Stormclaw's growl deepened as the weapons of the Shadowkin shimmered into existence. Flames flickered on conjured blades, ice crept along crystalline spears, and the wind itself coiled like whips around warrior arms. The night air, moments ago calm and humid, crackled with raw magical energy.
Kael stood frozen, eyes wide at the sudden hostility. "I didn't mean—" he started, but the guards advanced.
"Back!" Luther stepped in front of Kael, both hands raised, his tone firm yet steady. "We're not your enemies."
"Silence!" Farakin barked, his elemental spear pointed straight at Luther's heart. "You wield the Gift, yet you are not of us. You've stolen it!"
Selena's lips parted slightly as an incantation hovered on her tongue, soft and cold like snowflakes. Arya stood at her flank, tense, hands subtly shifting toward the daggers beneath her cloak. Even Stormclaw stepped forward, protectively, his fur bristling and glowing faintly beneath the moonlight.
Just when violence felt inevitable, a quiet but commanding voice broke through the tension.
"Farakin, that is enough."
The guards paused, turning toward the figure emerging from behind them. The crowd parted, revealing an old Shadowkin wrapped in robes of mossy green and earthen browns. His presence was regal, his movements slow but certain, like the flow of time itself. Glowing tattoos marked his arms, neck, and face—each a different hue: the blue of water, the orange of flame, the green of earth, and the pale white of air.
"I am Anikin the Old," he said with calm authority. "Let them speak before judgment falls."
Farakin gritted his teeth, but obeyed, stepping back with a respectful bow. The other guards followed, though their eyes remained sharp and suspicious.
Anikin walked toward the group, his gaze drifting over each of them. When he met Kael's eyes, his expression softened.
"Young one," he said, voice low. "You wield flame, yet you are no child of the Iceheart."
Kael nodded slowly. "No… my mother taught me magic. I don't even know what an Iceheart is."
Anikin tilted his head. "Your mother? A human woman?"
"Yes," Kael replied. "She was once the greatest Arc Mage of Ael—of our homeland. She left everything behind to protect me."
Anikin considered this for a moment, then motioned with his hand. "Come. All of you. There are truths you must hear—and questions I must ask."
The village lay nestled within the jungle like a hidden jewel. Trees twisted into homes, their roots forming smooth staircases and their leaves aglow with phosphorescent light. Gentle waterfalls trickled beside woven bridges, and enormous flowers bloomed in midair, suspended by soft magical currents.
As they walked, Selena whispered to Luther, "This place… it feels ancient."
Luther nodded. "It's more than that. It feels… untouched."
Anikin led them through the serene streets, speaking slowly as if reciting sacred history.
"In the age before ages, when the sun and moon had yet to find rhythm, our people fled through these forests. We were hunted, ravaged by magical beasts, and left to cower in caves and shadows."
Kael frowned. "How did you survive?"
"We didn't," Anikin said. "Not really. We were broken and desperate. Until… we found it."
He gestured toward the enormous iceberg at the village's center. It loomed like a mountain of frozen starlight, catching the moon's rays and refracting them into dazzling patterns across the treetops.
"The Iceheart," Arya whispered.
Anikin nodded. "We call it so. It was silent, ancient, and untouched by time. When our first ancestor touched it, the magic within awoke. It flowed into him—glowing patterns appeared upon his skin, and he was forever changed. He commanded fire."
He pulled back his sleeve to reveal the delicate glow of ink-like patterns pulsing on his arm.
"Another touched it, and she became the wind. Then came water, earth, light, even shadow. But each time, the pattern was unique. The gift never repeated itself. Each one of us bears a different fragment of the Iceheart's power. That is our legacy."
Kael's voice was hushed. "And you believe… that no human has ever received such power?"
"Not in all the millennia we have lived here," Anikin said, eyes narrowing. "Which is why your flame alarms us. Magic here is sacred—ours alone. It cannot be learned, stolen, or inherited. It is awakened. And if you, a human, wield it…"
Selena stepped in, her voice gentle but firm. "Then perhaps there is something broken in your truth. Or something forgotten."
Anikin paused, his gaze lingering on her. "Perhaps."
They arrived at his home—a massive tree unlike any other. Its bark gleamed with silver, its branches arched into spiral balconies, and lanterns of bioluminescent petals glowed warmly at its entrance. A gentle waterfall pooled into a pond beside it, lilies drifting across the glassy surface.
"This is my dwelling," Anikin said. "The Tree of Echoes. Built from the last living seed of the world-tree. It remembers all things—so be mindful of your words within."
The door opened soundlessly, revealing a warm chamber filled with glowing runes, floating tomes, and soft cushions of moss and silk. Anikin turned to the group, his expression serious yet welcoming.
"You are not what we expected. But I sense you are not here by accident. Rest tonight. Tomorrow… we seek the truth."