QUICK RECAP-
The mysterious figure reveals himself as Trimat D. Dentrius, the exiled "Tempest Tyrant" and King Leontius's uncle.
With his 96%-potency Ether Engine and eerie command over Ether itself, he challenges Leontius's decision to execute James, arguing the Abyssal Ice isn't a curse—but a legacy tied to the throne's past.
Flashbacks reveal Trimat once soothed a young Leontius's fears, deepening their fractured bond.
He claims James's survival is fate, urging the king to "finish his father's work."
As tension peaks, Leontius grips the royal coin, weighing duty against destiny—and finally speaks: "The boy shall—" Cut to black.
-RECAP ENDS
The coin shimmered again.
Soft pulse. Silent promise.
No breath filled the chamber.
Only eyes — locked on the king, waiting for fate to choose its next syllable.
King Leontius D. Dentrius IV stood beneath the weight of storm-forged decisions, cloak dusted with quiet fury, his fingers curled around the royal wish-coin.
The Griffin gleamed once beneath his grip.
Then—he spoke.
"The boy shall…"
His voice didn't rise.
It settled.
"…be spared."
For a heartbeat, nothing moved.
No wind glyphs crackled. No boots shifted. No pulse surged.
Arthur stared forward, unsure if the words had landed or if his brain had forged them out of desperation.
Ruby blinked once — not in disbelief, but in stunned quiet.
Adam pressed his hand against his chest, his Hydro glyph rippling in sync with his heartbeat.
Trimat's face softened into something like remembrance — the faint curve of a smile threading across years.
Leontius stepped down from the last stair of his throne.
His eyes never left the coin.
"The death sentence declared by Duke Aaron Goldsen…"
He raised the coin, the carved name of Instripo D. Dentrius II catching firelight.
"…is hereby revoked."
The chamber changed.
Not with cheer. Not with celebration.
With release.
A kind of sacred exhale — the ending of chains no one had seen but all had carried.
Arthur gasped. Then he lowered his head further, pressing his forehead to the marble tile.
Tears shimmered against his cheek.
Not of triumph.
Of survival.
Ruby's glyph dimmed — the light turning inward, warm and soft, no longer defensive.
Adam turned toward Arthur.
"Sir… we did it," he whispered.
Arthur didn't reply.
But his breath was finally steady.
Trimat stood quiet as ever.
He didn't cheer.
He didn't gloat.
Just watched — the way wind watches cliffs. No push. Only presence.
His eyes lingered on Arthur's kneeling figure. Then on Leontius's grip on the coin.
Then forward — toward the memory of a brother buried, a boy condemned, and a throne finally choosing mercy over pattern.
Leontius turned.
His voice was colder now.
Sharper.
Not angry.
Just weighted.
"James Rubenblood shall be summoned to the Royal Capital."
Arthur lifted his head — slowly, still unsure if motion would break the moment.
Leontius continued.
"As swiftly as Dentrius law permits."
"Without interference. Without delay."
"Without damage."
He turned toward the empty glyph chair beside his own — the one carved in Instripo's honor, now draped in frost-blue silence.
"Let it be known."
"The Abyssal Ice shall answer to me."
Ruby whispered, "He's going to meet the king…"
Adam nodded. "That's more than we dreamed."
Arthur turned to them both.
His voice cracked.
"He's going to live."
Leontius returned to his throne.
But he did not sit.
Instead, he cast his gaze across the court — toward the stained stone inlay of Nautilus's royal seal, toward the twin griffin statues behind the platform, toward the pulse of wind that had stopped breathing three chapters ago.
And then—he looked at Sir Ronald Klaus.
Knight of Crownsteel. Voice of royal decree.
Ronald didn't flinch.
But his grip on his frost-hilt sword shifted slightly.
Leontius's voice rang louder now.
Not thunder.
Just judgment.
"Sir Ronald Klaus."
Ronald straightened.
The steel in his spine had never bent.
Leontius stared.
"You will leave Dentrius immediately."
Ronald nodded once.
"To Rudenberg?"
"Yes."
"You are to oversee extraction."
The word sounded surgical.
Leontius stepped forward.
"You will retrieve James Rubenblood."
"You will ensure he reaches this court unharmed."
"You will speak with no other authority but me."
"No Relic Board."
"No Dukedom Council."
"No priest. No court. No whisper."
"Only Dentrius."
Arthur held his breath again.
Ronald didn't respond.
But Leontius kept going.
"If any resistance is met…"
"You do not engage it."
"You report it."
"And then you bring him home."
Ronald finally spoke.
Just once.
"Yes, Your Majesty."
The king tilted his head.
Then added—
"Failure to deliver him intact…"
"…will be seen as failure of Dentrius itself."
The weight was clear.
Ronald didn't bow.
He turned toward the hall's exit.
Leontius added—
"The boy does not belong to Goldsen anymore."
"He does not belong to fear. To plague. To prophecy."
"He belongs to me."
