The snow had begun to settle again, drifting in delicate silence as the chaos faded. The rescued adventurers lay scattered across the ridge, groaning, bloodied, exhausted—but alive.
Clerics from Lira and Kaela's team knelt beside the wounded, casting spells, doing their best to stem the bleeding and knit together torn flesh. But it wasn't enough. Too many needed help. Too few hands.
Ren appeared behind them, stepping through the shimmering veil of his teleportation marker with a calm presence that startled even the uninjured.
"How…?" one of the rescued muttered.
"Wasn't he just—?"
"He's back already?" Kaela's brows rose in disbelief.
Ren didn't waste time. He walked forward with steady steps, the frost crunching lightly beneath his boots. His armor shimmered faintly under the morning sun—streaked in blood, but unmarred. He surveyed the wounded calmly before dropping to one knee and pulling out a small crystal.
"Step back," he said simply to the clerics.
They hesitated, but his voice left no room for argument.
Lira, watching, stepped up beside him. "Ren… are you okay?"
He glanced at her, then offered a faint smile.
"I'm fine. This is nothing."
Those words hit her harder than expected.
Nothing? she thought, eyes searching his expression. What had he gone through… for this to mean so little?
But before she could ask, Ren extended his hands. Mana surged around him, rippling with pale green and silver light. He began to chant—not loudly, but clearly, in a language half-forgotten by the world. His fingers drew symbols through the air, inscribing glowing lines into the snow itself.
A runic diagram bloomed at his feet—wide, intricate, flawless.
His voice rose at the end with quiet finality.
"—Greater Area Heal."
A wave of radiant light burst from the center of the rune. It spread outward like a dome of warmth and purity. As it passed over the wounded, gasps erupted all around.
Wounds sealed. Bones snapped back into place. Pain vanished. The frost melted gently from their limbs. Even fatigue seemed to wash away as vitality surged back into their bodies.
The adventurers blinked in astonishment. One sat up, patting at his chest. Another stared at their once-broken arm, now whole.
"What in the world—?"
"He… he healed us all…"
"Is he a cleric too!?"
Kaela stood with her mouth slightly open. No way… That movement earlier was an assassin's. I'm sure of it. The flicker steps. The angles. The way he struck…
Her eyes narrowed as she looked at Ren.
So what is he then? A fighter? A rogue? A battle mage? A cleric? All of them?
The murmurs rose again around them—soft, unsure, awed.
Lira, still beside him, lowered her voice and asked the question weighing on all their minds:
"…Just who are you, Alter?"
Ren stood in silence for a moment, brushing snow from the edge of one of his dragon-forged blades. Then he answered with a quiet chuckle.
"Just someone who doesn't like losing people."
He turned to the expedition team, now standing, their faces grateful and wide-eyed.
"Rest for now," he said. "But be ready. We're not done yet."
And without another word, he walked to the edge of the ridge, scanning the white horizon—where the frost still hid secrets in its cold, unforgiving silence.
The gathered survivors huddled within a new shelter carved into the mountain's face—bigger, warmer, and reinforced by ice-resistant enchantments Ren had personally etched into the stone. The interior flickered with soft firelight, sleeping forms wrapped in thick cloaks and furs. Outside, the wind howled across the frost-bitten ridges, but the cold never touched the warded threshold.
Ren stood alone just beyond the entrance, his eyes narrowed as he scanned the snowy expanse. The silence wasn't empty. Something still lingered out there—he could feel it. A distant, familiar weight pulling at the edge of his senses.
Behind him, the crunch of snow.
"You're still awake," came a familiar voice.
Ren turned his head slightly. Lira stood a few steps behind, wrapped in a cloak, her white-blonde hair loose and glowing faintly in the moonlight. Her eyes were softer now, weary, curious, but not afraid.
"You couldn't sleep either?" he asked quietly.
She gave a small shake of her head. "No. After what happened today... how could I?"
Ren nodded and returned his gaze to the distant horizon, where the mountains cut across the stars.
After a moment, Lira stepped beside him. "So… you're leaving tomorrow."
"I am."
"You think the rest of the group should return?"
"They should," he said. "Their mission's done. The missing party's been rescued. They're not ready for what's ahead."
Lira's expression tightened. "And what's ahead?"
Ren was silent for a while, as if weighing something too heavy to share.
Finally, he said, "Something I have to face alone."
"You always do everything alone?"
"No," he replied. "Only when I know the risk is too high."
"I want to follow you."
"I know."
Lira looked up at him then, searching his face. "Why won't you let us come with you?"
He turned toward her, his gaze unreadable beneath the shadow of his helm. "Because it's not your burden. Not yet."
She crossed her arms. "You always speak like you're carrying the world on your back."
Ren gave a faint smirk. "Maybe just a small continent."
His humor softened the tension, and Lira let out a breath of fog. She looked down at the snow, then back at him.
"Who are you, really, Alter?"
He looked away again, the stars reflected faintly in his eyes.
"I'll tell you… one day."
"Why not now?"
"Because knowing might change how you see me."
"I already see you," she said quietly.
He turned to her again, startled by the softness in her voice. She held his gaze, unblinking, determined. But he said nothing.
Finally, he nodded toward the shelter. "You should get some sleep. You'll need it for the trip south."
