The temple doors stood ajar, frigid mist curling along the steps, rolling out into the courtyard like fingers of the dead, warning those who dared approach.
But the White Order came anyway.
Boots crunched against frost-covered stone. The sound echoed through the devastated sanctuary, followed by the gleam of polished silver and ivory armor.
At their head strode a man untouched by the surrounding cold.
Lucien Vauntreille, Captain of the White Order.
His golden blond hair, shining like woven sunlight, fell just past his shoulders in waves. Eyes of glacial blue scanned the temple's ruined interior, eyes sharp.
He stopped at the threshold, taking in the sight. Frozen blood painted the floor like ritual symbols.
Marble pillars had been half-ravaged by chaotic ice growths that burst from the earth like fangs.
Some of the initiates, mere children, were trembling, backed against broken pews. A few had wet themselves. One boy sat in silent shock, eyes wide, teeth chattering, his hands blue from the cold.
Then Lucien saw them.
Valthor, impaled midair on a spike of translucent frost, his lifeless eyes still open in disbelief.
And slumped near the sanctuary wall,
Seris.
A thick lance of ice skewered her shoulder, nailing her to the base of a broken statue. Blood soaked her white uniform, forming a dark contrast against the glittering frost.
Her face was pale, contorted in agony, but she was alive, barely.
Lucien stepped forward slowly, drawing his rapier-like blade, Radiant Vernal, its steel whispering as it left the sheath. His aura, golden and brilliant, flared with brilliance that pushed back the cold like sunlight scattering mist.
He strode toward Seris without hesitation. Kneeling before her, he studied the jagged spike of ice that still pinned her. Then, with a flick of his wrist and a sudden flash of brilliance,
CRACK.
His blade shattered the ice impaling her, fragments bursting apart like crystal rain.
Seris cried out, slumping forward, but Lucien caught her with his gloved hand, steadying her with the ease of a seasoned duelist catching a falling goblet.
"Seris, speak. What in the name of the Empire happened here? Who wrought this chaos?"
His blue eyes bored into her, unyielding, as he sheathed his sword with a flourish, his cloak swirling dramatically.
Seris coughed, blood flecking her lips, but her voice remained steady. "A boy, possessing Norvind blood. Participated in Verminy. He Awakened four SSS Talents."
Lucien's eyes narrowed, a storm brewing behind his elegant façade. "A Norvind? Here? With four SSS talents? By the dead gods, how is that even possible?"
His voice dripped with disbelief, but his mind was already racing, piecing together the prophecy, the God Slayer's legacy, and the devastation before him.
"The Child of Ruin, from the prophecy," he said in a grim tone, gritting his teeth.
"But I don't understand. How were both of you overpowered by a mere child? Didn't he just Awaken? His mastery should only be F-rank. Even if he possessed SSS talents, he shouldn't have been able to take down two Three-Star Knights."
Seris coughed again as she struggled to speak. "The Guide named him a Crimson Threat, Immensely Dangerous Being. He…" She paused, wincing. "He caught us off guard. He was beheaded, but one of his talents, it acted out due to death shock, while the other revived him."
"Dear Lord," one of the knights cursed under his breath.
Lucien gritted his teeth in frustration. "Damned Norvind scum. If he can't die, we simply need to reduce him to pieces and scatter his remains to the four corners of the earth."
He turned to his knights, their white armor gleaming as they fanned out behind him. "Secure the temple. Tend to Seris and recover Valthor's body. The rest of you, with me. We hunt the God Slayer's heir."
The knights of the White Order moved.
Two of them peeled off to tend to Seris, carefully lowering her to the ground and binding her wound with flame-tempered gauze.
Her breathing was shallow but steady. Another three lifted Valthor's corpse from the spike, their armored hands slick with his blood as they wrapped the body in a sanctified shroud.
Lucien turned away from the scene, the heavy scent of frost and iron thick in the air. He concentrated, imbuing his eyes with mana.
His vision shifted and he began to see traces of mana, blue mana in the shape of footsteps.
He scanned the temple floor again, lingering on the trail of frost that stretched toward the shattered side doors.
"Tracks," he muttered. "Fresh."
Lucien's jaw clenched. "He's not far. His mana signature is still wild. I can feel it."
One of the younger knights, a bright-eyed squire named Reiss, stepped forward, his breath misting in the cold air. "Captain, the initiates say he fled east, through the relic passage. The frost tore through the seal. It's wide open."
Lucien's expression tightened. "Then that's where we go."
Aether's boots pounded through the snow, each step sinking deep into the powdery drifts.
His breath misted in the frigid air, curling like ghosts before his face, his newly healed neck throbbing with every heartbeat. The Frostline Provinces' relentless wind howled, clawing at his tattered cloak, but he didn't slow.
Far behind him, in the distance, the thunderous snarls of massive snow wolves slowly began to echo, their paws churning the snow with terrifying speed.
The Knights of the White Order rode atop them, their white armor glinting under the pale moonlight, holy runes pulsing faintly on their blades. They were closing in.
For some reason, despite how far they were, he could hear their shouts through the blizzard.
"Norvind scum!" one bellowed, voice thick with righteous fury. "You can't outrun the Empire's judgment." The wolves' growls made them feel all the more fierce, their red eyes glowing like embers in the storm.