Lahat ng Kabanata ng Rise of the Frozen Sovereign: Kabanata 41 - Kabanata 50

"Because they aren't hunting a fugitive," Vane murmured, his voice dropping into a low, gravelly rasp that seemed to vibrate against the damp stone walls. "They’re hunting a test subject. Do you honestly think the Silver Moon Council lets someone with your temperament run loose in the Lowlands because they’re disorganized?"Aiden shook his head, the motion sending a fresh wave of ice-crystals cascading from his hair onto his shoulders. He felt the familiar, biting sting of the frostbite nibbling at his earlobes. "A test subject? I’m not a lab rat, Vane. I’m a liability. That’s why the Inquisitors are here.""A liability can be neutralized," Vane retorted, standing up with a rhythmic click of his prosthetic knee joint. He paced the small cellar, the floorboards groaning under his weight. "But a weapon? A weapon is salvaged. They aren't trying to kill you, Aiden. They’re trying to stress-test you until you snap, so they can see exactly how much pressure it takes for your 'Frozen Heart'

"Now, you’re just a shivering mess in a basement while the world decides what kind of monster you’ll be," Ignis finished, his voice cutting through the thick, stagnant air of the cellar. He pulled his thin tunic tighter around his shoulders, his eyes reflecting the dying lantern flame. "Do you hear that, Aiden? That’s the sound of the world deciding."Aiden didn't look up. He focused entirely on the workbench, watching as a thin, jagged layer of rime ice began to creep across the wood grain, following the movement of his fingers. "I’m not a monster, Ignis. I’m holding it back. Every second I spend in this city is a victory against the cold. You don't know the strain.""I know enough to know that your 'victory' is currently turning the floorboards into a skating rink," Vane grunted, turning back to his dagger. The rhythmic shhh-shhh of the whetstone resumed, a harsh, grating sound that seemed to mock the tension in the room. "The Inquisitor isn't coming for your head, boy. She’s coming

"I’m waiting for the payday, Aiden," Vane said, his voice dropping into a low, gravelly rasp that vibrated against the damp stone walls. "Don’t mistake my utility for loyalty. I’m a man with a ruined knee and a debt to the tavern keepers of Oakhaven. I guide you because you pay in gold, and I sharpen my blade because I know that when the Silver Moon finally decides the experiment is over, there will be no room for bystanders."Aiden scoffed, though the sound came out as a rattle of frosted breath. "Gold. That’s your motivation? A bag of coins while I’m slowly turning into a statue of glacial sorrow?""Better a man motivated by greed than a boy motivated by martyrdom," Vane shot back, standing up with a painful grunt. His prosthetic limb groaned in protest, a mechanical wheeze that filled the cellar. "Martyrs don't survive the winter. They just make pretty patterns in the snow for the inquisitors to admire."Ignis stepped forward, the shadows of the cellar clinging to him like a second

"Silence isn't a weapon, Vane. It’s a lack of effort," Ignis retorted, his voice vibrating with a newfound, terrifying confidence. He paced the perimeter of the cellar, his boots making almost no sound against the uneven, grime-slicked floor. "If they want to turn the air to glass, then let them try. I’m tired of smelling the rot of this city. I’m tired of Aiden gasping for air every time he tries to hide his glow."Aiden shifted, feeling a sharp, crystalline ache shoot through his collarbone. The frost was restless tonight, clawing at his veins. "Ignis, stop. You don’t understand the scale of the machinery they have in the capital. It’s not just magic; it’s industry. It’s gears, pressure, and the cold, unfeeling math of the Silver Moon.""And you’re the anomaly in their equation, Aiden," Vane interjected, sheathing his blade with a sharp, metallic clack. He leveled his gaze at the boy, then at the man. "The problem is that equations have a habit of balancing themselves. If you are th

Aiden looked down at his own hands. The skin, usually a map of calluses and dirt, was now a pale, shimmering sheet of translucent quartz. He flexed his fingers, and the joints clicked—a sound like thin plates of ice shifting under the weight of a lake."I can’t feel the warmth of the lantern, Ignis," Aiden whispered, his voice hitching. "I haven't felt the heat of a fire in three weeks."Ignis didn't flinch. He leaned into the light, his face gaunt, his eyes reflecting the flickering orange flame with a predatory, golden intensity that hadn't been there a month ago. "Then stop reaching for it. You’re trying to hold onto a life that stopped being yours the moment we crossed the mountain range."Vane let out a jagged, rattling sigh, leaning his weight onto his mechanical leg. The servos whirred, a harsh, grinding protest against the humidity of the cellar. "He’s right, Aiden. You’re mourning a ghost. Look at the boy. He’s not growing into a man; he’s growing into the very thing the Silv