Page 25 of Frostforge, Passage Four

Thalia woke to gray light seeping through frost-rimmed windows, her head throbbing with each heartbeat.

The dormitory's usual morning rustles seemed muted, as if the very air had thickened overnight.

She pressed her palms against her eyes, willing away the exhaustion that clung to her bones like winter moss to stone.

Last night's events replayed in fragments — shouting, the scrape of chairs, a fist connecting with flesh.

They had all been lucky the instructors arrived when they did, before blood could be spilled on academy grounds.

She forced herself upright, muscles protesting at the movement.

Sleep had done little to ease the tension that had wound itself through her body during the brawl.

Three years at Frostforge had hardened her in many ways, but the raw hostility she'd witnessed last night had left her cold in ways the northern winds never could.

The floor chilled her bare feet as she dressed quickly, pulling on layers of wool and leather, armor against both the perpetual cold and the day ahead.

She paused at her small mirror, noting the shadows beneath her eyes.

No disguising those. Thalia tucked her father's compass into her pocket — a habit she couldn't break, even after all this time away from home.

When she stepped into the corridor, the wrongness struck her immediately.

Students passed with eyes averted, bodies curved inward as if to make themselves smaller targets.

Conversations died as she approached, only to resume in whispers once she'd passed.

The academy felt like it was holding its breath, waiting for the next eruption.

"Morning," she offered to a group of second-years. They nodded stiffly and quickened their pace.

The mess hall buzzed with subdued energy, like hornets trapped beneath glass. Thalia collected her breakfast and scanned the room for friendly faces. Luna was absent. Ashe sat among her Northern clanmates, her expression closed. Roran was nowhere to be seen.

As she navigated between tables, fragments of conversations reached her.

"—never seen Levi that angry before—"

"—Einar started it, you know he did—"

"—Levi was the one who—"

"—heard it was about the Command Challenge results—"

Thalia settled at an empty end of a table, pushing potatoes around her plate without appetite.

"Are you Thalia Greenspire?"

She looked up to find a first-year standing beside her table, clutching a rolled parchment sealed with blue wax. The student's eyes were wide with the peculiar blend of fear and curiosity that came with delivering bad news.

"Yes," she replied, her stomach dropping as she recognized Instructor Wolfe's sigil pressed into the wax.

"For you." The student thrust the parchment forward and retreated quickly.

Thalia broke the seal, confirming what she already knew. A summons to Wolfe's office. Immediately.

She abandoned her breakfast and made her way toward the administrative tower, shoulders squared against the weight of stares that followed her. Near the tower's entrance, she spotted Luna leaning against a frost-coated pillar, her expression unreadable.

"You too?" Thalia asked.

Luna nodded, her short dreadlocks swaying with the movement. "We’re witnesses, I suppose. Or we’re the guilty parties, depending on Wolfe's mood."

They walked in silence up the spiral staircase, footsteps echoing against stone. Neither spoke, but Thalia felt a certain comfort in Luna's presence — the solidarity of shared dread.

Wolfe's chamber door stood open. Inside, Thalia found Roran, Levi, and Einar already present, positioned around the room like opposing pieces on a game board.

Roran stood with arms crossed near a window, gaze fixed on the distant mountains.

Levi sat rigidly in a chair, jaw tight. Einar lounged against a bookshelf, feigning relaxation though his eyes tracked every movement.

Behind a massive oak desk sat Instructor Wolfe. Her muscled forearms rested on the desk's surface, hands clasped together like she was physically restraining her anger.

"Enter and close the door," she instructed, voice cutting through the silence.

Thalia and Luna obeyed, taking positions along the wall. The room felt smaller than it was, compressed by tension.

Without preamble, Wolfe began. "What happened last night was a disgrace to this academy." Frost spread in delicate patterns from her fingertips across the surface of her desk. "I want to understand what started it, so we can prevent it from happening again."

Her gaze swept over each face, lingering longer on Einar and Levi. "Who speaks first?"

Einar straightened, expression smoothing into practiced innocence. "I was merely speaking the truth about what happened at the Command Challenge. The Southern teams performed poorly because they lacked the fortitude and discipline needed for—"

"I'd watch your next words carefully," Levi cut in, voice trembling with barely contained rage. "You called us gutter trash. Say you didn't."

"I spoke facts," Einar replied with a shrug. "The rankings speak for themselves."

Wolfe's fist came down on her desk with a crack that made everyone flinch. A spiderweb of ice spread across the wood. "Enough. I'm not interested in who said what. I want to know who threw the first punch."

Silence fell, and Levi stepped back, dropping his arm. Thalia glanced at Roran, who hadn't moved or spoken since they'd entered. His detachment unsettled her. This wasn't like him.

Luna cleared her throat. "With respect, Instructor, this didn't happen in a vacuum.” Her voice remained even, but her eyes flicked briefly toward Einar. "Someone's been deliberately pushing these tensions."

Einar scoffed. "Typical Southern excuse-making. Blame others for your failures."

Wolfe slammed her palm onto the table again, sending another rush of frost across the wood.

The temperature in the room plummeted. "This ends now.

" Her voice was deadly calm. "You were all extremely fortunate that no instructors were harmed in your childish display.

One more disruption — any of you — and you will face far more serious consequences than this warning. Are we clear?"

Nods circulated through the room.

"Dismissed."

As they filed out, the tension followed them into the corridor.

Roran walked ahead without looking back, his shoulders rigid beneath his uniform.

Levi muttered something under his breath, glaring at Einar, who responded by spitting on the stone floor near Thalia's feet before stalking off in the opposite direction.

