❄️ QUICK RECAP – Chapter-3 ❄️
After the Abyssal Ice erupts, James is captured by Duke Goldsen's knights.
The beggar intervenes mysteriously, knocking James unconscious to stop the rampage.
Awakening in chains before the Iron Duke's court, James is sentenced as a "threat to the kingdom."
Minister Chambers taunts him with his mother's legacy as execution preparations begin. Powerless but defiant, James feels the Ice stirring within him as the chapter ends on the Duke's chilling command: "Begin the rites."
RECAP ENDS
James remembered falling.
But not the ground.
Not the cold.
Just the flash before unconsciousness—frost lashing outward from his body, wild and instinctive. One of the knights cried out as a jagged arc of ice scraped his armor, knocking him backward into the wreckage. The air dropped twenty degrees in a breath, the wood groaned, and the last spark of resistance pulsed through James before the Nullbind Shackles activated and crushed everything down.
He collapsed. But the cold lingered.
"He spiked for a moment," one knight grunted. "Lucky the cuffs caught it."
Another leaned over the pale figure. "Still breathing. Barely."
They didn't know why.
They didn't see the quiet burn beneath his broken ribs.
They didn't know about the Aetherflux Elixir Arthur had administered.
The knights assumed it was stabilization. Some internal anomaly. But it wasn't.
It was survival—burning invisibly inside James, holding his Engine below collapse, suppressing the Abyssal Ice just enough to keep his heart pumping.
And now?
They would drag that barely-living body through hell.
James was sealed inside the Cradle of Guilt—a mobile soulglass cell lined with translucent panes and fragmented mirrors that reflected pain as if it were light. The inside twisted his image across jagged shards, distorting his face, his limbs, even his breath, into fractured copies.
He didn't see them. Not yet.
But he felt the way the reflections leaned toward him. Watched him. Mocked him.
Each pane shimmered with lingering screams the soulglass had swallowed before.
This wasn't transport.
It was psychological execution in transit.
Sir Ryan Flask stood silent at the front of the convoy as they rode beneath the midnight arches toward Hollow Bastion—the Dukedom's hidden prison sunk deep into the belly of Mount Vaelin.
The structure wasn't a fortress.
It was a grave.
Hollow Bastion waited— a scar of black soulglass and rune-carved iron sunk into the mountain's ribcage.
Its walls weren't stone. They were alive.
Thrumming with the echoes of every scream they'd ever consumed.
No banners flew. No names marked its gates.
Just silence. The kind built to erase identities.
James was dragged inside, the Nullbind Shackles sparking against the floor. His head lolled. His arms jerked once when a feedback pulse ran down his spine.
Soulglass torches lined the halls—burning silver-blue, casting light that reflected sorrow instead of shadows.
Knights whispered.
"Place him in Black Rune Seven." "Vertical chamber ready." "Restraints already infused with null-ink seals."
Black Rune Seven wasn't a cell. It was a restraint crucible, used for traitor-level Ether wielders and cursed-core experiments.
They strung James upright. Arms wide. Ankles braced.
His throat was bound by the Silencer Loop, now humming with active suppression. His mouth was rune-sealed, warped tight with Ether-skin binding. No voice could escape him.
He couldn't scream.
They began beating him anyway.
The first hit came from an arc-baton, crashing into his ribs.
Then again.
Then again.
One cracked.
Another fractured.
He twitched. Barely.
A flame-ring gauntlet slammed against his shoulder, singeing the frost that bloomed defensively along his forearm. Knights laughed.
"Doesn't break easy, this one." "The cursed ones rarely do."
One twisted his wrist until the joint dislocated.
Another knelt and shattered his shin with a heel press.
No response.
Because James, though unconscious… was awake.
He hovered inside himself, trapped beneath pain and silence.
I should've died.
His thoughts flickered.
I should be dead already. That blow. The frost. The curse—
And then he felt it.
Beneath the agony. Something burning. Barely. But steady.
The elixir…
His fingers trembled. One joint spasmed. A breath rattled through the seals.
The Aetherflux Elixir was still alive inside him.
Not enough to fight.
Not enough to move.
But enough to keep him from falling into death.
The knights didn't notice.
They saw blood.
Saw bruises.
