Page 23 of Frostforge, Passage Four

The mess hall hummed with tension that morning, a low and dangerous undercurrent beneath the clatter of trays and murmur of voices.

Thalia felt it immediately upon entering — the air itself seemed charged, brittle as thin ice over deep water.

Students gathered in tighter clusters than usual, their voices pitched low, their eyes darting suspiciously across the room.

Northern and Southern factions had always maintained their distance, but today the division was stark, a visible fissure running through the heart of Frostforge.

As she moved toward her usual table with her tray of steaming porridge, Thalia felt the weight of stares tracking her path, some curious, others hostile.

The storm had done more than capsize Thalia’s boat — it had stirred up dangerous currents, swirling eddies of rumors.

Luna was already seated, her dark eyes unusually alert, none of her typical performative distraction on display. She nudged a space next to her as Thalia approached.

"You look terrible," Luna observed quietly, pushing a mug of hot tea toward her. "Did you sleep at all?"

Thalia shook her head, setting her tray down with a soft clunk. Her muscles still ached from fighting the frigid waters, and her dreams had been troubled with visions of Rasmus's blue-tinged face as Roran breathed life back into him. "Every time I closed my eyes, I felt like I was drowning again."

She scanned the room while spooning porridge into her mouth, cataloging faces and postures with careful precision.

Northern students clustered at the far tables, their whispers punctuated by occasional glares toward the Southern side of the hall.

A group of first-years huddled near the entrance, looking lost and uncertain which faction to join.

Roran arrived minutes later, his steps slow and measured as he navigated the crowded space.

His wild black curls were pulled back tighter than usual, emphasizing the tension in his face.

As he slid onto the bench across from Thalia, she noticed how carefully he arranged himself, his movements stiff with hidden pain.

"Morning," he murmured, avoiding the curious stares from neighboring tables.

Thalia felt the familiar tug in her chest—concern tangled with something deeper she wasn't ready to name. "How are you feeling?"

Roran's lips quirked in what might have been an attempt at his usual easy smile, but was undercut by the bruise that shadowed his jaw, the still-present remnant of his latest run-in with Northerners.

"Oh, fine. Better than Rasmus, I’m sure.

" His gaze shifted briefly to Thalia's, something unspoken passing between them. "Everyone's talking about the storm."

"And what are they saying?" Luna asked, her voice deliberately casual as she stirred her tea.

Roran's shoulders tensed minutely. "That it came out of nowhere. That it wasn't natural."

Thalia's stomach tightened. Over Roran's shoulder, she spotted Ashe at a table with other Northern fourth-years. Their eyes met briefly, and Ashe gave a small, tight nod before returning to her conversation. The distance stung, but Thalia understood. Ashe was walking a precarious line — keeping Roran's secret while maintaining her standing among her people. She’d made it clear that she could be friends with Thalia, but couldn’t associate with Roran; whenever he was around, she wouldn’t be.

"Weather changes quickly in the fjords," Thalia said, her voice pitched to carry just far enough that nearby tables might hear. "Anyone who's spent time on water knows that."

Several Southern students nodded in agreement, but the mutterings from the Northern tables grew more pointed. Thalia caught fragments — "convenient" and "Southern incompetence" and, most worryingly, "stormspawn."

The tension in the room crystallized as Einar approached their table, flanked by two other Northern fourth-years.

His pale face was set in hard lines, eyes like chips of ice as he stopped directly behind Roran.

He moved with deliberate slowness, making a show of his approach, ensuring he had an audience.

"Well," he drawled, loud enough for the surrounding tables to hear, "if it isn't the hero of the hour."

Roran didn't turn, his fingers tightening almost imperceptibly around his spoon. Thalia watched a muscle jump in his jaw.

"You think you’ve got everyone fooled," Einar continued, dropping his voice to a cutting murmur that nonetheless carried across the nearest tables. "But we know that storm wasn't natural. And neither are you."

The accusation hung in the air like frost smoke. Thalia felt heat rise to her face as conversations nearby stuttered into silence. She rose slowly, pushing her tray aside, the scrape of wood against wood unnaturally loud in the sudden quiet.

“What’s your problem, Einar?”

