Hollow Peak, Frozen Wastes
Frostholme (Winter Continent)
Terra, Tellus solar system,
Luminary star system
Milky Way Galaxy
22nd Vetraeus cycle, 50 New Solaris Prime
June awoke to a soft chill against her skin, her body nestled in what felt like a bed sculpted from liquid silk and polished frost. Above her, crystalline blue formations arched into a vaulted ceiling that shimmered faintly with internal starlight. The walls around her pulsed gently—alive, almost breathing—made entirely of translucent crystal that refracted a cool, cerulean glow throughout the chamber.
The air was cold, but not biting. It carried the scent of ozone and ancient ice. Her head throbbed with a sluggish ache, as if her thoughts were wading through syrup. She groaned, her fingers twitching against the bedding—a curious material, both plush and firm, like memory-frost woven with enchantment.
Where… am I?
June pushed herself upright with effort. Every muscle protested, stiff from mana strain and unconsciousness. Her breath clouded faintly in the cold air. Then it hit her. The memory slammed into her mind like a crashing wave.
The forest. The hunt. The Slimes. And then— the figure. The one cloaked in silver robes, with a face half-hidden behind a matte black mask. His aura had pressed down on her like a stormfront, suffocating, immeasurable. And before she could fight or even flee, darkness had claimed her.
Panic bloomed in her chest, cold and sharp. She didn't know where she was—or who had brought her here—but one thing was certain: She wasn't free. And she wasn't safe. She was just beginning to shift off the crystalline bed when the door to the chamber slid open with a soft hum of magic-infused mechanisms.
A tall figure stepped inside—his presence bending the very air like heat rising off stone. June froze. Her breath caught in her throat.
Master Kael.
Her former instructor at the Academy stood before her, unchanged yet impossibly more. His towering frame was wrapped in a long indigo cloak trimmed with soft glacial fur, the material moving like liquid midnight. Silver hair cascaded down his shoulders in loose, elegant waves, catching the crystalline light in spectral strands. His skin bore a subtle cerulean glow—like starlight refracted through deep ice—and his eyes, always gentle in memory, now shimmered with an ancient calm beneath a face sculpted in unreadable stoicism.
He carried a tray—its metallic surface etched with fine geometric runes—bearing a steaming plate of food and a glass of chilled amber liquid. June's eyes widened, her thoughts scrambling to process what she was seeing.
"Master Kael…?" Her voice wavered. "What are you doing here? Where am I?"
"You awakened just in time," Kael said softly, his tone as controlled and composed as ever. "I thought you might be hungry, so I brought you something to eat. You expended a considerable amount of mana during your encounter."
He approached with quiet grace and set the tray gently beside her. The moment the scent hit her—savory, warm, and comforting—June's stomach betrayed her with a loud growl. The aroma of roasted herbs and flaky pastry triggered a primal hunger she couldn't suppress. Her mind demanded answers, but her body insisted otherwise.
So she yielded.
She took the tray, fingers trembling slightly, and tore into the meal—a rich, golden chicken pie that nearly melted in her mouth, accompanied by root vegetables drizzled in honeyed glaze. As she ate, she kept her eyes on Kael, her mind spinning with unease, confusion, and rising suspicion.
Kael, meanwhile, leaned casually against the crystalline wall, arms folded. He watched her in silence, the glimmer of thoughtful detachment playing across his eyes—eyes that missed nothing. He didn't interrupt. He let her eat. He knew the toll of Awakening better than most.
At the first stage of Ascension, even with enhanced vitality and accelerated recovery, the newly Awakened were still tethered to mortal needs. They burned through energy faster than their bodies could naturally replenish. Only those who reached the upper thresholds of the Awakening Stage—or crossed into Harmonization—could begin to shed the requirements of food, water, and sleep.
June was not there yet.
And Kael could see it in the way she devoured the meal, in the trembling urgency of each bite. She was strong, but still mortal. Still vulnerable.
"As for your question about where you are," Master Kael said, his voice calm but resolute, "you're in Frostholme."
June blinked. The name struck her like a gust of icy wind.
"The Winter Continent?" she asked slowly, disbelieving.
"We don't call it that," Kael replied with a faint hint of amusement. "But yes. This is the homeland of the Winter Court."
June's thoughts spun. She had studied Frostholme in her academy texts—the icy, northernmost continent of Terra. A wasteland of storms and glaciers, it was said to be too cold, too wild, too saturated with unstable World Energy for civilization to survive. After the Merge, when Terra's ley lines fractured and elemental poles were disrupted, the continent had only grown worse. The records described it as uninhabitable. A place of exile, not refuge.
So why am I here?
"I know what you're thinking," Master Kael said, breaking her silence.
"Do you?" June asked, still cautious.
"You're thinking it's impossible," he said, folding his arms as he leaned slightly against the crystal-paneled wall. "That the Winter Continent is a land of death. That nothing could live here, let alone thrive. Am I wrong?"
