After Azriel shattered the shard of ice, silence gripped the chamber for a heartbeat then it broke into chaos.
The first elder slammed the table, his voice sharp with fury.
"Cursed! That child is cursed! If we let him live, his very existence will stain the Stark name!"
The second elder leaned forward, his eyes glittering with greed.
"No… not cursed. A weapon. Look at him something beyond mana itself. In the right hands, he could be forged into the Stark's greatest blade."
Others muttered amongst themselves, their voices trembling with fear.
"He unmade it… not destroyed, not countered unmade. That is no power of men."
"Something like that should not exist…"
Amid the storm of accusations, Catelyn Stark rose, her presence quiet but firm.
"Enough." Her black eyes glared at the elders. "He is a Stark by blood. An heir to the Stark throne. And I will not see him cast aside like some beast. Judge him as you would judge any heir of this house."
Her words carried weight not just as Edward's wife, but as the sister of King of the Human Continent. The councilors swallowed their protests, acutely aware that challenging her was politically dangerous.
Yet, while voices clashed, one figure remained silent Sansa Stark.
The woman with white hair and jet-black eyes did not accuse, nor defend. She only watched Azriel. Her gaze was colder than frost, but it was not fear she showed. Instead, there was curiosity. She had seen the crescent flicker in his eyes, had felt the ripple of power others could not comprehend. Perhaps only she and Edward truly sensed it. The energy of chaos.
Her eyes dissected him like a blade peeling back flesh, searching, analyzing. And in that gaze, Azriel almost smirked.
Then, a voice rolled through the chamber like a ghost's whisper deep, calm, and resonant.
Robert Stark.
The masked man leaned forward, his tone cutting through the clamor.
"Curse or blessing… it matters little. Power like this will draw calamity. The question is not what it is but whether we control it… or it controls us."
His words silenced the chamber. Not one elder dared to speak.
Finally, the silence cracked beneath the frost of Edward Stark's voice. His aura spilled like a blizzard, freezing the air itself.
"This matter ends here. For now."
No elder dared to resist. They bowed their heads, still divided, but powerless. In the Stark council, Edward's word was law.
The councilors filed out, whispers and mutters trailing behind them like smoke. The chamber, once alive with chaos, now felt empty, cold, and heavy. Only two remained: Edward Stark and his son, Azriel.
Edward descended from the throne, each step measured, frost curling along the edges of the marble floor. His gaze never left Azriel.
What was that? He thought, recalling the triple crescent in his son's eyes, the shard of frost dissolving as though it had never existed. Stronger than mana… denser… purer. And flowing through my blood.
Azriel's crimson eyes met his father's glacial stare. A faint smirk tugged at his lips, as if he were amused at being the object of the Frost Monarch's scrutiny.
Edward's voice was low, heavy, and edged with something that had not touched him in decades: curiosity… and unease.
"Your eyes… what did I just witness?"
Azriel's smirk deepened.
"Does it matter, Father? It did its job."
Edward took a slow step forward, pressing down with his aura. Frost spiraled around him, cold enough to bite skin. Most would have faltered under this weight but Azriel didn't. His crimson eyes flickered faintly, the crescents barely visible, yet they bent the pressure without breaking.
Edward's heart skipped a fraction a sensation he had not felt in years. The boy… he is real. And he is dangerous.
The Frost Monarch's mind raced. The energy… it was not mana. But it obeyed him like mana. It flowed from my blood… from my son. And the point of control… his eyes.
Edward's expression hardened. He could dismiss the crescents in Azriel's eyes as some unique bloodline ability. But that energy the force that had erased his frost shard it refused explanation.
"Control it," Edward said finally, his voice colder than the frost curling around his boots.
"Show me that you can wield this power, or even blood will not save you from what must be done."
Azriel tilted his head, crimson eyes glinting. His smirk remained.
"Then watch closely, Father," he said, voice calm, amused.
"I will show you a power even the Monarchs will kneel to."
Edward's gaze did not waver. But inside, a question lingered a dangerous, unsettling thought he could not silence:
What have I truly brought into this world?