The guard's hand twitched toward Aether's hood, fingers grazing the coarse fabric.
One tug, and the snow-white hair beneath would be exposed—a beacon of his Norvind blood.
If revealed, the Knights of the White Order would descend before Aether could blink, their blades hungry for the last of the God Slayer's line.
Aether's heart thudded, but he moved faster than his fear.
A violent cough erupted from his chest, doubling him over. "I'm sorry," he rasped, voice muffled through the bone mask.
"It's… the Grey Shiver. I wear this so I don't spread it."
The guard froze, hand jerking back as if burned. The Grey Shiver was rare in the Frostline Provinces, a merciless disease that crept into the lungs and left them brittle as frost.
No cure existed in the north—only whispers of southern healers who might tame it, for a price no northerner could pay.
Victims lingered, coughing up flecks of grey until their bodies gave out.
"Y-you should've said so sooner!"
The guard snapped, irritation in his voice. He stepped back, wiping his hand on his cloak as if Aether's words alone could taint him.
"Damn it, now I've got to find holy water to wash this off," he muttered, already turning away, his heavy boots crunching through the snow.
Aether straightened, breath steadying. The lie had worked—for now.
His hood remained untouched, his secret buried beneath it. But the guard's suspicion lingered in the air, sharp as the wind.
Aether's fingers slowly unclenched from the dagger hidden beneath his furs, the cold steel warming under his grip.
The moment the guard's hand had grazed his hood, his instincts had surged—blade ready to strike. A desperate plan to kill his way out had passed through his mind, but the lie about the Grey Shiver had spared him. Lucky.
There was only so far one could run under all this snow, and Aether knew his legs couldn't outpace the Empire's wrath.
The youths were led into the temple, its massive stone doors groaning open to reveal an interior that was beyond anything they could imagine.
Towering columns of black marble veined with frost-white runes stretched toward a ceiling lost in shadow.
The air seemed to hum softly, as if the walls themselves pulsed with the echoes of forgotten gods.
Every step echoed, swallowed by the vastness, making the group feel impossibly small.
The cavernous hall glittered with frost and torchlight, its black marble walls carved with intricate reliefs.
Statues of gods, towering and severe, lined the chamber, their stone eyes staring down as if judging the intruders.
"Look at that one!" a lanky boy with a scar over his brow gasped, pointing at a statue of a figure wreathed in carved flames.
"That's Solthar! My ma said back when he was alive, he'd make the sun burn brighter for the harvests. Kept the fields from freezing."
A girl with braided red hair and a tattered shawl nodded, eyes wide as she gazed at another statue, this one holding a stone crescent moon.
"And that's Lunira. Ma told me she used to guide lost travelers through blizzards. Said her light never failed."
Her voice held a feeling of reverence and longing, as if speaking the name might summon a miracle.
"Gods don't do much now, do they?" muttered the red-haired boy from the carriage, the same one Aether got off, his crooked nose wrinkling. "Dead and gone, but we're still clinging to them."
Caliea, walking near Aether, tilted her head toward a statue of a figure with outstretched hands, water frozen mid-flow from its palms.
"That's Veyra, isn't it? My village prayed to her for clean springs. Never thought I'd see her like this… so real."
Aether barely listened, his focus elsewhere. His eyes caught the glint of white armor by a pillar—two Knights of the White Order stood motionless: a tall man with a black mane and intense obsidian-black eyes, and a woman, shorter, blonde, green-eyed, but no less fierce, their armor gleaming under torchlight.
Their presence was like a blade at his throat. He subtly lowered his head, letting the hood shadow his face further.
Of course they were here.
The Empire wouldn't leave Verminy unguarded... well, not like one would attack such a ceremony. What they wanted to prevent was a descendant of the God Slayer from awakening a talent.
The man with the serpent tattoo strode ahead, his cloak snapping with each step.
He stopped before a massive crystal orb, its surface a swirling mix of silver and shadow, suspended in a cradle of rune-etched stone.
It pulsed faintly, like a heart.
"Listen well," he barked, his cold grey eyes sweeping the group.
"I will call you by your cart numbers. When your number is called, step forward. Do not hesitate. The orb will judge your worth."
The youths fell silent, their earlier chatter snuffed out. The weight of Verminy settled over them, and even the boldest stood straighter, clutching their numbered scraps of wood.
Aether's grip tightened on his own, the edges biting into his palm. His number would be called soon enough. And when it was, he'd face the orb—and the Knights watching from the shadows.
The man with the serpent tattoo raised a hand, his voice cutting through the tense silence. "Cart One, step forward! Place your hands on the orb, one at a time. Do not falter."
The youths from Cart One shuffled forward, clutching their numbered scraps. Their faces mixed fear and eagerness as they approached the massive orb, its silver-shadow surface swirling like a storm trapped in glass.
One by one, they pressed their palms against it, the orb pulsing faintly with each touch.
A faint hum soon filled the air.
Portions of their skin began to glow, soft light tracing veins and bones beneath.
Delicate tattoos bloomed across their hands—intricate whorls, jagged lines, or curling vines, each unique. A gentle aura of light enveloped their bodies, shimmering like a second skin.
The auras shifted, colors bleeding from pale white to hues of blue, green, or amber.
Above their heads, symbols flickered into existence—runes, flames, or abstract shapes—pulsing in time with the orb's rhythm.
A female voice, clear and otherworldly, echoed through the temple, as if born from the stone itself. It spoke with calm authority. The way it spoke—or how it was heard—wasn't normal. It felt as though it spoke directly into one's soul, because one's ears felt strangely still while it spoke, yet the voice was so loud.