Akephal’s gaze slowly swept across the rows of statues. He seemed to have been drawn into a deep well of memories, his voice falling silent as if refusing to continue the narrative. With each passing generation, the number of statues dwindled drastically. Such a disappearance of heroes was not without its reasons—the most profound lay in the dwindling of the tribe itself in terms of population.
By the final few generations, only a single statue was all that remained.
Wordlessly, Akephal slowly strode past the remaining ice statues until coming to a halt before a block of orichalcum stone untouched by the carving blade. Fixing its empty space as if it were a long-fated stage, he announced with a calm finality, “This…is my place.”
Qian Ye’s brow lightly lifted but he said nothing—for his mind stood ready for whatever Akephal might next unveil.
For a stretch of silence, the frost heir stood there, his voice a solemn current at last. “It was not until the birth of the Seventh Ancestor, not until the founding of Hall of Frost and Thunder, did our people first gain the means to subdue this shard’s destructive forces. Tragically, that moment arrived too late. We were too few left—we no longer possessed the vitality the race demanded to thrive…for even our numbers continue to wane.”
“And with a dwindling population, we were left but one option…infusion—by weaving outside blood into our own. Yet, in its deepest meaning…doing so would itself be the death of our kind…for that which was truly ‘us’ would then dissolve.”
Qian Ye’s heart shifted.
The thinning and fading bloodlines was a creeping curse to countless Ageless races—take, for instance, the Vampire Primals who slumber ever deeper within vanishing pools of crimson vitality. Also the Demon Kin, with prophets teetering on the edge of prophecy itself with generations fading to nothing.
For most blood-blessed races, ancestral powers had roots deeply bound with the life-stream of one’s line—if vitality thinned, that power frayed into shadow, the entire lineage collapsing until extinction.
Oddly enough, the Human kind had lessened this grip somewhat—one could even say cast it off altogether with certain breakthroughs, like Wuzushì’s Battle Decree discipline that shattered such inherited fateful bars. A costly mastery, yes—but in a world bathed in endless war, survival in the next sunrise held far higher value than planning distant dawns.
At last, the sound of Akephal’s voice pulled Qian Ye’s thoughts into form once more.
With an upward tilt of his arm and pale gesture Akephal indicated those sparse sculptures.
“Starting at the ninth generation, they no longer commemorated common heroes—it was the rulers of the Hall of Frigid Tempest who were enshrined, wielders, those whom Fate had selected to inherit the frost and celestial lightning’s might.”
Now finally, Qian Ye understood—the statue at the unfinished stone slab…would one day be Akephal. And in turn, the next Lord would rise and, in stone and memory, immortalize their place.
Yet a question rose in the chamber of thought, and Qian Ye voiced it softly, his tone threading past the silence in the icy hall—
“And Karole? What place was hers?”
“The sister you speak of…well. She is part of our tale too, and it is time.” He cast a glance, then turned without hesitation, gesturing to follow, stepping into the tunnels that plunged deeper still beneath stone and memory.
The tunnel beyond was black, a seemingly bottomless bore through living rock. Only after descending hundreds of meters did they emerge—before an immense iron gate, ancient symbols whispering in their slumber along its frame.
With a quiet groan of protest from its hinges, Akephal pushed the gate open and revealed a whole new hidden domain beneath even their sanctuary’s roots.
It was no carved place—it was natural, grown from age itself within the bones of stone. It sloped inward downward…while at its very heart a dark, endless chasm lay.
From its pit flickered dim-blue glows, and upon its walls, the occasional darting flash of electric fire could not quite be hidden.
Even a single step at the ledge forced Qian Ye’s hair to rise, as though the chasm breathed out an unfathomable force.
“This is the source. This abyss is the wellspring from which arose the whole Hall of Frost and Thunder, the very reason for our existence.”
“This shrine is meant as prison and distiller—a vessel to restrain, yet also cultivate and purify these raw surges of frigid void lightning into something the world may harness. Because were it never built…this ground would be bathed anew in ice-age blizzards or devoured under an ocean of void lightning—each cycle no more than twenty years apart, cleansing the lands and reducing their surface to frozen void—wiping the living from this rock once more.”
“After the Temple’s completion, that once-unshaped might could now, under careful conditions, be used—albeit requiring immense gifts even so. Yet we are no strangers to excellence… For no generation of our lineage passed without at least one born able to dominate the cold itself—who thus stood forth, chosen to command the sanctuary as Lord.”
Akephal’s voice, already slow with the gravity of memory, slowed further—“My sister…was the first among many in our own bloodline to conquer winter’s chill and rise. And yet, she chose to pursue the electric tempests instead…”
“However—no, I do not hate her for taking the other choice. Not anymore.”
Qian Ye asked as naturally as the breath of snow through tunnels of ancient rock: “So then, is it those who’ve conquered the cold that shall hold the title of this temple’s master?”
