Just like Leos, Aerax was brought to the Royal Grand Library of Neosis, where the most brilliant scholars and magi of the kingdom gathered. Both of them shared one thing in common: wounds inflicted by divine creations. Yet Aerax's condition was far more severe. It was no ordinary injury but a scar of divine flame, a red mark born from a god's sacred weapon, a power that no conventional treatment could heal.
The scholars worked within a sealed chamber wrapped in layers of icy enchantments, meant to ease Aerax's pain and slow the spread of the mark. Each day, he was cooled with specially forged ice crystals, while magi took turns maintaining the barrier. If it ever broke, the consequences would be disastrous. His body grew weaker, his breath shorter, and the wound continued to creep outward like crimson roots spreading across his chest and neck.
An old high scholar, after examining the energy flow within Aerax's body, shook his head and sighed. "It seems that drinking the blood of Krasious has kept you alive, but only for a while. You will still die, but slowly, painfully."
Aerax grimaced, his voice hoarse. "Is there any way to save me?"
The old man looked at him with worried yet faintly hopeful eyes. "We will find one. We must not give up."
Day after day, the finest minds of the kingdom searched through ancient manuscripts and lost scriptures. Time itself became the greatest enemy, for Aerax's life waned with every passing hour. At any moment, his heart could stop.
Then one day, a young scholar uncovered an ancient record about a tribe of wolves who had once migrated to a distant snowy mountain range. They were said to possess a sacred ice known as the Tears of the Winter Goddess Brimora. The tribe used this eternal ice to forge thirty-three sharp needles that they pierced into their spines, transforming their blood into a blue liquid that allowed them to survive the harshest winters. Yet the ritual was perilous; only a few survived, while the rest perished in the unforgiving cold.
When this was brought to light, the elder scholars overseeing Aerax's treatment fell into uneasy silence. The method was too dangerous, with no guarantee it would work, but they all agreed that there was no better alternative. They had tried every purification rite, every potion known to alchemy, yet the divine scar continued to spread, proof that no mortal means could counteract divine power.
The greatest challenge now was obtaining the Tears of Brimora, eternal ice buried deep within the heart of the snow mountains, a week's journey from Neosis through forests, barren plains, and slippery ridges under a biting frost.
No one was more suited for the task than Minoros, the steadfast white bull who had fought beside Aerax in the battle against Elion's sea monster.
The scholars turned to him and declared, "My lord, only you possess the strength to undertake this mission."
Minoros nodded without hesitation. "I'll do it, for Aerax's life. Tell me, how much time do I have?"
"Only twelve days and nights," one of the scholars answered anxiously. "You must depart at once."
Suddenly, Leos entered the room, his voice firm. "I'll go with him."
Everyone turned toward him in astonishment. Though his body was still recovering after only a week of special training, his eyes burned with unwavering resolve.
A scholar stepped forward. "Your Highness, you cannot go. Your body is not yet healed."
Leos replied calmly but with steel in his tone. "This is my choice. I'll take care of myself. You don't need to worry."
Minoros smiled faintly, realizing that at least on this journey, he would not be alone. Though concern lingered in his heart, he knew the prince was no fragile soul.
King Kyros, torn between fear and pride, could not deny his son's determination. Holding Leos's hand tightly, he said in a trembling voice, "You must return safely, my son. Nothing is more important than that."
To prepare for the perilous expedition, the king provided them with thick winter clothing, preserved rations, protective charms, and a sturdy wagon pulled by Zaphurne, a birdlike beast that could not fly but ran swiftly and endured the cold with ease.
When the day of departure came, cavalry lined both sides of the city gate. The streets were filled with citizens, watching and praying. Their prayers were not only for the two travelers but also for the wounded hero who still fought against the burning agony within his chest, the one who had saved the kingdom's light.
Leos turned to Minoros, his golden eyes steady and sure. "Let's begin."
Minoros tightened the reins and nodded. Before them lay a road of frost and peril, but also hope, and the promise that no one would be left behind.