Saw a body refusing to die.
"Still pulsing. Good."
"Get him ready. The Duke wants a verdict, not a corpse."
James was removed from the crucible just before first bell.
Half-dragged. Barely upright. The Shackles flared once. The Loop hissed.
And the convoy moved toward the Throne Hall.
He was placed on the tribunal platform.
Blood stained his boots.
His wrists hung heavy. The suppressors hissed. The court gathered above.
Minister Chambers stood tall, scroll ready.
Duke Goldsen, unreadable, observed from the iron throne.
A knight wiped sweat from his brow and muttered:
"All yours, Minister."
James blinked—once.
Not out of fear. But because he realized:
I'm still alive.
And they'll regret that.
The courtroom's silence felt colder than the frost leaking from James's body.
Minister Regal Chambers adjusted the grip on his scroll with theatrical precision, eyes flicking over the boy chained in the center of the tribunal platform—bleeding, restrained, yet not fully broken. James's left hand twitched. A breath escaped his lips, and the air around him shimmered.
Not enough to shatter steel.
But enough to whisper ice.
A thin film of frost spread along the cracks in the floor.
It was involuntary. He wasn't summoning it. He was suffocating in it.
The Nullbind Shackles flared, glowing red. The Silencer Loop on his throat pulsed twice, laced with pain. The frost stopped.
Chambers smiled.
"There," he said, voice echoing like smug thunder, "even now, in chains and suppression, he spills the disease."
He turned to the court gallery, gesturing broadly. "This… is not a boy. This is a ticking blizzard. A threat wrapped in bloodline."
Duke Aaron Goldsen remained silent on his throne above, a figure carved from stone and law. His expression hadn't changed. But his eyes were locked on the stain of frost still fading from the marble.
Chambers raised the decree.
"For the protection of this capital. For the cleansing of bloodlines that betrayed the Archive—James Rubenblood shall be placed into eternal slumber."
He didn't say "executed."
He didn't need to.
The crowd flinched. Not all understood what eternal slumber meant—but the silence behind it made most assume it was worse than death.
James exhaled, the corners of his mouth cracked and bleeding.
So this is how they end me.Not with trial. Not with mercy. But with forgetting.
Chambers pivoted to face the Duke.
"Your Grace. The sentence awaits only your mark."
Goldsen raised one hand—slowly. The gesture was small. Final.
And his voice arrived colder than frostbite.
"Let the rites begin."
James blinked.
He felt the chains tighten.
He didn't fight.
But part of him still flickered—one last pulse in the depths of his Engine.
They dragged him from the chamber, limbs scraping against the polished floor. His head lolled once. He was awake.
Barely.
His body passed beneath the high archways and into the corridor leading to Hollow Bastion.
And all he could think about…
Was her.
Mother's grave is still unnamed.I was supposed to fix that.Was supposed to bring down the archive wardens. Was supposed to scream her name loud enough that the system choked on it.
One breath came sharp.
A rib tore.
His vision dimmed.
I wanted to make it right. Even if it hurt. Even if it turned me into a monster. I would've survived for her.
But now… That fire had flickered.
The frost within was tightening.
And James let it.
# Citywide Announcement – Hours Later
The bell rang four times across Rudenberg.
Normally, that meant weather warning.
Today, it meant something else.
"The Ice Plague host has been sentenced." "Execution by Eternal Slumber to begin at morning bell." "Court decree sealed. Presence of the public is sanctioned."
The words rippled through scrolls, whisper-nodes, taverns, merchant circles.
Some gasped. Some cheered. Some locked their doors.
But most?
Most listened.
>Ruby's POV
She was in her tower—sitting alone, the Archive field notes scattered across her desk. Her hands trembled faintly over the illustrated reconstruction of the explosion. James' Engine flare. The broken ring. His eyes in that moment.
He didn't try to break anything.He just didn't let himself be erased.
She hadn't slept.
Had barely spoken since the tribunal.
And then— The bell rang.
A handmaid rushed in.
"Lady Ruby—it's James. The verdict went public. He's… being put down."
Ruby stared.
Felt everything inside her slow.
Not burn.
Not freeze.
Just… tighten.
Like breath trapped beneath a lake of ice.