June frowned. "Can you blame me? Everything we were taught said Frostholme is—"
"—a frozen tomb?" Kael interrupted, his tone sharpening. "That's what the south wants you to believe. That's what the Convention and the Dawning Creed need people to believe. But they're wrong."
His eyes met hers, glowing softly with an inner blue fire that echoed the cold power of the land around them.
"Yes, the cold is harsh. The storms are brutal. The land does not give—you must take. But those who carry the legacy of the Mightist Lineage have endured here for generations. We didn't just survive—we thrived."
June tilted her head, her curiosity peeking through her confusion. "The Mightist Lineage? What is that?"
Kael's expression shifted, a small smile ghosting across his lips—more mystery than warmth.
"Why don't you come and see for yourself?" he offered.
June downed the last of her drink, the liquid strange but invigorating, and stood. There was no point in arguing. She was far from her family, far from her mentor, isolated in one of the most inhospitable places on the planet. If there was any chance to understand the situation she had fallen into—and eventually, a way to escape—it began with knowledge.
For now, she would follow.
Kael led her out of the chamber into a high-arched corridor that stretched like the spine of some great, sleeping beast. The walls were carved from black frost-glass veined with glowing runes—inverted sigils that pulsed in slow, rhythmic patterns, each beat echoing like a muffled heartbeat through the structure.
The mana in the air shifted subtly, resisting her awareness. June instinctively reached out with her internal senses—and stopped. Something about the runes pushed back. Not violently, but with cold certainty. As if her spirit had wandered too close to a sleeping predator. She withdrew her perception. Whatever spells had been woven into the walls, they weren't just designed to obscure—they were meant to repel. If she pushed harder, she suspected the backlash wouldn't be pleasant.
From the feel of it, they were underground—deep beneath the ice, perhaps even inside one of Frostholme's Hollowed Peaks. And yet, the air was strangely fresh. Warm, even. Not artificial, but natural in a way that seemed paradoxical. The environment shouldn't have felt this… balanced. It was like the cold itself had been bent to serve them. A knot formed in her gut.
Where exactly am I… and what have I gotten myself into?
The corridor opened gradually, the ceiling arching higher with each step as if the very mountain was drawing breath. June followed in silence, her boots clicking softly against the polished froststone floor. The walls began to shift in texture—no longer smooth crystal but carved basalt veined with glowing mana conduits that pulsed like arteries, humming with suppressed power.
The temperature subtly dropped, but it was no longer uncomfortable. Instead, it felt… cleansing, as though the cold itself was stripping away weakness from the air.
Kael led her to the edge of a vast interior cavern.
June stopped.
Her breath caught in her throat.
Spread before her was a colossal subterranean expanse, a hidden world carved deep beneath the Hollowed Peaks—vast enough to fit entire cities within it. Great columns of dark ice spiraled from the ceiling to the floor, crackling with enchanted runes. Waterfalls of liquified mana poured down from glowing veins embedded in the rock, pooling into basins that shone with multicolored light. Suspended walkways stretched between floating platforms carved of black crystal, each engraved with glyphs older than any Terran nation.
But what caught her attention most were the warriors.
Hundreds of them, moving in organized formations across the floating fields below—each one adorned in hybrid armor forged from daemon-forged alloys and giantsteel plating. Their movements were precise, brutal, and efficient. Some sparred with void-blades wreathed in soulflame, others channeled elemental energies through their weapons—condensing fire into spears, weaving ice into shields, directing stone with their bare hands.
And not all were human.
She saw Daemons with antlered helms and glowing eyes, their bodies laced with ritual tattoos. Giants, some towering nearly three meters, wielded weapons that looked as though they were forged from the bones of fallen titans. Their footsteps echoed like falling boulders. And in between them moved Ascendants—clearly human, but exuding Mana that felt… different. Heavier. Sharper. More refined.
Kael turned to her, his voice low but resolute.
"This is what the world refused to see," he said. "This is the legacy of the Mightists."
June's brow furrowed. "I don't understand. You say 'Mightist' as if it's a bloodline, a culture—but it feels like... a whole philosophy."
"It is," Kael said, his eyes scanning the warriors below with quiet pride. "We are the inheritors of a creed older than the Dawning Creed. Older than the Custodian's false light. Might makes law. Power is truth. And only through trial, struggle, and self-forging can one be free."
He gestured to the warriors. "These are the Thrice-Bound—those who have bound themselves to frost, flame, and fury. They are forged through Eclipse doctrine, tempered by Winter Court tradition, and empowered by truths the Golden Dawn would burn rather than admit."
"What truth are you speaking of?" June asked.
Kael's face darkened slightly.
"The truth is the world you know is dying," he said. "Choked by its own stagnation. Controlled by Custodians who wear crowns of gold and speak of peace while binding mortals in invisible chains. While the Custodians act like they care for the well-being of all, the truth is that they do not have what it takes to ensure Terrans' continued survival, not when destruction is around the corner."
His voice lowered further, almost reverent.
