Page 45 of Mountains of Mist and Magic (A World of Sun and Shadow #4)

P hillippe pushed himself off the rocky floor, his head pounding as if he'd overindulged in fire ale. His stomach felt a bit queasy, and his body was sore like he'd been working and riding hard for days on end. Even his fingers felt stiff. He flexed them as he stood, and out of nowhere, the tips of his fingers turned ice cold and a blast of small snowflakes hung in the air.

“What the hell?” he exclaimed, rubbing the back of his head. Perhaps he had hit it when he had fallen. But other than the headache, his head felt fine, no lumps or bumps.

Cautiously he held up his fingers, trying to recreate the oddity.

Nothing happened. He shrugged, telling himself that it must be some trick of the temple. Some part of the test. Maybe they would have him questioning his own sanity by the end of it.

He grabbed his pack, which had fallen to the floor, looking around the room. How did he get into this chamber? He searched his memory, trying to remember what happened before he woke up on the cold, hard ground. He had heard a voice, he was sure of it. He couldn't recall what they had said, however.

Phillippe brushed it off, continuing forward, farther into the temple. He found a small opening off of the current room and tried to push himself through the sliver of space. After a few attempts, he managed to get his large frame through the small opening and into another room. He stepped into the dimly lit chamber, his breath forming frosty clouds in the cold air. The air itself was odd, thick with an energy that felt cold to him.

The chamber was large, its ceiling high and lost in darkness. As he walked, his footsteps echoed, reverberating through the stillness. He paused in the center of the room, noticing another altar ahead. On it lay a stone tablet inscribed with ancient runes, surrounded by a ring of small, glowing crystals. Phillippe approached the altar, curiosity piqued, but as he reached out to touch the tablet, a sharp, icy pain shot through his hand.

He recoiled, staring at his fingers. A thin layer of frost covered them, glinting in the blue light. He rubbed his hands together, trying to dispel the chill, but the frost remained. Then he put everything together.

Magic.

He had magic. Whatever had happened prior to him waking up had led to this. He held out his hands, and he felt a surge deep inside of him. He focused all his energy, and then ice, thin and slick, came forth.

Phillippe grinned, feeling the adrenaline move throughout his body. He was now the match of his brother. Better, actually , he thought. He raised his other hand and let another burst of ice out. It hit the wall of the temple and shot back at him, but he quickly ducked. He didn't quite have control of his powers, but he was sure he would get better with time. But this feeling, this tingling feeling inside of him...was intoxicating.

Phillippe then realized what he had been missing out on—and how lucky he was to now possess it. A million thoughts ran through his head. He could rule properly now. The Snow Lands would be his. As firstborn with magical powers, he now outranked Grayden. For a second, he felt a thrill like he'd never experienced. But then, he realized that he would never usurp his brother. Even though Grayden had willingly asked him to step in his place so he could be with Renya, he had resisted.

He didn't want it. And even if he did, he wouldn't take it from Grayden.

But that didn't mean he couldn't enjoy his newfound powers. He'd have to train when he got back, perhaps Renya or even Cyrus could help him...

Or even Grayden, if their mission was successful. He'd have his full powers back then, too.

Before Phillippe could finish contemplating all the ramifications, the walls of the chamber started to rumble, and a piece of a crumbling column blocked the opening he had crawled through. He hastened down the corridor, in search of another way out. The far side of the chamber emptied into darkness, but he made his way through the dark, feeling the wall and following it. After a few more feet, he could see brightness ahead. But the nearer he got, the more uneasy he felt. As he approached the light, he felt heat radiating from the source of the gleam.

The chamber opened into a lake of lava. Bubbling up and sizzling, the lava covered the entire floor of the room. Giant streams of lava poured in from the sides of the chamber, from the top of the walls. The lava level was slowly rising, filling him with instant panic. Phillippe could see a door on the other end, but there was no way to traverse the chasm while avoiding the lava. Cursing, he looked around him, but the walls were still trembling, and more columns fell, blocking the path behind him.

How could he possibly get out of this? He looked at the hot magma, listening to it hiss and gurgle. The heat was so intense that he could feel the burn against his cheek, feel the perspiration forming on his brow and back.

Then it hit him. He had magic now. Laughing, he reached out with his fingers, summoning the ice. It took a few tries, but soon he was laying sheet after sheet down upon the lava. His aim wasn't great, and he sometimes had problems bringing it forth, but it worked. He moved quickly, trying to pile the ice as fast as he could.

At one point, a burst of flames erupted from the lava, shooting up towards him. Phillippe reacted instinctively, throwing his hands up and conjuring a shield of ice. The flames collided with the frozen barrier, creating a hissing cloud of steam. The ice melted rapidly, but it bought him precious seconds to step back and reassess.

He moved cautiously across the ice bridge he had created, the intense heat still pressing in from all sides. The ice beneath his feet creaked and groaned, threatening to give way at any moment. Phillippe concentrated, continuously reinforcing the bridge as he moved, leaving a trail of frost in his wake.

As he reached the middle of the chamber, another burst of flames erupted, this time from the ceiling. Phillippe reacted without thinking, extending his hands and conjuring another wall of ice to block the fire. The flames licked at the wall, but it held strong, protecting him from the heat. Sweat poured down his face, both from the exertion of using his new powers and the oppressive heat surrounding him.

Little by little, he made his way across the lava to the other side of the door. The air shimmered with heat, making it difficult to see clearly. Suddenly, a section of the ceiling collapsed, sending a shower of molten rock raining down. Phillippe dove forward, rolling across his ice bridge, barely avoiding being hit. He quickly spun around, creating a dome of ice over himself as more debris fell.

Practically giddy with the rush of using his powers, he pushed forward, finally reaching the end of the chamber, where a massive door stood, engraved with more ancient runes. He placed his hands on the door, expecting it to open, but instead, the runes began to glow with a fiery light. The door heated rapidly, becoming too hot to touch. Phillippe stepped back, realizing he needed to cool it down.

He concentrated, feeling the power within him surge. He placed his hands near the door, and frost spread across its surface. The glowing runes dimmed as the ice took hold, and with a final push of energy from deep inside him, the door creaked open, revealing another passage.

Phillippe stepped through, the heat of the previous chamber fading behind him. The fresh air hit his face, cooling the lingering heat of the lava.

He was outside the temple.

Was his trial over? He glanced around, not seeing anything out of the ordinary. Just a path continuing up the mountain, the dusty trail beckoning him forward.

He shrugged, restarting his journey upwards. But with every step he took, he flexed his fingers automatically, letting the flurries flutter through the air. Although he had only had magic for a little less than an hour, he felt as if it was the single piece missing from his life—and he couldn't wait to explore every single possibility.

As he climbed higher, the air grew thinner and colder. Phillippe found himself instinctively using his new powers to create small pockets of warmth around him, marveling at how naturally it came to him now. He wondered if this was how Grayden and the others felt all the time, this constant awareness of the magic flowing through them.

The path narrowed as he ascended, winding around precarious cliffs and over narrow ledges. At one point, he came to a gap in the path, too wide to jump. Without hesitation, he extended his hands, creating a bridge of ice across the chasm. As he crossed, he couldn't help but laugh at the sheer joy of it all.

Phillippe continued his ascent, his newfound powers making the journey easier than he could have ever imagined. Yet, as he neared what he hoped was the summit, a nagging thought crept into his mind. Had he truly completed the trial? His victory felt…anticlimactic.

He pushed the doubt aside, focusing instead on the path ahead. Whatever challenges lay before him, he was ready to face them.