The world was quiet when Ymir opened her eyes — too quiet.
She sat upright on a stiff cot, the sterile scent of salves and smoke lingering in the air. A dull ache pulsed behind her eyes, and her limbs trembled with every breath. For a fleeting moment, she dared to believe it had all been a dream — the raid, the fire, the robed attackers, the ice explosion that split the night.
But as her vision cleared, reality set in like a dagger to the chest.
The healing ward was full — mothers sobbing, children wrapped in bandages, elders dazed with shock. Cracked walls. Windows shattered from the force of magical impacts. Across from her, a boy cradled his younger brother, rocking him gently, tears sliding silently down his face.
It wasn't a dream.
The festival had been real.
So had the fire.
So had the screams.
So had the cultists.
And so had the moment her mother vanished in a burst of light and snow.
Ymir clutched the edge of the bed, her body heavy with grief. Her memories betrayed her — cruel and relentless — flooding her mind with images of laughter at the dinner table, her mother's voice singing lullabies under candlelight, the warmth of her hand in the cold snow.
She choked on a sob, curling into herself.
"Oh, Mom," she whispered hoarsely. "I hope you're safe... please be safe..."
Just then, the door creaked open, and a familiar figure shuffled inside.
Granny May, hunched but sturdy, moved toward her bed with careful steps. Her eyes were red, but she wore a mask of resilience — the kind that only comes from surviving too many tragedies to count.
"Sweet girl," she murmured, brushing Ymir's hair back from her face. "You're awake. Thank the stars."
"Granny…" Ymir's voice cracked.
Granny May didn't hesitate. She wrapped her arms around the girl and held her tightly, rocking her slowly. "I'm here, love. You're not alone. Kosolv and I... we'll take you in. You'll stay with us for now."
Ymir nodded numbly into her shoulder.
That night, the village felt like a graveyard.
She returned to the remnants of her home under Granny May's supervision, to gather her things. The cottage still stood, but barely. Doors were splintered, windows shattered. The table where they had shared dinner was overturned, the stewpot still lying cold and cracked on the hearthstone.
Ymir stood in what used to be her room, staring at the bed where she had once dreamed of magical fireworks and heroic futures.
Now the silence pressed against her chest like iron.
She knelt and opened a wooden chest, retrieving a few spellbooks, her charm bracelet, and a woven scarf her mother had made last winter.
Then — it happened.
The room shimmered, as though a ripple passed through reality itself. The air stilled. The candle beside her flickered violently before extinguishing entirely.
Suddenly, a light bloomed in front of her, not harsh or blinding, but warm — radiant.
From the heart of that light stepped a figure.
Elysia.
Her mother stood there, glowing softly, her expression calm and steady.
"Mom…?" Ymir whispered, breathless.
"You're safe," Elysia said, her voice echoing gently as if spoken from both near and far. "Listen to me, my star. We don't have long."
Ymir's hands trembled. "Where are you? I thought—"
"They tried to take us... for a ritual. But before they could, I cast a stasis barrier — suspended animation. I put myself and the others into a sealed magical state. No time passes inside. It's the only way I could keep us alive."
Ymir's heart raced. "So... you're not—?"
"We're not dead. But the spell is precise — it's pulling on spirit essence. I had just enough time to reach you before I'm drawn fully into the suspension. In a moment, I'll sleep like the others."
"No! There has to be something I can do—"
"You must tell the village defenders," Elysia said. "Tell them the spell's coordinates. They must act quickly. But be warned — the cult is powerful. They may resist rescue attempts. Gather strength. Find allies."
The light around her mother began to dim.
"I love you, Ymir. Be brave. And remember — no matter what happens, I believe in you."
The last thing Ymir saw was her mother's hand reaching toward her — then nothing.
She collapsed to the floor, gasping, her chest heaving as the vision faded.
Moments later, Granny May found her crumpled in the room.
"Granny," Ymir breathed, sitting up with wide eyes. "She's alive. They all are. I saw her. She sent me a vision — a message! They're trapped in stasis, hidden from the cult, but safe. We have to tell the village defenders. Now!"
Granny May didn't question a word. She only nodded and helped her to her feet.
"Then we go."
—
The next hour passed in a blur of snow and urgency. Granny and Ymir arrived at the village defense hall, where emergency protocols were still being enforced. Mages scribbled reports, clerks organized triage, and the wounded continued arriving from surrounding areas.
They were ushered into a private chamber to meet with Captain Henny, the head of village defense — a tall woman with braided dark hair and weary eyes.
Ymir repeated the vision word for word, described the spell, the suspended animation, the cult's plans. Henny listened in silence, her face unreadable.
When the girl finished, Henny let out a slow sigh.
"We've heard whispers of this group," she said. "They call themselves the Crimson Order. No one knows where they came from — only that they wield forbidden magic. Blood sacrifices. Seals of unmaking. Mass memory wipes."
"Then this confirms it!" Ymir said. "You have to act now. Before the stasis fails—"
"I believe you," Henny said gently, "but our hands are tied. Our units are still recovering. If we send them after a force this dangerous, we risk dozens more lives. It could provoke the cult into retaliation."
Ymir stepped forward, fists clenched. "You're putting the case on hold?! We finally have a lead! My mother risked everything to reach me, and you're—"
"I know," Henny interrupted, pain in her eyes. "I know what it sounds like. But without reinforcements from the capital, we can't engage. We'll lose."
Granny May placed a calming hand on Ymir's shoulder. "Didn't your mother say they were safe? The spell will hold. That buys us time."
Ymir bit her lip, tears threatening again. Her anger trembled beneath the surface, but she nodded. "Fine. But you'd better use that time to prepare. I'm not letting them be forgotten."
"You have my word," Henny said.
—
A week passed. Then a month. Then just like that, two years.
Ymir moved into Granny May's cottage on the village's edge, helping tend the garden, read magical texts, and study weather spells. Her grief never left her, but her resolve sharpened like a blade each day.
Then, one crisp morning, as she practiced conjuring a mana spear and dispatched it, but, a knock came at the door.
Granny May answered. A man stood on the step — tall, broad-shouldered, with a long traveling cloak and a face eerily like Elysia's.
He removed his hood.
"I'm here for my niece," he said.
Ymir stepped into the doorway, blinking. "Uncle...?"
"Darian," Granny May said softly.
"I've heard what happened to my sister. And I'm not leaving until I take my niece with me".