Chapter 105 — Whispers Beneath Falling Snow
Laughter spilled between Kai and Minji like sparks flicked from flint, sharp but warm, steady but unpredictable. Their so-called "date" had never been declared, yet the banter, the sly remarks, the faint pink that rose in Minji's cheeks whenever Kai's sharp tongue caught her off guard—it was undeniable.
Snow, their supposed third wheel, had made it only halfway through his milk before sleep tugged him under. The cub slumped across the booth cushion, tiny paws twitching now and then in some private dream. With a faint smirk, Kai lifted a hand and tapped the air; in a shimmer of light, Snow vanished, sent back into the beast space to rest.
The night passed in comfortable rhythm. For the first time in what felt like forever, there was no imminent threat breathing down their necks, no looming trial or bloody battlefield. Just moments—quiet, ordinary moments—that tasted sweeter than anything victory could bring.
Days blurred together after that. Minji trained with a kind of fierce devotion, sharpening the edges of her techniques, testing the limits of her reflexes. Ruby too threw herself into practice, focusing not only on her own arts but on honing her bond with Leo. The majestic beast roared, his fiery mane glowing brighter with each session, as if eager to match her determination.
Kai and Moon, in contrast, drifted in a lighter rhythm. They trained, yes, but also allowed themselves something alien: rest. A rare stillness in their storm-shaped lives. For once, they permitted themselves to breathe, to smile without guilt, to remember that they were more than weapons, more than heirs of exile.
James, however, had not returned. The only sign of him was a single, short message left behind some days ago: I'll be back before the event. Nothing more. Nothing less. Enough to make the others trust, but not enough to still the quiet unease his absence carved into them.
Far away, in the heart of the Shifting Expanse, a different tale was unfolding.
Snow blanketed the mountain range in a silence so absolute it felt as though the world itself had stopped breathing. Each flake drifted heavy, deliberate, as though reluctant to fall. The peaks loomed like white titans beneath the brooding sky, jagged and merciless, their crowns swallowed by storm clouds that whispered of death.
And beneath that storm, in a valley carved of ice and silence, the ground shook with life.
They came like thunder rolling across the world—beasts the size of fortresses, ancient and primeval. Mammoths. Their hides were armor, thick as stone, fur crusted with frost, eyes glimmering with a cold, animal cunning. Tusks like ivory blades curved outward, some longer than a man's height, each honed by nature into weapons of annihilation.
A hundred of them, perhaps more, moved as one body, their shadows blotting out the horizon. And yet, for all their might, they did not charge. Not yet. They circled, stamping hooves into the frozen earth, snorts clouding the air, the sound like an army of drums. Something unnatural held them back.
At the valley's heart stood a lone man.
He was wrapped in a heavy leather robe, its hem stained with frost and blood, boots sunk deep into the snow. His hood cast his face into darkness, features hidden, his posture almost still—too still. He did not tremble. He did not flinch. He simply waited, as though daring the titans to move first.
The herd balked. The instincts of predator and prey warred in them. This man was small, frail, laughably insignificant compared to their monumental bulk. And yet… there was something about him. An aura. An oppressive gravity that pressed down on the storm itself. Even the wind seemed reluctant to brush his cloak.
The first mammoth bellowed, a sound that shook the mountainsides and split the storm. Snow fell harder, stirred into a blizzard by the roar. The others joined, their cries rising into a chorus of fury.
The man exhaled. A sigh—quiet, almost gentle.
And then he was gone.
The snow where he had stood collapsed into emptiness. The next instant, he was behind the largest mammoth, a shadow reappearing where no eyes could follow. His hand clamped around its massive tail, and the stillness broke.
Muscles coiled, his body twisting like a storm given flesh. He spun. Once. Twice. Thrice. The mammoth shrieked, its colossal bulk lifted from the ground as though it were weightless. Snow and ice tore into the air as the giant became nothing more than a weapon in his grip.
With a roar that did not come from the beast, but from him, he hurled it.
The body sailed across the valley like a comet and crashed into its kin. Flesh and bone split under the impact, tusks snapped, bodies tumbled like toys cast aside. The earth groaned. An avalanche of snow cascaded down the cliffs, burying the battlefield in white fury.
But the man was already moving.
He streaked through the blizzard like a phantom, vanishing and reappearing with brutal intent. A fist shattered a skull, ivory shards exploding outward like shrapnel. A tusk meant to impale him was caught mid-charge, ripped clean from its socket, and driven back into its owner's head with such force the beast collapsed instantly.
They swarmed him. Four from one side, six from another. Their combined weight could have crushed cities. He met them head-on, his movements a blur of precision and savagery. He climbed their bulk like mountains, breaking bones with each strike, dragging them down into the snow one by one. The air rang with the sound of flesh rupturing, tusks snapping, skulls caving under unrelenting force.
Time became meaningless. The battle was no longer battle—it was slaughter.
Minutes stretched into eternity. When at last the storm's veil parted, the valley had become a grave.
Dozens of mammoths lay broken, their corpses stacked into grotesque hills. Blood pooled black against the snow, steaming in the cold. Tusks jutted skyward like a forest of pale spears. The once-pristine land had been remade into a battlefield of ruin.
And at the pinnacle of this carnage sat the man.
His hood had fallen away, snow tangled in dark hair that clung to his brow. His face was revealed, sharp with exhaustion yet carved now with something far more dangerous—resolve forged into steel. His gaze swept the carnage not with pity, not with pride, but with a cold acceptance.
James.
The same James who, six months ago, had knelt broken before Daren. The same James who had bled, humiliated, cast aside like an insect before greater powers. That James was gone.
What sat here now was a different being entirely. His aura rolled outward in waves, a suffocating tide of power that warped the air itself. The storm no longer battered him—it bent to him, its winds curling around his form like subjects bowing to their king. His presence was not merely human. It was dominion, raw and absolute.
He had ascended.
Finally.
Into the realm of kings.
And if Minji, Ruby, Sam, Kai, Moon—or even Steve Lee—had stood here to witness it, none of them would have believed their eyes. For the man on that mountain of corpses was no longer the James they remembered.
He was something far more terrifying.
If Minji, Ruby, Kai, or Moon had stood there, even Steve Lee himself—they would have denied it outright. They would have sworn it impossible that the weary, half-smiling James they knew could ever exude such weight, such terrible grandeur.
But here, amidst the corpses of giants, there was no room for denial.
James had changed.
James had become something more.
Something dangerous.
To be continued…