Page 11 of Frostforge, Passage Four

Thalia stood among the sea of students in Frostforge's main hall, the usual drone of voices muted to a nervous hum.

Bodies pressed closer than comfort allowed, their collective breath fogging the frigid air despite the heat pipes running beneath the stone floor.

She sensed the undercurrent of unease, felt it in the way shoulders tensed and eyes darted — something was wrong.

Unscheduled assemblies at Frostforge never heralded good news.

The stone walls loomed overhead, adorned with banners bearing the academy's crest — a forge hammer crossed with an ice-forged blade. Normally, the emblems inspired pride, or at least determination. Today, they felt like omens.

The heavy tread of boots against stone silenced the murmurs.

Instructor Wolfe strode onto the raised podium, her emerald eyes sharp as she surveyed the gathered students.

Her presence commanded immediate attention, back straight as a forged blade, shoulders squared beneath her ice-metal pauldrons.

The scar running from her jaw to her throat caught the light, a silvery reminder of battles survived.

"Fourth years to the front," she barked, voice echoing against the vaulted ceiling. "First years at the back."

Bodies shifted, reorganized. Thalia found herself near the front, close enough to see the tight set of Wolfe's jaw, the subtle tells of tension that most wouldn't notice.

"I'll be brief," Wolfe said, once the shuffling ceased. "Our scouts have reported increased Isle Warden activity along the coastal regions — some sightings disturbingly close to Frostforge's inlet fjord."

A collective intake of breath rippled through the hall.

Thalia's pulse quickened, her mind immediately racing to Verdant Port, to her mother and Mari.

If the Wardens were growing bolder near Frostforge itself, what might they be planning for the Southern coasts?

Had her mother decided to flee the city, to seek safety inland — or was she still hesitating, still clinging to the roof over their heads?

"Effective immediately, we're implementing additional security protocols," Wolfe continued, her voice cutting through the worried whispers.

"Curfew starts an hour earlier. No one leaves the academy grounds without an instructor escort.

All training sessions on the Crystalline Plateau will have additional guard rotations. "

Thalia's fingers curled into fists at her sides. The last time security had tightened like this was after Maven's betrayal, after the Isle Wardens had breached Frostforge's defenses and left bodies in their wake.

"Remember," Wolfe's eyes narrowed, scanning the crowd with deliberate slowness, "our enemies are cunning. They've proven capable of infiltration. If you notice anything suspicious — anything at all — report it immediately."

Her gaze lingered on the Southern students for a beat too long, the implication clear.

Thalia felt her stomach twist. The suspicion was always there, lurking beneath the surface.

Southerners were viewed as weaker, more likely to break, to betray.

And if anyone discovered Roran's secret, his storm magic… .

"That's all," Wolfe said, stepping back from the edge of the podium. "Squad leaders, keep your first-years in line. Dismissed."

The assembly dispersed with a surge of voices, fear, and speculation spreading through the crowd like frost across glass. Thalia caught fragments of conversations as she filed toward the exit with the other fourth-years.

"— heard they sank three merchant vessels last week —"

"— my cousin in Seaward said they've been evacuating —"

"— think they'll attack Frostforge again?"

The last question sent a chill through her that had nothing to do with the academy's perpetual cold. She remembered the blood on the snow, the screams, the metallic scent of ice-bronze clashing with dark steel.

"Thalia?"

She turned at the small voice, finding Daniel and Felah hovering uncertainly behind her, separated from the flow of students moving toward the doors.

Daniel's lanky frame seemed more hunched than usual, his bronze skin ashen.

Beside him, Felah's dark eyes were wide with barely contained fear, her short curls damp with nervous sweat despite the cold.

"Can we talk to you?" Daniel asked, his voice cracking slightly.

Thalia nodded, stepping out of the stream of departing students. She gestured to a recessed alcove near the hall's entrance, where an unlit torch bracket created a small pocket of shadow.

"Is it true?" Daniel asked once they'd gathered there, his words tumbling out in a rush. "About last year's attack? All those deaths?"

Thalia's throat constricted, memories flashing like shards of broken ice: the ambush on the Golem Fields, friends falling, Roran bleeding in the snow. "Yes," she said finally, the word barely audible. "It's true."