Luna waited until they were alone in the stairwell before speaking. "They've got exactly what they wanted." Her voice was low, meant only for Thalia's ears. "Look around. Everyone's pointing fingers at each other instead of asking who benefits from the chaos."

Thalia felt a chill that had nothing to do with Frostforge's perpetual cold. "The saboteur."

Luna nodded grimly. "Whoever they are, they're probably laughing themselves sick right now. We're doing their work for them."

***

Thalia stood in the stone corridor outside Instructor Calloway's classroom, her back pressed against the cold wall as she waited for the lecture to end.

From within came the instructor's precise, measured voice, dissecting Isle Warden command structures with clinical detachment.

Thalia had rehearsed her approach a dozen times since dawn, the words arranged and rearranged until they formed a case that even the stringent Northern instructor couldn't dismiss.

Evidence, not emotion. Facts, not accusations.

The last thing she needed was to be labeled as a Southern student making excuses for poor performance.

The classroom door swung open. Students spilled into the corridor like water freed from ice, their voices rising in a sudden wave of conversation.

Fourth-years, mostly Northern, their confidence evident in the set of their shoulders and the ease of their movements.

Several glanced at Thalia with fleeting curiosity before moving on.

She waited until the flow thinned, then pushed against the current, slipping through the doorway as the last students departed.

The classroom held the lingering warmth of too many bodies in too small a space.

Maps of the archipelago hung on the walls, marked with currents and wind patterns in precise blue ink.

At the front, Instructor Calloway stood before a chalkboard covered in chalked diagrams of Warden family structures.

Calloway was gathering her materials, stacking books with methodical precision. Her dark hair, streaked with silver, was pulled back in a severe knot that emphasized the sharp angles of her face. Her icy blue eyes flicked up as Thalia approached, assessing and categorizing in an instant.

"Greenspire," she acknowledged, her tone neither welcoming nor dismissive. "I assume this isn't a sudden interest in Isle Warden coming-of-age rites?"

Thalia straightened her spine, squaring her shoulders. "No, Instructor. I wanted to speak with you about the Command Challenge."

Calloway continued collecting her papers, her movements unhurried. "Your team's performance has been noted in the official record. If you're seeking to contest your scores —"

"I believe my team is being sabotaged," Thalia interrupted, then immediately regretted her bluntness as Calloway's eyebrows rose fractionally. "Not just my team. Several Southern teams."

The instructor paused, setting down her stack of books. She wiped chalk dust from her hands with deliberate care. "That's a serious allegation."

"I have evidence," Thalia said, stepping closer.

"Felah's blade was tampered with before the melee exercise — the core was weakened, causing it to shatter on first impact.

Daniel's shield cracked during training from internal stress, not from blows. Our canoe had a puncture along the waterline during the maritime combat. So did Levi’s.

" She hesitated, wondering whether to say something about the localized storm during the fjord race; eventually, she opted not to.

That had clearly been the product of different forces, Isle Warden interference rather than Northern extremists within the academy.

How ironic, she thought to herself sardonically. When it comes to making war against the South, the Northerners and the Wardens find themselves on the same side.

Calloway's expression remained neutral, but she made no move to dismiss Thalia or leave. The silence stretched between them, taut as a bowstring.

"You've put thought into this," Calloway finally said. She leaned against her desk, arms folded. "But sabotage is a strong word. Especially coming from someone with a... shall we say, shaky performance record."

The barb stung, but Thalia had anticipated it. "I know my record isn't perfect," she conceded. "Our first challenge performance was genuinely poor — that was on us. We weren't communicating properly, we weren't functioning as a unit."

She drew a breath, steadying herself. "But since then, we've improved. You saw how we did in the Golem Fields and the canoes. We've been working together daily, drilling formations, practicing commands. Felah's navigation has improved significantly. Daniel's weapon work is more consistent."

Thalia met Calloway's piercing gaze directly. "We would have placed at least fourth yesterday if we hadn’t capsized. And it would’ve been difficult to fight through that wave and stay upright, even if we’d been expecting it."

Calloway's fingers tapped a rhythm against her arm as she considered. The only sound in the room was the distant howl of wind against the academy's outer walls.

"The purpose of the Command Challenge," Calloway said finally, "is to prepare you for the realities of combat against the Isle Wardens. In real conflict, equipment fails. The weather turns. The unexpected becomes the only certainty."

Thalia felt her hope faltering. Another dismissal, another Northern instructor unwilling to consider —

"That being said," Calloway continued, "I don’t necessarily think you're wrong to suspect interference."

The admission, however qualified, caught Thalia off guard. She blinked, recalibrating.

"You've noticed it, too?"

"I notice everything." Calloway straightened, her posture impeccable.

"Just as I've noticed your team's improvement in drills.

The structural damage to your equipment was.

.. inconsistent with normal wear." She moved to the window, looking out at the training grounds where new recruits practiced basic formations in the biting cold.

"Unfortunately, I cannot undo the past scores or penalties, regardless of cause. The system doesn't work that way."

Thalia's disappointment must have shown on her face, because Calloway turned back with a faint — very faint—softening around her eyes.

"Your squad's been bloodied and didn't break," she said. "That's worth more than any scoreboard ranking. Your successes have not gone unnoticed, I assure you."

The words were delivered with clinical detachment, yet Thalia found herself unexpectedly reassured. From Calloway, this was practically effusive praise.

"Thank you for listening," Thalia said, unsure what else to add.

Calloway nodded once, then resumed gathering her materials, a clear dismissal. "I suggest you focus on the challenges ahead rather than the injustices behind. And perhaps," she added, almost as an afterthought, "inspect your equipment more thoroughly before each trial."

Thalia understood the implied message: Be vigilant. Trust nothing. Verify everything.