“My problem is everyone’s problem,” Einar growled. “It’s him.”

“Roran didn’t do anything,” Thalia replied, her voice caustic.

“This stormspawn traitor brought a storm down on the —”

"You're spreading lies about someone who saved lives yesterday," she interrupted, each word precise and measured despite the anger coiling tight in her chest.

Einar didn't back down. He shifted his attention to her, his lip curling in disdain. "He saved your squadron. Convenient, that. Starts the storm, then jumps in to play hero? That's Isle Warden strategy if I've ever seen it — create the chaos, control the outcome."

A hush fell over the surrounding tables. Students leaned in, hunger for conflict plain on their faces. Even those who had been pretending not to listen now watched openly, spoons paused halfway to mouths.

Roran remained seated, his head deliberately bowed, but Thalia could see the tension vibrating through him.

His hands disappeared beneath the table, and she wondered if he was hiding the telltale sparks that might be dancing between his fingers.

Luna set down her spoon with a deliberate clink, her expression unreadable as her gaze swept over the gathering crowd.

Thalia took a step forward, positioning herself between Einar and Roran.

"How could Roran have caused the storm?" she demanded.

"He was captaining his own skiff. He was busy, just like the rest of us.

And then he sacrificed the win to save my team.

" She let her gaze sweep over the onlookers, challenging them.

"Face it — nothing you're saying makes any sense. "

A flush crept up Einar's neck, staining his pale skin. His eyes darted around, taking stock of the crowd, and Thalia saw the moment he realized he was losing their interest. Fabricated accusations against Roran weren't enough; he needed a broader target.

"Hard to take the word of someone who can't even keep their own boat upright," he said, his voice taking on a new edge. "Southerners talk big but sink fast."

The shift in tactics worked. Thalia felt rather than saw the ripple of tension spreading through the Southern students. From a nearby table, Levi stood up suddenly, the bench scraping loudly against the stone floor. His hands were clenched into fists at his sides, knuckles white.

"Watch yourself, Frostborne,” he snarled.

Einar turned, a predatory grin spreading across his face as though he'd been waiting for precisely this reaction. "What? Just speaking the truth. Forgive me if I sound a little harsh—I just watched Southern incompetence nearly get a promising Northern recruit killed yesterday."

"Thought that was Isle Warden interference," Luna snapped, her feigned distraction completely gone now, replaced by razor-sharp focus.

Einar waved a dismissive hand. "Doesn't matter either way. In the Reaches, we know how to survive Isle Warden attacks. But when we're dragged down by the likes of you —"

Thalia's pulse quickened as she noticed other Northern students rising to their feet, moving to flank Einar.

The tactical positioning wasn't lost on her — they were spreading out, claiming territory.

Her gaze swept across the hall, cataloging the hardening faces of Southern students.

Even Brynn was standing now, her aristocratic, Southern-coast features tight with barely contained fury.

"You don't know what it's like to be dragged down," Levi growled, taking another step forward.

Einar laughed, the sound sharp and goading. The casual cruelty of it seemed to strike Levi like a physical blow.

"You people are all cold-hearted and as slow as that glacier," Levi added, his voice gaining heat. "Breaking apart whenever you try to move."

From behind Einar, Morrigan stepped forward, her dark braids swinging. "Oh, that's good," she said, her Northern accent more pronounced than usual. "How long have you been waiting to use that one, sun-rotter — all year?"

The insult sent a fresh wave of tension through the room. Thalia moved into the widening space between the two groups, hands raised placatingly.

"This is Frostforge," she said, trying to inject reason into the escalating confrontation. "We're supposed to be united as a continent, the Southern Kingdoms and the Reaches —"

"Every Southerner I've met at this cursed place has been an inept, useless piece of gutter trash," Einar interrupted, staring directly at her with cold contempt. "Without exception."

The words hit like sleet, stinging and sharp. Levi's face darkened.

"Say that again," he challenged, stepping closer until he and Einar were nearly chest to chest.

Einar smiled, all teeth and no warmth. He repeated the insult word for word, enunciating each syllable with deliberate venom, like a man testing the edge of a blade. “I said, every Southerner I’ve met has been an inept, useless piece of gutter trash .”