Felah clutched the hem of her sleeve, knuckles white. "Are we really safe here?" Her voice trembled. "Are any of us?"

Thalia's first instinct was to offer comfort, to manufacture some reassurance. But the words died before reaching her lips. "Frostforge was never safe," she said instead, gently. "The academy has always been dangerous —"

"I don't mean from training," Felah interrupted, her usual timidity giving way to naked fear. "I mean from them. From the Isle Wardens."

Something in the girl's tone made Thalia truly look at her, seeing beyond the nervous first-year to the person beneath. “You’ve seen them before, haven’t you?”

"My brother," Felah whispered, eyes downcast. "They took him two years ago. A raid on our fishing village in the far South. He was only fifteen. My family moved to Verdant Port after that — we needed the safety of the city."

Thalia's heart sank. No wonder the girl was so skittish, so afraid of failure. "I'm sorry," she said, the words woefully inadequate.

"My parents were in Westgale when the Wardens came," Daniel added quietly. "They survived, but..." He swallowed hard. "They still wake up screaming sometimes. My father can't go near the water anymore."

The weight of their trust, their fear, settled on Thalia's shoulders like a physical burden.

They were looking to her for something she wasn't sure she could provide — safety, protection, answers.

She was only a fourth-year herself, barely holding her own squad together against external sabotage and their own prejudices.

"You're strong," she told them after a silence that stretched too long, knowing the words were hollow even as she spoke them. "And you're not alone here."

But as Felah's shoulders relaxed slightly, as Daniel nodded with desperate hope in his eyes, Thalia felt the hollow ache of responsibility expanding in her chest. Their faith in her was misplaced.

She couldn't even protect them from whoever was sabotaging their equipment — how could she promise to keep them safe from the Isle Wardens?

***

Thalia ran her fingertips along the edge of Felah's newly forged replacement blade, eyes closed, attuned to the subtle whispers of the metal beneath her touch.

The weapons storage room near the forge hummed with residual heat from the day's work, a welcome contrast to the bitter cold that ruled the rest of Frostforge.

Here, alone among racks of steel and ice-bronze, she could finally breathe — and focus on finding whoever was trying to sabotage her squad.

She'd excused herself after the evening meal, slipping away while her squad drilled defensive formations with the other first-years. They didn't need her for basic drills — and she needed answers before someone got hurt worse than a bruised ego.

The blade vibrated beneath her touch, its current flowing like water through her senses.

Ice-bronze had a distinctive signature, a crystalline pattern that ran through the metal like veins through flesh.

Each piece was unique, the way a voice or a face was unique.

And Thalia could read those differences better than anyone at Frostforge — it was the one gift that had kept her alive this long.

She moved methodically down the row of her squad's weapons, checking each piece for inconsistencies, for the telltale disruptions that would indicate tampering. Daniel's weapon felt clean, its current flowing smoothly from hilt to tip. So did Rasmus's curved blade and Sigrid's broadsword.

Thalia reached for another blade — one of the backups they'd forged after Felah's shattered during the mock battle.

She ran her thumb along its edge, feeling the way the metal resisted, then yielded.

Something felt off — a subtle wrongness in the alloy's composition, a current that stuttered where it should have flowed.

She opened her eyes, examining the blade more closely. Under the forge lamps, it appeared perfect, the surface unmarred. But her fingertips told a different story — this blade had been sabotaged too, the mixture altered just enough to create a fatal weakness, just like the last one.

The heavy door creaked open behind her. Thalia turned quickly, half-expecting to see Kaine — he'd promised to help check the equipment — but her breath caught at the sight of Roran instead, silhouetted against the dimly lit corridor.

He stepped into the light, and Thalia's heart clenched.

A dark bruise blossomed along his jaw, stark against his brown skin.

His wild black curls hung loose around his face instead of tied back in their usual knot, as if he hadn't bothered — or hadn't had time — to secure them. His knuckles were raw, scraped bloody.

"What happened?" The words burst from her, sharp with concern.

Roran tried to smile, but it twisted into a grimace that didn't reach his eyes. "Turns out you were right," he said, leaning against a weapons rack with forced casualness. "I should have been more careful."

Thalia set the blade down, moving closer to examine his injuries. "Who did this?"