> Adam's POV
He was still searching—feet pounding against cobblestone, breath torn through half-shouted questions.
"Anyone seen James Rubenblood?" "A convoy from Hollow Bastion—when did it pass?"
Most ignored him.
One merchant finally nodded toward the gates.
"Execution tomorrow. Heard it from a courier. The court's already called it."
Adam stood.
Silent.
Then… rage.
He turned sharply and ran—not toward the palace. Not toward the prison.
But anywhere that still had an open ear.
He needed someone who'd listen.
He needed someone who could act.
And fate had just unshackled one man who might.
Meanwhile, in the safehouse below Rudenberg…
Arthur Rubenblood woke choking on cold breath.
The air was stale, metallic. The walls shimmered with soft blue frost. He sat up sharply, hitting his elbow on a half-collapsed beam.
His memory fractured.
James. The knock. The safe room. That push—
And then it landed.
James locked me in.
He rushed to the chamber's entrance. The walls had iced over—thick, jagged crystal crawling across the frame like frozen vines. He slammed his fist into it.
Nothing.
His heart pounded. Panic surged.
He began tearing through the storage crates, ripping old cloth, smashing open locked compartments. Dust clouded the torchlight. Behind a stack of rusted mining kits from the rebellion days—he found it:
A pickaxe.
Its blade was dull. Grip worn. But it was iron.
Arthur raised it.
Swung.
The first strike cracked nothing.
The second sent vibrations but barely scraped the surface.
Come on. Come on—
He wasn't strong enough. Not to fight this frost. Not alone.
But then the thought landed—hard and heavy.
If I stay here… James dies.
His muscles burned. The third swing cracked a fragment. He roared. The fourth smashed through the first layer. With every strike, his arms screamed.
James was only a boy when she was taken. Only a boy when the system froze him.
The ice shattered.
Arthur stumbled out into dim daylight—skin ash-gray, breath ragged. He climbed up from the ruin and staggered into the city streets, half-stumbling toward the first post station. There, etched on a bulletin in blood-red ink:
"Subject James Rubenblood has been sentenced to Eternal Slumber." "Public execution to take place at morning bell." "By direct order of Duke Aaron Goldsen."
Arthur didn't read it twice.
He ran.
Inside the Dukedom Palace—Ruby Goldsen's Wing
Ruby ran.
Her boots thundered through high-marble hallways. The curls of her hair loosened with each sprint. Her breath was sharp. Her fingers tingled—not from exhaustion, but urgency.
She reached the heavy doors of the Duke's chamber and slammed her palm against the runeplate.
The guards turned—eyes wide.
"I request an audience with my father—immediate."
One hesitated. "Lady Goldsen, he's in closed counsel—"
The door creaked open behind him.
Aaron Goldsen sat at his table—scrolls sealed in wax, his coat trimmed in dark crimson. He didn't look surprised to see her.
"Speak."
Ruby stepped in, voice braced.
"You know what they're doing to James. You know what Eternal Slumber means. You've ordered it."
Aaron didn't blink.
"It's necessary."
Ruby took another step. "He's not just a weapon. He's surviving something nobody else could—"
"Is that supposed to earn him sympathy?"
"He's not hostile," she snapped. "He hasn't hurt anyone without cause. The frost flares under stress—just like any Engine. You studied the Archive fallout. You saw what happened."
Aaron leaned back. His golden hair caught the light. "I saw a cursed core flare under pressure. That's not control. That's proof it will break again."
Ruby's voice trembled—not out of fear. But fury.
"If you end him, you lose the only living thread to understanding the Abyssal Ice."
Aaron's hands folded.
"Then we sever that thread."
"Father—please."
Her voice cracked.
Goldsen stood slowly.
"You will not question verdicts tied to national stability. You will not plead for a boy whose death might save hundreds."
Ruby's eyes burned. "You don't know that."
Aaron's tone dropped to iron.
"You've said enough. You will not interfere. You may watch. You may mourn. But you will not stop it."
She took a step forward.
The guards flinched.
Aaron raised a single finger.
Ruby froze.
He turned away.
At the Dukedom's south gate
Adam Hydron slammed his fist against the eastern entry post.
"Let me through! I'm here for James Rubenblood—I'm his counsel!"
