Snow fell as they climbed into the mountains.
Three days had passed since Serenya vanished with the Sixth Tablet. Erynn's rune had quieted, but only just. At night it still flickered beneath his skin, glowing faintly with breath-like pulses—reminding him that something ancient now lived within him.
Maerin walked ahead, silent, cloak dusted in frost. Her expression hadn't softened once.
"Where are we going?" Erynn finally asked.
She didn't stop. "To the Accord."
"The what?"
"The Frozen Accord," she said. "The last group in the world that still believes power should serve balance—not war."
---
They reached the pass at dusk. A frozen archway stood between two jagged peaks, carved with runes older than speech. As Erynn stepped forward, his rune flared suddenly—hot and cold at once.
The arch shimmered. Then opened.
Beyond it was a valley blanketed in endless frost. Silent towers rose from the snow, their surfaces polished like mirrors, reflecting distorted versions of the world. Blue flames floated midair, marking a path.
Erynn whispered, "This place doesn't feel real."
"It isn't," Maerin said.
---
The Accord's Sanctuary was carved into the cliffside itself—part monastery, part rune-vault. Inside, monks in white robes moved like ghosts. Each bore a different rune: flame, wind, earth, water—and others too strange to name.
A figure approached them, silver-haired and blindfolded.
"Maerin Iceveil," he said, voice echoing like wind on crystal. "And the Runeborn."
Erynn hesitated. "How do you know me?"
The man smiled.
"Because your rune screams, boy. Even the ice can hear it."
---
They were taken to a chamber of memory—walls covered in rune-mirrors. There, the man introduced himself:
"I am Calren. Rune-Seer of the Accord. And you… are what we feared."
Erynn's chest tightened. "Feared?"
Calren turned to one of the mirrors, which shimmered to life. Within it, a vision played: the Hollowfire King, crowned in embers, holding a staff carved with seven runes—each the shape of the Tablets.
"One thousand years ago, the Balance Rune was born—not created, not forged, but awakened. It was said to be the only rune that could bind all others… or destroy them."
He looked at Erynn.
"And now it lives again. In you."
---
Erynn reeled back. "I didn't choose this."
"No," Calren said. "But power never asks permission."
---
They began training the next morning.
Maerin taught him focus—ice rituals to calm the fire within. Calren showed him mirrors that reflected not his face, but his will.
Day by day, Erynn learned to shape small currents of balance: water that resisted gravity, flame that healed instead of burned, stone that moved like liquid.
But something was wrong.
Each time he touched deeper power, he heard whispers.
Her voice.
Serenya.
And beneath hers… something older.
A heartbeat.
A call.
---
One night, he snuck into the mirror chamber alone.
He placed his hand on the cold glass.
"Show me what I'm becoming," he said.
The mirror shimmered.
He saw himself—older, crowned in silver flame, a cloak of ash around his shoulders.
Behind him, the world burned.
And before him knelt the Rune Order, the Hollowflame Ashmarked… and Maerin, broken.
"No," he whispered. "That's not me."
But the mirror whispered back:
"It could be."
---
To be continued…