"Does it matter?" His bitter laugh held no humor. "Wolfe makes her announcement about Isle Warden activity, and suddenly everyone's seeing spies in the shadows." He gestured to his face with a sardonic, mirthless grin. "Guess who's the obvious scapegoat?"

Something cold and heavy settled in Thalia's stomach. "I thought you said things had been better this term."

Roran shook his head. "I was wrong. They never stopped.

They just went dormant for a while." He ran a hand through his disheveled curls.

"All it took was Wolfe's warning about infiltration, and suddenly some Northern third-years decided it was time to 'question the Isle Warden' about his true loyalties. "

The bitterness in his voice cut through her. She thought of Roran watching ship movements during the break, of his certainty that the Isle Wardens were planning something along the southwest coast — all while bearing their blood in his veins, a secret that would condemn him instantly if discovered.

"I'm sorry," she murmured.

"Not your fault." His eyes softened as they met hers, the anger in them giving way to something warmer, more vulnerable. "You knew better. You tried to warn me."

She stepped closer without thinking, drawn by the pain in his expression, by the need to offer some comfort. "Let me see," she murmured, reaching up to examine the bruise on his jaw.

Roran went still at her touch, his breath catching audibly.

Without thinking, she reached to brush back his curls and found herself leaning closer, drawn by the raw vulnerability in his gaze.

For a heartbeat, neither of them moved. For a heartbeat, the world narrowed to his pulse at her fingertips, the roughness of the stubble on his jaw, the look of genuine surprise on his face.

Then, slowly, he raised his hand to cup her face, his storm-scarred palm warm against her cheek.

Thalia's heart hammered against her ribs. This close, she could see the flecks of gold in his dark eyes, could feel the subtle current of his storm magic pulsing beneath his skin like a second heartbeat, an electricity that raised the hair on her arm

She had been right about his feelings, about the connection between them.

She wasn’t the only one who’d felt the tension lingering in glances held too long, in the way their arguments always crackled with something just beneath the surface.

Not the only one who had wondered — feared, hoped — what might happen between them, if they let themselves act on instinct.

He leaned closer, his gaze dropping to her lips, and she found herself rising on her toes to meet him, drawn by an inexorable pull as powerful as any tide.

"Well, isn't this precious?"

The mocking voice from the doorway sliced through the moment like a blade. Thalia jerked back, heat flooding her face as she turned to find Senna lounging against the doorframe, arms crossed over her chest, silver-gray eyes gleaming with malicious amusement.

"I'd honestly rather see you flirting with the Isle Warden traitor than trying to pursue Kaine," Senna continued, her smile sharp as an ice-pick. "At least this pairing makes sense — Southern trash with stormspawn trash. They say that’s a natural combination."

Thalia's embarrassment flared into anger, but before she could respond, Roran stepped back, his expression shuttering closed.

"I should go," he muttered, not meeting her eyes. "Early drills tomorrow."

He brushed past Senna without a word, his shoulders tense, curls hiding his face. The door thudded shut behind him, leaving Thalia alone with the Northern woman she despised most in all of Frostforge.

Thalia whirled on Senna, fury crackling in her veins. “What do you want?” she demanded, voice low and dangerous. “Why can’t you leave me be?”

Senna’s lips curved into a predatory smile. “And miss all this fun?” she replied, her tone like ice. “You’re lucky I walked in here, and not Kaine. If he’d seen this display, maybe he would finally stop his foolishness. Stop trying to win over the slumdweller who’s barely worthy of his attention.”

Thalia’s eyes widened. She’d almost forgotten that Kaine might join her to inspect the weapons.

She’d known he might enter at any moment, and she’d still allowed herself to get swept up in the moment with Roran.

She’d almost kissed him. Without thinking.

What was wrong with her? How could she let herself be caught up in Roran’s storm, while she still felt the deep, steady pull toward Kaine?

The truth was that she would give anything for either of them. That she was drawn to both of them. That she was at the center of a tempest, her heart tossed on a turbulent sea, set ablaze within the heat of a forge.

Senna turned on her heel, her cloak whispering against stone, and vanished into the corridor’s gloom. Silence settled like snow in the emptied room, and Thalia’s racing pulse in her own ears was the only sound.