The gatekeeper didn't even flinch. "No entry. Judgment decreed."
"He's my friend," Adam snapped, "and the man you're going to erase without trial. He's not a threat—"
"He's a sentence," the guard replied.
Adam's jaw clenched.
He took a breath.
They're not going to let me in.
Not through diplomacy. Not through title.
He turned.
Walked away.
Not because he gave up—
But because the fire now needed another path.
Adam stormed away from the palace gates, teeth clenched, thoughts boiling.
The guards won't let me in. The Duke won't even listen. What now?
He turned a corner too fast and slammed shoulder-first into someone. The impact sent him stumbling. He spun around, mouth already open to curse— "Watch it, you blind—!"
Then his voice cut short.
It was Arthur Rubenblood.
Arthur steadied himself, brow furrowed. "You're Adam, aren't you?"
"…Yeah," Adam muttered, awkwardly brushing his coat. "Sorry. Didn't expect—"
"Are you heading to the Duke?" Arthur asked.
Adam sighed. "I was. Tried. Waste of time. He won't hear it. Guards won't even let me close."
Arthur nodded grimly. "I figured. Still, I need to try."
"You won't get far," Adam added. "Unless you punch through a wall."
Arthur tilted his head slightly. "What Engine do you wield?"
"Hydro-Volt," Adam replied. "I'm Apprentice Gear. Stage Two."
Arthur blinked. "Didn't you just get your pulse yesterday?"
"Yeah. Jumped three stages in a day."
Arthur stared. "…You jumped three stages?"
Adam shrugged. "I'm kind of a genius."
Arthur snorted. "Sure."
Adam grinned nervously, then sobered. "Why do you ask?"
Arthur stepped closer, voice sharpened with purpose.
"Because if they won't hear us, we act. I need your help."
Adam nodded without hesitation.
"Whatever you need."
Arthur glanced at the sky, midday sun beginning to crest.
"We have no time to waste."
# Public Announcement – Hollow Bastion Courtyard
Messengers raced through Rudenberg's central districts, posting fresh verdict scrolls atop iron spikes and town square boards. Each one shimmered with waxed glyphs that rippled when touched.
"Subject: James Rubenblood. Verdict: Eternal Slumber. Location: Hollow Bastion Courtyard. Time: Midday. Public rites permitted."
Crowds formed as word spread. Some were there to watch. Some to mourn. Some… to cheer.
# The Next Day — Midday
The sun hovered high, casting harsh light on the black soulglass platform raised outside Hollow Bastion. The execution square was packed—merchants, nobles, stray scholars, even small children perched on barrels.
The ministers stood in full ceremonial regalia, flanked by flame-brand guards. At the apex sat Duke Aaron Goldsen, his presence towering even seated. Beside him, Minister Chambers, smiling like he'd rehearsed it. Two lesser councilmen stood behind, mute with formality.
On the central restraint column:
James Rubenblood.
Fifteen years old.
Chained by wrists, throat, and ankles. Frost shimmered faintly along his fingers. Eyes half-lidded but open.
The Nullbind Shackles sparked periodically, suppressing any flare. His breath came sharp. Thin. Alive.
The Rite Priest stepped forward.
He unfurled a scroll woven with looped null glyphs and spoke:
"By decree of blood and Dukedom law, the subject shall now be placed into Eternal Slumber. Rite stability confirmed. Public observance sanctioned."
He turned to the Duke.
"Your Grace, shall we proceed?"
Aaron Goldsen rose slowly from his seat.
The crowd hushed. Some leaned forward. Others braced.
The Duke lifted a single hand.
"Let the rites be bellowed."
James tensed.
The frost curled around his skin once—then vanished, smothered instantly by the suppressors.
The priest raised his staff of slumber.
Chains pulsed.
James closed his eyes.
And then—
"WAIT."
The voice cracked through the air like a rift in sky.
The crowd gasped. Some recoiled. Even the soulglass gates of Hollow Bastion shimmered.
The priest froze mid-chant. Guards shifted, blades ready.
The Duke turned, cold fury rising behind his eyes.
Minister Chambers narrowed his gaze.
James blinked—just once.
And the silence held.
***"When fire pleads,
even frost stops listening"***
END OF CHAPTER-4
To Be Continued -