The wagon creaked and groaned as they rolled into Reflynne, their runners scraping against the last patches of frost along the city's outskirts. Smoke spiraled from chimneys, carrying the scent of woodfires and hearths—a stark contrast to the endless white emptiness of Frostholm. Kaisei Aoi, guild manager of Reflynne, was waiting at the gate, eyes wide with alarm as he took in the sight of the exhausted caravan and its fragile passengers.
"By the gods…" Kaisei muttered under his breath, stepping forward to help guide the horses. His breath formed clouds in the crisp morning air. "What happened… out there?"
Yoshiya Hazeru, pale and hunched over the reins, responded only with a short nod. His voice, hoarse from the cold and the effort of Purify, came low: "Frostholm… we've brought survivors."
Omina Mizuraga slid from the driver's bench with a practiced grace, shaking the snow from her cloak. "They're alive," she said simply, "but barely." Her eyes swept over the caravan, landing on the unconscious Ostorian civilians carefully bundled in blankets.
Akihiro Kongo's hands glowed faintly green as he moved toward the back, the Kindling Light's warmth struggling to hold against the lingering frost in the air. "We must get them inside immediately," he urged. "The cold… it's not fully gone."
Fukashi Senyaku clutched a satchel full of alchemical mixtures, muttering, "If they wake too quickly, the shock could—" He paused as Yami Kurikage opened the carriage doors and began assessing the frost's lingering effects on the city's perimeter.
Kaisei gestured, his voice firm despite the evident worry. "Follow me. We have prepared beds and medical stations." His assistants hurried forward, helping unload the five unconscious Ostorians and placing them on warm, thick blankets in the guild's infirmary. Yoshiya moved with careful precision, stabilizing each pulse, murmuring soft prayers as he checked their breathing.
The frozen Valerian soldiers were secured separately in reinforced cells within the guild hall. Akihiro traced intricate spirit sigils over their restraints, ensuring the bindings were absolute. "We cannot risk them escaping," he said softly. Yami nodded, already jotting down notes for the anomaly report.
Hours passed slowly. The team rotated between tending the thawed survivors, checking the stability of the Valerian prisoners, and coordinating with Kaisei and his aides. Yoshiya's mana burned low, but he pressed on, aware that each passing moment could mean the difference between life and death for the frost-locked civilians. Omina and Akihiro ensured the heating wards and Kindling Light remained active, while Fukashi mixed restorative tinctures to ease the shock to the bodies.
At last, a faint movement stirred in one of the beds. The child, the smallest of the group, twitched under the thick blankets. His tiny hands pushed at the covers, and then his eyelids fluttered open. Yoshiya knelt beside him, offering a warm hand to help him sit.
The boy's eyes were wide and glassy, fear mingled with wonder as they took in the bright warmth of the infirmary, the figures of the Frostholm team standing vigilant around him. His lips trembled, and in a voice barely above a whisper, he spoke.
"The… ice dragons… they weren't sleeping."
Yoshiya's eyes met those of Omina, Yami, and the others. Even Kaisei stepped closer, the weight of his guild's concern evident in his posture. No one moved; the child's words hung in the air like frozen crystals, fragile yet piercing.
The room was quiet save for the faint crackle of the warming hearth and the soft hum of Kindling Light. Even the previously unconscious civilians stirred slightly, drawn to the faint urgency in the boy's voice.
Yami made a subtle note, her mind already cataloging every detail. The anomaly, the dragon, the frost engine… everything was more significant than they had imagined.
Akihiro rested a gentle hand on the boy's shoulder, allowing the warmth of his spirit to ease the lingering terror. "You are safe now," he whispered. "Nothing can touch you here."
Fukashi nodded silently, tending to the blankets around the child. Omina glanced at Yoshiya, both of them sharing a brief, solemn acknowledgment: the mission had saved lives, but the cost—the knowledge of what they had witnessed—was far from simple relief.
For a long moment, the child simply stared, repeating the words under his breath as if testing their meaning. "The ice dragons… they weren't sleeping…"
Outside the infirmary, the wind howled softly over the rooftops of Reflynne, carrying with it the bitter memory of Frostholm. Inside, the guild's lights glowed steady and warm, and the Frostholm team settled into their well-earned rest. Yet none could forget the scene they had left behind—the tower, the frost, the chained dragon—and the silent promise that the work ahead was far from over.