"But here… here we are building something greater. Not a kingdom. Not a rebellion. A correction. A path that would lead to the continued existence of our people. At least the ones who have the capabilities to grasp that chance."
June felt a chill that had nothing to do with the cold.
"Come," Kael said, turning again toward one of the suspended walkways. "There's more for you to see."
June hesitated, glancing once more at the warriors training in perfect synchrony beneath aurora-lit ice. This place was beautiful… terrible… powerful. And she was very far from home.
The walkway carried them deeper into the cavernous stronghold, its crystalline path suspended over a seemingly bottomless chasm lit from below by an eerie, bioluminescent glow. Runes flared briefly beneath June's feet with each step—testing her mana signature, measuring her weight, reading her soulprint.
She said nothing, but the sensation of being read unnerved her. They crossed into a secondary platform—an obsidian disc hovering in midair, supported by nothing visible, yet as stable as solid ground. The air here was colder, sharper, like a forge wind that hadn't been lit with fire, but with ice and discipline.
Below them was an arena—not a ring of stone, but a floating crucible etched into a slab of skyglass and rimmed with blackened steel. Chains of frost-energy circled its edges like orbiting serpents, and standing within were two combatants.
June moved closer to the edge, her breath catching.
One was a Giant—tall and pale, with ice-braided hair and a massive double-headed axe slung across his back. His skin was inscribed with azure runes that shimmered with internal mana, pulsing with the rhythm of his breath. He wore no armor—only a sash of daemonhide bound across his chest and a belt heavy with talismans carved from bones.
The other was a Daemoness—tall, lithe, wreathed in smoky tendrils of soulflame. She wore partial armor laced with blackened soulsteel, her curved glaive radiating shadowy heat. Her horns curled backward like a crown of midnight, and her eyes were molten amber.
"They are both candidates for Thrice-Bound ascension," Master Kael said beside her. "Only one will earn the right today."
June blinked. "You mean… only one survives?"
Kael's expression didn't change. "No. Only one proves they deserve to."
A low tone hummed from the edges of the arena. The serpentine frost chains shivered and snapped taut—a signal. The trial had begun. What followed wasn't a duel. It was war distilled into ritual.
The Giant charged first, feet pounding against the skyglass with the force of an avalanche. His axe ignited with an internal storm, lightning and frost converging as he swung with earth-splitting momentum. The Daemoness countered with impossible grace, pirouetting beneath the swing and unleashing a burst of voidflame that carved deep into the Giant's thigh. Blood hissed as it hit the platform—crimson turned to steam.
The fight escalated fast. Too fast.
June watched, entranced and horrified, as elements collided—raw force against precision, brutality against malice. The air between them shimmered with volatile energies, each blow charged with resonance techniques designed not just to harm, but to deconstruct. The Daemoness shattered the Giant's armor sigils with a cascading soul pulse, but the Giant retaliated by summoning a wall of frost to shield his advance and slammed her backward with a shoulder that cracked the arena's edge. But still, neither fell. They rose again.
Bleeding. Burning. Smiling.
June's heart pounded. This was more than combat. It was a crucible of identity. Every move was a declaration: I exist, and I refuse to be less than what I was born to become.
Then the Giant's eyes flashed white. He roared. Frost exploded from his core in a nova of absolute cold—everything within a five-meter radius turned to sculpted ice, locking the Daemoness in mid-motion.
He was upon her in the next instant. His axe fell. And stopped, an inch from her throat. The chains around the arena retracted, pulsing once in judgment.
Kael nodded. "He passed."
June exhaled, realizing she'd been holding her breath.
The Daemoness melted the ice around her and stood, unshamed, though her body trembled. She bowed, not in submission, but in recognition. The Giant returned the gesture. There was no humiliation here. Only clarity.
Only truth earned through might.
June looked to Kael, her voice quieter now. "They're Dormant Mystics and yet…"
"And yet, even they can challenge the Ascendants of the Southlands," he said. "They are creeds made flesh. The Thrice-Bound are not trained to just survive, they're trained to win. They are forged to embody the law we believe in."
"So that's what this is really about," June murmured, the truth settling in her chest like a weight of ice. "That might is the only way."
A voice answered from behind her—low, familiar, and unsettling in its calm.
"Looks like you finally understand."
June's body stiffened. That voice…
She turned slowly, her breath catching as her gaze landed on a figure she never expected to find in a place like this.
Leto Thalorin.
Gone was the soft-spoken classmate wrapped in charm and pretense. Gone were the illusions she wore like a second skin. Now, she stood unveiled—draped in regal robes of shimmering gold, her long golden hair cascading down her back in silken waves, untouched by the cold. Her eyes, sharp and luminous, burned with a piercing yellow light—like twin suns locked in an eternal eclipse. They studied June without emotion. There was no warmth in her expression, no kindness in the curve of her mouth. Only stillness.
Beautiful.
Unyielding.
Cold.
Leto Thalorin, heir of the Thalorin Domain, no longer hid who she was. And in that moment, June understood just how far this web stretched—and how little she had truly known.