“Aye,” affirmed Akephal. “Only those who wield winter’s kiss can activate the sanctuary’s mechanisms, binding and subduing disaster to offer life once more to our people here. That role is not easily abandoned either.”
“Ehh? One can leave, briefly…if only for the trip back and forth. You may roam another isle for perhaps half a cycle, no more.”
Qiyeanth was quiet then—for it was in that silence that sadness crept upon him unseen, a shadow on the heart of a younger heir burdened with ancient duties.
Akephal might be considered a genius, one whose gifts could have soared beyond borders. But he had been bound to this dark, icy prison so very early in his existence…how could even genius survive joy in such a prison?
Qian Ye realized it then—why in past conversations he said “I do not hate her for making another life.”
“She may wander where the sky still sings… While I—the one chosen by birth to stay behind—am bound. Bound to shield my people.”
“With the Hall’s engines at a halt…all those upon this shard would be reduced to ash from cold or lightning.”
“Twice I have left the hall’s depths, merely for ceremony. To remind the outside world we are yet a force—not solely an existence led by the whims of my estranged and reckless sister. Only that…only such a presence deters lesser vermin from their schemes in her absence.”
Then he turned at last to face Qian Ye fully, speaking his mind as clearly as moonlight upon glass.
“How do you feel about assuming the frost’s legacy then? About accepting this mantle, and becoming the next Warden of the Frigid Tempest’s keep?”
A flash of honest disbelief came then to Qian Ye’s face, the weight of such an abrupt proposal crashing before preparation formed thoughts at the door:
“I? Can even…that?”
“To wield winter? Yes. Through my tutelage such mastery is well within reach.”
“You would leap, by your own frame—into what mankind calls upper god-general-tier strength.”
For others, such a leap would be an impossible temptation, one whose pull would echo an endless whisper through the corridors of a seeking soul.
Yet to great surprised silence, the young man did not flinch. Merely, “No. I have no want of that.”
Akephal studied the other young man’s face—for all too long. Eventually the Frost Warden simply sighed.
“In all things considered…you could have served to restore the fading flame of this house, re-infuse us with a newer bloodline…”
“…Yet I can see why you might refuse. One blessed by Li Ming’s sacred light, would perhaps find frost’s touch dull in comparison.”
“So then…” with an oddly calm tone, “…permit I give you not this mantle… but another gift.”
Without sound of breath, he snapped a single finger—whose sharp crack rang through air like a distant phoenix cry—clear and impossible to miss.
Hearing it, within him…a hidden winter point—long sleeping within Qian Ye’s form—began its sudden eruption outward.
The cold surged through the marrow and sinew like an onrushing storm. This was the lingering gift of the Ice Leaf brew—one so powerful most mortals would die merely trying to take in a drop…
He had stored it away within, knowing he lacked the free moment required for its refinement—via Song’s time-honored scrolls.
Little had he expected…that Akephal—not just sensing it, but seizing control—to activate all of its dormant chill within him with a single motion.
Too fast.
He did not even have the breath in which to defend himself…
Then—from deep freeze came a gentle warming surge—one that wrapped around bone, flesh, and spirit in harmony.
Within an instant that which was deadly frozen transformed—warmth coursed and wove seamlessly into flesh awakened at last at the threshold.
An exodus of thousands of golden streams, flowing with purpose. Like countless migrations of birds moving west with winter in their wake.
Each and every stream flowed straight into the 8th Primary Node buried at core within. That node which had remained heavy, thick with compressed energies waiting release.
The final dam had lifted.
The raw torrent within his flesh crashed against reality as the reservoir of his latent strength burst forth.
Then—
An implosion.
Power rushed beyond known limits in his flesh. And there within that maelstrom of surging might—his being stood, but a thin blade’s-length away from becoming a God-General.
Moments slipped like sands.
Slowly, Qian Ye managed something that resembled breath, his voice still disbelieving:
“…This was…”
“Merely,” spoke the Lord quietly, moving back toward the chamber’s exit, as if nothing out of the ordinary had happened at all, “something to quicken you along.”
“I do this out of simple kindness—for I would rather Karole walk with someone worth the effort…”
Not entirely knowing how to respond, and sensing a decision already made, the young man simply followed along.
When at last the Hall returned them to more livable areas and the private reception hall, Akephal seated himself within its warm, dim glow.
And shortly after, Qian Ye took his seat before a simple porcelain tea bowl. At the bottom of it nestled a green leaf.
His hand lingered, a ghost memory of pain flashing through his mind—an Ice-Leaf Brew memory that taught one caution even towards plain-seeming water.
Akephal caught that hesitation.
“Peace…It’s mere leaf tea. If I had many Ice Leaves myself, then of course you’d find more…however what scraps of ice I once gathered are now…too deeply used by fate.”
He spoke…suddenly halting mid-sentence.
