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Across the hall, Thalia spotted Brynn holding court among a group of students, her aristocratic features animated as she spoke.Even here, social hierarchies formed like frost on glass, predictable and inexorable.Brynn caught Thalia watching and narrowed her eyes, mouth curling in disdain before deliberately turning away.

"Ignore her," Ashe said, following Thalia's gaze."Ignore all of them.Everyone’s all bark until we learn to bite."

Thalia nodded, but couldn't help the knot of resentment that formed beneath her ribs.While Thalia had come to Frostforge out of necessity to save her family, Brynn had volunteered.She had trained for this, just as many Northern students had, sharpened by the privileges her high status had afforded her.The injustice of it burned.

A sudden hush fell over the hall as the main doors swung open with a groan of ancient hinges.Instructors filed in, their uniforms darker and adorned with symbols Thalia didn't recognize.Emblems of rank or achievement, perhaps.Instructor Maven strode at their head, her single amber eye sweeping the room with predatory focus.The glacier bear claw hung at her throat, gleaming dully against her scarred skin.

"First-years," Maven's voice carried without effort, silencing even the whispers that had persisted after their entrance."You will now be divided into your initial training groups.When your name is called, proceed to your assigned instructor."

`The sorting began, names echoing against stone walls.Northern names, Southern names, called out with equal indifference.Thalia's palms grew damp as she waited, watching students rise and gather in clusters around stern-faced teachers.

“If I call your name, you shall proceed to Instructor Varik.You will begin your education with cryomancy."Maven paused, then barked, “Greenspire!”

Thalia stood, legs suddenly unsteady.Across the room, a wiry man with a face like weathered granite nodded once in her direction.As she moved toward him, she heard Maven’s voice again, like ice breaking.“Bright!”Roran, his wild black curls tied back, moved to join Thalia, his easy smile a contrast to the grim faces around him.

The group grew — twelve students in all, a mix of Northern and Southern recruits.Varik observed them with eyes the pale blue of a winter sky, revealing nothing of his thoughts.

"Follow me," he said finally, turning away.“I’ll show you to the classroom.In the future, you are expected to navigate these halls on your own, and keep your own schedule.”

They filed out of the hall, Thalia's stomach clenching with each step.Cryomancy — ice magic.Of all the disciplines to start with, they'd assigned her to the one that seemed the most arcane, the most impossible.

***

The chamber for cryomancy instruction wasn't a chamber at all, but rather a semi-circular ledge carved into the mountainside, open to the elements on one side.Wind howled across the space, carrying crystals of ice that stung Thalia's cheeks like tiny needles.The stone beneath her feet reflected the pale blue sky overhead and gave the unsettling impression of standing on frozen water.Thalia flexed her toes inside her boots, willing feeling back into them as she tried to focus on Instructor Varik rather than the thousand-foot drop just yards away, unprotected by even the suggestion of a guardrail.

Varik stood at the center of the ledge, seemingly unaffected by the biting cold.His wiry frame belied a stillness that spoke of controlled power.Frost had accumulated in his close-cropped beard, turning the dark hair white at the edges.Most striking were his hands, mottled with white patches of frostbite.

"Cryomancy," he began, his voice thin but carrying easily over the wind, "is the discipline of transforming states of matter through the extraction of heat.In short, it is the art of manipulating ice."He surveyed the huddled students, his pale eyes lingering on each face in turn."The Northern Reaches did not conquer the cold — we became its conduit.Those who cannot do the same will not survive this academy."

Thalia wrapped her arms around herself, feeling the layers Ashe had given her compress beneath the pressure.Even with the extra clothing, cold seeped into her bones, making concentration difficult.She glanced at the Northern students, noting their relaxed postures, their untroubled breathing.This was merely normal weather to them, not the enemy it was to her Southern blood.

"Control," Varik continued, raising one frostbitten hand, "precision, and resilience.These are the foundations of ice magic, qualities most of you lack entirely."His gaze settled on the Southern students, his disdain unmistakable."Mistakes in cryomancy result in death — yours, or someone else's."

He turned and approached a stone pedestal at the edge of the platform.Upon it sat a wooden chest, its dark surface etched with runes that seemed to shimmer as he opened the lid.From within, he removed pairs of white gloves, thin yet strangely substantial, each embroidered with complex symbols in silver thread.

"These are frost gloves," Varik announced, beginning to distribute them among the students."The most crucial tool for any cryomancer.They serve two essential functions.First, they focus the latent magic within you, allowing it to be channeled with greater precision.Second, they protect your extremities from your own magic.Ice has no loyalty — it will freeze your fingers as readily as it will your enemy's."

Thalia accepted her pair with unsteady hands.The material felt cool to the touch, supple yet resilient.She turned them over, studying the intricate patterns of runes that spiraled across the palms and fingertips.

"These symbols," Varik explained, holding up a glove for all to see, "are not decorative.They are precise magical formulas developed over centuries, designed to harness the energy of cold itself."His gaze hardened."These gloves are irreplaceable.Lose them, damage them, or attempt to modify them, and you will face consequences of your own making."

Thalia slid the gloves on carefully.They fit perfectly, as if tailored to her hands, the fabric molding to each finger without restricting movement.A subtle tingling sensation spread across her palms, like the first touch of numbness before true cold set in.

"The first exercise in cryomancy is the creation of an ice shard," Varik continued, stepping to the center of the platform.He extended his gloved hand, palm up."Observe."

The air above his palm shimmered, moisture visibly gathering from the surrounding atmosphere.Varik twisted his fingers with a gesture so subtle Thalia almost missed it.The moisture condensed, crystallized, and elongated into a perfect shard of ice, six inches long and tapering to a lethal point.It hovered above his palm, rotating slowly, catching the light in facets.

"The process requires three steps," he explained, the shard continuing to spin above his hand."First, gather moisture from the air around you.Second, extract the heat from that moisture, transforming it to ice.Third, shape the ice according to your will."With another slight gesture, the shard changed form, becoming wider, flatter.“This is the foundation of all cryomantic constructions."

He closed his fist suddenly, and the ice shard shattered into fine powder that dispersed on the wind.

"Position yourselves with adequate space between you, and begin."

The students spread across the platform, each claiming a space to practice.Thalia found herself between a tall Northern boy with a shock of white-blonde hair and a Southern girl whose dark complexion had taken on an unhealthy grayish tinge in the cold.Across the platform, she spotted Roran, already extending his gloved hand with a look of intense concentration.

Thalia mimicked the stance she'd seen Varik take, palm up, fingers slightly curled.She closed her eyes briefly, trying to sense the moisture in the air around her as he'd described.In Verdant Port, she'd developed a knack for sensing the subtle energies in herbs and plants, but this was different — the magic felt foreign, hostile even, slipping away from her mental grasp like fish through nets.

Opening her eyes, she saw several Northern students had already produced ice shards of varying sizes and quality.The white-blonde boy beside her held a near-perfect replica of Varik's demonstration, his expression one of bored competence.Even some of the Southerners were managing small, crude formations that at least held their shape; Roran, in particular, had found moderate success.His shard drew an approving nod from Varik as the instructor passed by his station.