The tower door slammed shut behind them, sealing in the metallic howl of the Frost Engine. Outside, the wind scraped across the frost-locked streets like a thousand thin blades, carrying the taste of iron and old magic. The Frostholm team gathered near the base of the tower, breaths smoking, boots crunching through a century of rime.
"We know what's inside now," Yami murmured, cloak fluttering. "Someone weaponized a dragon… an entire city caught in its breath."
"Then we break the mechanism, free the dragon, and pray the place doesn't explode," Omina said, hands resting on the hilts of her blades.
"Carefully," Yoshiya corrected, already calculating a hundred variables in his head. "A destabilized thaw could be catastrophic. We need control."
Akihiro hovered near the edge of their circle, palms pressed together, concentrating on the stillness of the air—on the suffering embedded in it.
Then he staggered.
At first it seemed like he simply slipped on the ice. Then his breath hitched—and froze. Frost spidered up his ankles, climbing with unnatural speed, turning his skin pale as bone.
"Aki—!" Omina lunged forward.
He tried to lift one foot, but it was fused to the ground. "My spirit wards… they're not responding…"
Fukashi thrust a hand toward him, purple glyphs lighting up along his wrist. "Cura—!"
The restorative burst struck Akihiro's legs, flaring brilliantly before sputtering out.
"It's not taking," Fukashi whispered, stunned. "The frost is eating the spell."
Yoshiya didn't hesitate. He dropped to his knees, bracing Akihiro's leg with both hands. Mana welled around him—white light, refined, painfully bright.
"This is going to hurt," Yoshiya warned.
Akihiro clenched his teeth. "Do it."
The light sharpened. Purify was not gentle magic. It didn't warm; it obliterated the unnatural. There was a crack like breaking stone, and the frost shattered off Akihiro's legs in jagged chunks. Steam rose from his skin. He gasped, collapsing into Yami's arms.
Yoshiya sagged back on his heels, sweat beading instantly into frozen droplets on his forehead.
"Still with us?" Yami asked softly.
Akihiro nodded weakly. "My spirit is intact… but something inside this city reacts to healers." He managed a thin smile. "Guess I'm the canary."
But Yoshiya wasn't done. If the frost reacted this violently to spiritual magic, then any thawing of civilians would require precision—and consequences. He needed data. He needed proof they could save people without killing them.
They found five frozen figures nearby: a child, a middle-aged man, a soldier in partial armor, and two women caught mid-flight. Each stood like statues carved from sky-blue crystal, eyes open but empty.
Yoshiya approached the girl first. "If Purify breaks the frost without destroying the body… then we can build a method."
Omina stayed close, steady and protective. "I'm right here."
Yoshiya placed a hand over the girl's heart and unleashed the spell.
Light. Cracking. A breath released as if she'd been holding it for years. The frost disintegrated into dust, and she fell limp into Yami's arms—alive, unconscious.
It worked.
Barely.
The cost hit Yoshiya like a hammer. His legs shook. His fingers trembled. Purify consumed stamina, mana, and will. Using it repeatedly was like tearing strips off his soul.
But he did it again.
The man collapsed with a choked gasp.
Again.
The soldier tumbled to one knee before fainting.
Again.
The two women crumpled together, frost melting off their lashes.
By the end, Yoshiya was swaying, vision tunneling. Akihiro steadied him from behind, his own legs still tender from the earlier freeze.
"That's enough," Omina said firmly. "No more or you'll drop dead."
"We have five living proofs," Yami said, examining the revived civilians. "This changes everything."
Fukashi and Omina loaded the thawed individuals into the caravan—layered blankets, heated stones, careful monitoring. Their breaths were shallow but steady. Life reclaiming ground.
Yoshiya leaned against the side of the vehicle, eyes narrowed at the frost-drowned city.
"We can save them," he whispered.
"But the city won't let us do it quietly."
The wind answered with a whisper of dragon-cold, as if something deep within Frostholm had finally noticed them.