His gaze shifted to the flame-glimmering edge of memory as something unreadable softened his expression.
Qian Ye raised the mug then, and tasted it—a clear trail of cold snaking downward into his very belly.
Immediately—a breath of icy fire passed through him like a cleansing light; the mind sharpened, and every sense clarified as though newly awoken.
At a long last, Akephal began,
“Come. Let me hear your intent.”
And then Qian Ye said, “I once vowed I would gain lands of rule for Karole’s own hands.”
“Now…an opening arises.” With steady tone he laid bare the reason and stakes of coming to speak this truth:
“This is my path. Her aid is my need. With victory…her land will become one step closer to reality.”
“Land?”
Akephal’s brows twitched subtly—betraying deep interest in the word’s implications.
“Where would it be?”
“And of how much extent?”
“To speak technically? What’s at stake is merely official consent for future territorial possession…”
“After the battle, I and the Empire will earn much in war merit. From this we may request, or else receive unspoken blessings, for territorial expansions in the Empire’s frontier.”
“While official policy is to provide support,”—his voice dripped slight cynicism at this—“we must accept truth. In that…support from the Da Qin may arrive…only so fast as to bring aid before a battle is already over.”
“But even a silent tolerance to future efforts is still support of a practical kind. That silence itself wards against opposition.”
Qian Ye paused before proceeding, letting words settle into silence.
“In Yeyunian’s world, within her vast sky are said…Twenty-Three confirmed primary continents among the Twenty-Eight said to drift upon the stars…yet only a dwindled stretch of unmapped lands remains.”
Even among those, those nearest to asteroid clusters of cosmic tides are unapproachable, never walked upon by a soul, not among known races nor those in hidden histories for millennia now.
Those continents of Middle Skies hold lands that many races find welcoming…
But they too were almost fully divided.
By ancient empires and shadow pacted alliances between Dawn and Night’s forces…each parcel locked away beneath overlapping treaties as tightly as a spider’s web of control wrapped around meat and bone.
But the rise of the Da Qin Empire had rewritten that history—how rare their power was. A miracle in itself when one studies the timelines: all those border-nations arose only during Da Qin’s great times of chaos.
Such a thing reveals a universal law that applies equally to both Darkness and Light…that for all their proclaimed differences…they both wield control in disturbingly identical hands.
It took a miracle to build empire. Even rarer was to sustain, and hold on amidst the hungry gaze of titans ready to crush you beneath heel simply out of fear.
If we gain legitimacy as granted by an Imperial decree, such as by merit earned through victory, it may prove possible. For it could ease our struggle, and if only lessen the hostility of even a single titan among the heavens, such that a future for growth isn’t crushed in infancy from a predator’s whim.
The frost heir looked deep into his mind at that thought, already showing inner consideration. Even while beside him remained the youth watching, Qian’s expression shifting in a strange mixture of awe…at a realization not spoken, but forming in heart…
At times it seemed to him Akephal held nothing dearer than his elder sister. Yet in this moment, this conversation regarding distant lands—Karole had already faded beneath the weight of an entirely larger vision within Akephal’s mind.
Then Qiyeanth watched as if observing a storm breaking behind a clouded mask. The ice-clad prince seemed to shake free from thought, and noticed the waiting youth’s unspoken gaze with a smile.
“Qian. Let me be honest…” he admitted slowly, a shadow of helplessness curling the edges of his voice.
“This floating shard…is not kind. Not in how it treats our line. In its natural state, its forces cull our people down generation after generation, for survival here requires might so far beyond our young or even middle generations—only our elite survive at full potential.”
“But…if such fertile lands were ours…”—his voice now thicked further with meaning—“the untested young may find breath. The less strong can raise their families, knowing safety is at hand…” And through all those acts of ordinary people’s birth, the cycle may begin anew. That would save this lineage not merely with strength—but with life itself…”
The youth blinked. Then his expression hardened—mind flashing back to all lands of neutral territories that were, by most reckonings, untouched and waiting. “Then surely in these borderless neutral lands there might yet remain…plenty left for carving a realm?”
Akephal, to Qiyeanth, then shook his head as if he bore the burden of an impossible truth.
“Unfortunately…that region’s conditions are not favorable to the living we are. Compared to these frigid, life-draining grounds…somehow, they are even worse.”
Silence stretched a moment between master-fleshed shadow and frost-blood, the moment heavy like a gathering storm.
At once—Qian Ye’s expression brightened; comprehension ignited like thunder through his thoughts.
In an abrupt burst of knowing, rising fast on the wind—Qian Ye sprang suddenly upright—like lightning striking.
“You’re…” he stammered.
“You are…”
“The Demon Kin.”
Tai Sui Yellow Amulet Paper FuLu Taoist Love Talisman Traditional Chinese Spiritual Charm Attracting Love Protecting Marriage