Trimat watched quietly.
His smile didn't change.
But something in his eyes did.
Maybe pride.
Maybe grief.
Maybe the kind of emotion only exiled tempest knights feel when the wind finally bends toward the thing they fought for.
Arthur turned to Trimat.
Their eyes met.
No words passed between them.
But Arthur's stare carried gratitude older than blood.
Trimat simply nodded.
Lightly.
Once.
The throne hall didn't cheer.
There were no trumpets. No banners. No royal decree shouted from balcony walls.
Just silence.
Changed.
Shifted.
Rewritten.
And somewhere, far beyond the capital, in a prison cell kissed by frost, unaware of what waited in the wind—
James Rubenblood slept.
Alone.
Unjudged.
Unforgiven.
But now—undead.
And the storm?
Just turned to face him.
Sir Ronald Klaus stood at the mouth of the throne corridor, wind glyphs dimming behind him as the night's verdict echoed through marble silence.
The king's orders were clear.
The consequences clearer.
But the thoughts in Ronald's mind weren't.
James Rubenblood. Abyssal Ice. The boy was a threat by every measurable standard. A glyph signature that froze history, cracked protocol, and reawakened old terrors. Yet tonight, Leontius had shattered the pattern with a sentence.
Spared.
Spared… to be judged by the crown directly.
Ronald didn't flinch as a knight. But something inside him did—as a man.
He watched the royal chamber empty, then turned and walked beneath the arch where Arthur waited, flanked by Ruby and Adam.
Their posture was settled now. Not proud—but relieved. Behind them, farther back in shadow, leaned a man Ronald still hadn't come to terms with.
Long white hair.
Sea-gray eyes.
A name that echoed louder than any decree.
Trimat D. Dentrius. The Tempest Tyrant.
Ronald approached Arthur first.
"I need the fastest path to Rudenberg," he said.
Arthur looked up, surprise fading into urgency.
"You're taking the Blood Cave?"
"The execution is in ten hours," Ronald said. "I'll reach the boy before then. I need the most direct route."
Arthur nodded slowly.
"We used the Blood Cave to escape the Hollow. Hydropulse navigation and Light glyph shielding. It's unstable, but—"
"How long?"
"Hydro current calibrated, Light stabilizing... maybe twelve hours if everything holds."
Ronald's jaw twitched.
"Then I'll reach him in ten."
Adam stepped forward. "You'll need synced cast engines. Mine runs fast, but without Light support, the miasma will break the tunnel."
Ruby raised her wrist. "I'm still stable. I can buffer six zones solo."
Ronald nodded.
"You two come."
Behind them, Trimat stepped forward.
"I'm coming too."
Ronald turned.
"That cave is unstable. You've never entered it."
Trimat's gaze didn't waver. "No. But it's time."
Ronald hesitated.
Then bowed his head — lightly, almost involuntarily.
Because refusing Trimat D. Dentrius wasn't just incorrect.
It was impossible.
The man once walked into storms that warlords refused to name.
Arthur blinked.
"You're sure?"
Trimat gave him a faint smile. "No. But that's how history moves."
Outside the palace gates, twelve royal knights stood ready. Frost-forged armour gleaming under torchlight, wind-threaded cloaks rippling in sync with pressure calibration systems. Each wore the crest of Dentrius on their forearm — the winged griffin, eyes narrowed.
Ronald raised one hand.
"No ceremony. No delay. We carve straight."
One knight approached with a road seal.
Ronald shook his head.
"We're not walking paths."
"We're walking through memory."
By 3:30 AM, the group reached the southern trench of Dentrius's basin perimeter — where the Hollow's skeletal cliffs tangled across the capital's underbelly.
Arthur stepped ahead, pointing toward a chiseled slope.
"We forced our way out through there."
Ronald examined the stone — stained with glyph residue, carved from frantic survival. Melted impressions from Adam's Hydro-core and singed edges from Ruby's shielding were still visible.
Ruby murmured, "It's still wounded."
Adam whispered, "It remembers us."
Trimat stepped beside Ronald, staring deep into the cliff.
"The cave only breathes when it recognizes purpose."
Ronald turned to face him.
"You've never entered."
Trimat nodded. "Correct."
Arthur's voice was quiet.
"It's not just a tunnel. It's a burial scar. A living one."
Ronald stepped toward the broken seal.
Cast a noise glyph.
The sigil pulsed.
Responded.
A crack opened — not wide.
Just enough.
Cold air curled from the entrance like a breath held too long.
The cave exhaled.
Ronald turned back toward the company.
"Twelve of you remain outside," he ordered to the knights.
"Three enter with me."
"Trimat joins."
Arthur stepped forward.
Ruby followed.
Adam steadied his wrist glyph.
Ronald unsheathed his blade.
Let the frost edge hum once.
Then spoke.
"Let's see what the cave holds."
**"When Wind Follows,
Frost Stirs"**
END OF CHAPTER-16
-To Be Continued-