblade of the Crown in his left hand, Shiveredge in his right.Mina was at his back, coordinating archers from the high ridge. What remained of the Winterguard forty three soldiers, half wounded had formed a tight wedge formation at the pass mouth, where the cliffs narrowed and the rocks funneled enemies like cattle into a slaughter pit.They had nowhere to run. But they didn’t plan to. Oliver met the charge head on.The first Glacari screamed something in their tongue words lost to wind and war. Oliver answered with steel. The Twinblade sang in his hand, humming with each strike. It met the
Chapter 163
It took five days to reach the edge of the Frostline Range, and each mile felt heavier than the last.The road south through the pines was long gone, swallowed by centuries of snow and creeping frost. With the convoy down to one half broken wagon and a handful of weary horses, the survivors trudged onward through bitter winds and shifting mountain paths.Oliver led the way. Every night, he reviewed the Glacari map under starlight. The symbols shifted subtly depending on the light’s angle each movement revealing a new ridge or slope, glowing faintly in tones of gold and icy blue. The Tomb of Mirrors lay just beyond the Spine of the Wyrm a natural rock formation that split the Frostline peaks like a jagged scar. According to legend, no one who entered its shadow ever returned.Mina, ever pragmatic, didn’t care for legends. “Everything wants to kill us anyway,” she said, checking the straps on her pack. “Might as well die looking for something useful.”Oliver raised an eyebrow. “You ha
Chapter 162
The Sable Pines were quiet too quiet. Oliver had ridden this path years ago, when the pines had still sung with birdsong and travelers from nearby towns dared to cross through. Now, the forest seemed trapped in a state of uneasy stillness. The snow that dusted the earth bore no recent tracks not from man nor beast. Even the wind seemed reluctant to stir the dark branches overhead. As the makeshift convoy wound through the dense trees, Oliver kept a hand on Shiveredge, the blade now pulsing faintly at his hip. Mina rode beside him, her sharp eyes scanning every crooked trunk and blackened root.Behind them came the survivors of Lamba Fortress: fifteen souls, most injured, all shaken. Two wagons rattled along the frozen trail, one loaded with wounded soldiers, the other with salvaged supplies. A few still fit enough to ride did so with borrowed weapons in hand and wary eyes fixed on the dark woods.Oliver didn’t like the silence. “We should’ve reached the southern outpost by now,”
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