The carriage wheels groaned as they crunched over the glacial pass, the wind keening through the mountain crags. Aden pulled his cloak tighter, breath misting in the air. Through the frosted window, the Argent Sanctum emerged—a jagged monolith of black stone clawing at the steel-gray sky. Its walls were etched with pulsating runes, their sapphire light casting long shadows over the snow.
'So this is where it starts', Aden thought, his throat dry. 'The place Kairus turns to rubble. My family's tomb.'
Ed Vasco stepped out first, his silvered armor gleaming under the rune-light. "Keep pace, Aden," he said, voice clipped and cold as the wind. "The Sanctum tolerates no sluggards."
Rudeus followed, brushing snow from his sable fur mantle. "Look at him, Ed. Pale as a milkmaid. Think he'll faint before we reach the gates?"
Aden ignored the jab, his boots sinking into the snow. The air smelled of iron and pine, the Sanctum's shadow swallowing the sun.
A figure awaited them at the entrance—Ser Varek, the Sanctum's master-at-arms. He stood a head taller than Ed, his left arm a grotesque amalgam of blackened dragonbone and leather straps. A scar split his face from brow to jaw, the eye beneath milky and unseeing.
"Lord Vasco," Varek said, bowing stiffly. His voice was gravel wrapped in velvet—a soldier's rasp polished by courtly pretense. "This the boy?"
Ed's gaze flicked to Aden. "He is. See that he's made… presentable."
Varek's good eye appraised Aden. "Soft hands. Weak stance. The rumors exaggerated too much."
Aden met his stare. "there will always be rumours, Im ready to put in the work."
Rudeus chuckled. "Work? You're here to survive."
Varek led them through a vaulted archway into a cavernous hall. The air thrummed with the runes' oppressive magic, dampening Aden's mana like a hand over a candle. Along the walls, armored knights sparred—steel clashing, grunts echoing.
*Third-tier recruits*, Aden noted. *In the novel, they died first when Kairus attacked. Torn apart by his earth magic.*
Ed paused, gauntleted hand resting on his sword. "You'll train here daily. No excuses. No quarter."
"And if I refuse?" Aden asked, already knowing the answer.
Rudeus smirked. "Then we'll carve your name on an urn and send it to your mother."
Varek halted at a narrow door banded with iron. Inside was a stone cell: a straw pallet, a slop bucket, and a slit of a window framing the glacial peaks.
"Your chambers, Lordling," Varek said, mockingly grand.
Aden ran a finger over the frost-crusted wall. "Do the rats pay rent, or is that included?"
Ed's jaw tightened. "You'll learn humility here. Or you'll perish."
'Perish. Such a noble way to say "die screaming".'
Varek tossed a dented waterskin onto the pallet. "Dawn tomorrow. The Bloodfrost Pits. Try not to freeze."
As the door clanged shut, Aden sank onto the pallet. The straw prickled through his pants.
'Okay, genius. You've read the entire novel. Kairus attacks in two years. The Sanctum falls. Everyone dies.'
He stared at the runes' glow seeping under the door.
'But why now? In the novel, Kairus was just some farmboy until Chapter 20. Did I butterfly-effect things by surviving Egmund?'
A shiver racked his body. The cold here wasn't natural—it gnawed bones, chewed marrow.
'Focus. The Sanctum's veterans are key. Gareth, Lirael, Silas. If I can turn them against Kairus early…'
He slumped back.
'One year. I just need to not die for 365 days. Easy, right? '
At first light, Varek hauled him to the Bloodfrost Pits—a sunken arena where frost coated the sand like glass shards.
"Rule one," Varek said, tossing Aden a chipped sword. "You bleed, you bow."
"Rule two?"
"You die, I don't care."
The gates creaked open. A ice-wolf prowled in, fangs dripping saliva that froze midair.
'Shit. That's not in the training manual'
Aden tightened his grip.
'Third-tier beast. They really are trying to kill me.'
The wolf lunged.