Lira lingered for a heartbeat longer, her expression mixed with frustration and concern. But eventually, she turned away.
"Good night… Alter."
He watched her disappear back into the shelter's warmth. A minute passed. Then two.
Analyze.
A translucent window opened in front of him. Lira's status: Asleep.
Ren exhaled, the breath fogging the air. He stepped forward, sitting cross-legged at the edge of the wind-shielded cliff. The frost licked around his boots but didn't bite. His body, enhanced by divine blessings and dragon essence, shrugged off the cold.
He closed his eyes and entered meditation.
No Still World. Not now. Too many people. Too many questions.
But silence, this silence, would do.
He focused on the rhythm of his breath, the soft hum of his mana cycling, and the steady thrum of his new equipment—the Darkborn Harness, the Spellframe Core, and the twin blades sheathed at his side.
Soon, he thought. I'll finish what I started.
The winds howled once more through the crags above. Ren remained still beneath the stars, a lone sentinel in the frozen night.
Morning broke over the snow-kissed ridge in a wash of pale gold and biting wind. Inside the shelter, the scent of roasted meat, spices, and hearty grains stirred the expedition team from slumber. One by one, they roused, blinking away fatigue and shivering against the lingering chill—only to find steaming bowls of breakfast already laid out before them on a stone table, perfectly portioned and still warm.
"Alter…?" Lira whispered, scanning the room. Empty. No sign of the man.
Kaela rubbed her eyes and grinned. "Of course he left early. Guy probably considers rest optional."
The group gathered and began to eat, murmuring praise between bites.
"This is amazing," one of the rescued scouts said, spoon halfway to his mouth. "Spiced rabbit? In this weather?"
"Definitely the best thing I've eaten all week," another nodded.
As the warmth of the food eased the group's lingering aches and filled the shelter with the clatter of utensils and hushed chatter, the ground trembled.
It was subtle at first—a distant shake that made bowls tremble and dust fall from the ceiling. Then, like a fist pounding the heavens, a deafening roar erupted through the frozen expanse.
Everyone froze.
"That… that was a dragon, wasn't it?" one of the men whispered, eyes wide.
Kaela shot Lira a look. Lira was already standing, eyes locked in the direction of the sound, her complexion pale.
"...Alter," she breathed. "He's gone."
Kaela's face hardened. "Don't tell me he's—"
"He's fighting it. Or worse."
Without another word, both women scrambled to don their gear. The rest of the camp stirred in panic as the realization spread. The expedition leader cursed, clenching his fists before giving a sharp order.
"We owe that man our lives," he said. "We're not letting him die out there alone."
With that, the group began to move, snow crunching beneath their feet as they chased after the fading echoes of the dragon's cry.
Meanwhile, at the Dragon's Pit
Ren stood atop a windblown ridge facing a massive sinkhole surrounded by glacial cliffs. The pit exhaled cold—a chill so deep it stung through armor and gnawed at bone. Snow and frost danced around him in chaotic spirals, the air heavy with pressure and raw mana.
His breath steamed against the inside of his frost-helmet. Slowly, he reached behind his back, retrieving both of his dragon-forged blades. They gleamed under the morning sun, twin symbols of challenge and purpose.
He took a breath and then shouted—
A word in Draconic, thunderous and ancient, echoing with power:
"Vaelgrithr!"
The name struck the land like a war drum.
The pit trembled.
Suddenly, frost erupted from below. Ice cracked and split in jagged veins across the stone as a titanic form burst from the depths, wings unfurling in a cyclone of wind and snow. The beast that emerged was monstrous—a Frost Dragon over fifty meters long, covered in plates of ancient cerulean ice, its eyes glowing with primordial rage.
With a resounding slam, it landed on the rim of the pit before Ren, snow kicking up in a swirling maelstrom. Its roar thundered through the canyons, a sound of challenge and disdain.
Ren stood his ground. Unmoving.
"I do not wish to fight," he said in perfect Draconic, his voice carrying with force. "I seek Froststeel and Evercrystal, and a rare bloom—the Heartroot of Vael, to aid in my transformation."
The dragon's eyes narrowed, steam curling from its nostrils.
"You are not of my kin. Your blood is impure. You are not worthy to step into my den."
"I am of draconic essence, awakened by conquest and fire. I offer fair trade."
"Trade? What can a fledgling like you offer that would outweigh a thousand years of guardianship?"
Ren's voice dropped low. "Nothing, perhaps. But if you refuse…"
He drew his swords, the air humming as their draconic auras surged.
"…then I will take them by right of battle."
The dragon's eyes gleamed with fury. "So be it, mortal pretender. Freeze. And die."
With a howl, the frost dragon reared back—then unleashed a torrent of ice breath directly at Ren.
A beam of absolute cold tore across the cliff, vaporizing snow, coating stone in thick glacial layers. Trees shattered in its path.
Ren's body blurred.
Teleportation Marker: Activate!
He reappeared just left of the blast, ice licking his cloak's edge.
He skidded back, boots digging into the frost. His breath steamed as he narrowed his eyes.
"So this… is what I'm up against."
The ground cracked beneath the dragon's steps as it advanced, its tail lashing out to pulverize the ice beneath its claws.
Ren tightened his grip on his swords.
"Then let's dance."