The morning sun filtered through the ragged curtains of the guild's infirmary, its light touching the dust that floated in slow, lazy spirals. The silence in the room was thick—broken only by the faint rhythm of Arlen's breathing and the soft rustle of fabric as Lira shifted beside his bed.
For the first time in what felt like ages, the world wasn't trembling. No collapsing ruins. No echoes of that inhuman roar. Just stillness.
Arlen blinked slowly, his body heavy as though gravity had doubled overnight. His mind was a fog of half-formed memories—images of frost spreading over burning stone, of light splitting the sky, of a voice that wasn't his whispering inside his head.
But it all dissolved when his gaze fell on the girl sleeping at his side.
Lira was there, chin resting lightly on her folded arms, her golden hair slightly messy, her breathing soft and even. The faintest smile tugged at his lips before he even realized it.
He didn't know how long he'd been staring before her eyes fluttered open.
"...Arlen?" she murmured, her voice weak but trembling with relief. "You're awake…"
Her eyes glistened instantly, and before he could react, she wrapped her arms around him, squeezing tight enough to make him wince.
"Easy…" he said with a faint chuckle, though his voice was hoarse. "You'll break what's left of me."
She drew back immediately, cheeks flushed. "S-sorry! It's just—you were out cold for two days! We thought—"
He raised a hand slightly. "Two days?"
She nodded. "Yeah. After… after what happened with that thing…" Her voice trailed off, and for a moment, her expression clouded with something between awe and fear.
"What did happen?" Arlen asked, brows furrowing. "I don't… remember."
Lira hesitated. She looked away. "You… you passed out after defeating it. That's all."
Her tone was too careful. Arlen caught it immediately, but he didn't push. Not yet.
He sat up slowly, ignoring the sharp protest from his ribs. His gaze drifted to the window—beyond it, the sprawling city of Elaris bustled like nothing had happened. But he could still feel it: a faint hum in the air, like the world itself was holding its breath.
"What's been happening since then?" he asked quietly.
"Rumors," Lira said, sighing. "The guild's been flooded with them. Some say we encountered an ancient guardian. Others… think it was a divine trial."
"And the guildmaster?"
"...He's worried. And angry. You'll see why soon."
---
When Arlen finally stepped into the guild hall, the chatter died almost instantly.
Every head turned.
The man who had walked in wasn't the same one who had left days ago. His white hair—still faintly streaked with silver from the frost that refused to melt—fell into his eyes. His expression was calm, but his very presence seemed… different. Sharper.
Some whispered under their breath. Others simply stared, uncertain.
"Arlen Frost," a deep voice called from the upper floor.
They both turned. The guildmaster, a broad-shouldered man with a scar over his left eye, leaned on the railing. His gaze was unreadable.
"In my office. Now."
---
The tension in the guildmaster's office was suffocating.
"So…" he began, voice low. "You destroyed a Class-S threat, returned barely alive, and now the entire city thinks the two of you unleashed some divine wrath. Care to explain?"
Arlen opened his mouth but hesitated. He wasn't even sure what to explain.
"I don't remember much," he admitted. "There was a figure—it wasn't human. It moved like it wasn't bound by this world. And then…"
"And then what?" the guildmaster pressed.
"Then nothing. I woke up here."
The guildmaster's gaze flickered to Lira. "And you? What did you see?"
Lira swallowed hard. "We fought together. The creature nearly killed us both. But Arlen—he—"
She stopped herself just in time.
"He pushed past his limits," she finished instead. "That's all."
The guildmaster studied her for a long moment before sighing. "Fine. I'll write the report as 'mission success.' But the council's sending someone to review the aftermath. Be ready."
"Someone?" Arlen asked.
"Yes," the guildmaster said grimly. "And not just anyone. Lord Vaelen Frost."
The name hit like ice water.
Arlen blinked. "Frost?"
Lira froze. "Wait… the Frost family—"
"The High Duke of the Northern Dominion," the guildmaster said. "He's on his way here. Said he has personal interest in what happened."
Arlen's pulse quickened, though he didn't know why. The name felt familiar, like an echo from a life he couldn't reach.
---
That night, Arlen couldn't sleep.
The wind outside howled softly, brushing against the windowpanes. He sat by the bedside, watching the city lights flicker like dying embers. His reflection stared back at him from the glass—tired eyes, faint traces of frost along his fingers.
He pressed his palm to the glass.
And suddenly—
Everything shifted.
The room dissolved into whiteness.
The air thickened with static, and before him stood a man—a mirror image of himself, but older. Colder. Power radiated from him like a storm. His eyes gleamed a pale blue, and the air around him shimmered with lightning and frost.
Arlen's breath caught.
"You're…"
"Me," the figure finished, his voice calm and low. "Or rather, what you will become—if you remember."
Arlen's chest tightened. "What do you mean remember? What am I supposed to remember?"
The figure smiled faintly. "That you are not a child of this age. You are a remnant of something older—something the world buried."
Images flashed in Arlen's mind—castles of ice suspended in the sky, storms chained by his hand, a war that devoured gods and mortals alike.
He staggered back, clutching his head. "Stop—stop it! I don't—"
"You will," the future self said. "The seal will not hold forever. The Frostblood within you is stirring. When the time comes, your choice will determine the world's balance."
Arlen looked up, trembling. "Why me? Why was I sealed? Why bring me back if it only brings chaos?"
The figure's gaze softened. "Because even chaos has purpose. Because you were the storm that ended the divine age. And this time… you must decide whether to become it again."
The light began to fade.
"Wait!" Arlen shouted. "How do I control it? How do I stop from losing myself again?"
The future self stepped closer, pressing a hand to his shoulder. The touch was like ice and lightning colliding.
"Find the anchor," he whispered. "The one who calls your name even when the storm rages."
And then—darkness.
---
Arlen woke up with a sharp gasp. His heart raced as he looked around—the room was dimly lit, and the faint scent of lavender filled the air. Lira was still asleep beside him, her head resting on the edge of his bed.
He stared at her quietly.
His mind buzzed with questions, but somehow, looking at her calmed the storm inside. He reached out almost unconsciously, brushing a strand of hair from her face.
"Thank you…" he whispered.
Lira stirred, blinking. "Mm… Arlen?"
He froze mid-motion. "Ah—sorry. I didn't mean to wake you."
She smiled sleepily. "You're terrible at being sneaky."
He chuckled softly, the tension easing.
Then her expression softened. "You looked like you were having a nightmare."
"Maybe I was," he said quietly. "But… seeing you here makes it better."
Her cheeks turned a faint shade of pink. "You really don't know when to stop saying things like that…"
"Why? Does it make you uncomfortable?"
"No," she muttered, looking away. "Just… unexpected."
They shared a silence that said more than words could.
After a while, Lira stood and stretched. "The guildmaster said the Frost envoy will arrive by dawn. You should get some rest."
Arlen nodded absently, though his mind was miles away—on the words his future self had spoken. Find the anchor.
His gaze lingered on Lira's retreating form. The thought hit him before he could stop it.
Maybe… that's what she was.
---
The next morning arrived with an unsettling stillness.
A line of armored knights stood outside the guild, their armor etched with sigils of frost. At their head stood a tall man draped in a long, silver-blue cloak, his hair white as snow and his eyes the same piercing blue as Arlen's.
Lord Vaelen Frost.
His very presence made the air colder.
When his gaze fell on Arlen, something shifted. The man's expression barely changed, but his eyes flickered—recognition, disbelief, then restraint.
"So," Vaelen said slowly, "you're the one they call Arlen Frost."
Arlen nodded carefully. "Yes, sir."
Vaelen's gaze lingered, sharp enough to cut through steel. "Interesting. You bear the name—and the blood—but not the memories. How curious."
Arlen stiffened. "What do you mean by that?"
But Vaelen merely smiled faintly. "We will speak privately. There are matters the world need not overhear."
---
Inside the guild hall, tension spread like wildfire.
"Who is that man?" whispered one of the guild mages.
"Lord Vaelen Frost—the Northern Duke," someone else muttered. "One of the Five High Lords. But why's he here for a field mission?"
Lira stood apart from the crowd, hands clenched. She could feel the chill emanating from both men—even without magic, their power was palpable.
She bit her lip. Something about the way Vaelen looked at Arlen wasn't just curiosity. It was familiarity.
---
When Arlen returned hours later, his face was unreadable.
"What did he say?" Lira asked immediately.
He hesitated. "That my existence shouldn't be possible. That I'm a relic of something long gone."
Her eyes widened. "That doesn't make sense. You're you, Arlen. That's what matters."
He smiled faintly. "You sound certain."
"I am," she said firmly. "And whatever he said, whatever your past is—it doesn't change what you've done, or who you are now."
For a long moment, he said nothing. Then he reached out, gently placing a hand on her shoulder.
"...Thank you, Lira."
Her heartbeat stuttered. "W-what for?"
"For being the only thing that feels real right now."
She froze, face turning crimson. "Y-you can't just say things like that out of nowhere!"
He laughed softly. For the first time in days, it felt genuine.
---
That night, Arlen stood alone on the balcony, staring at the moon. The wind carried whispers through the trees, faint echoes of power that seemed to call his name.
The frost along his fingertips shimmered faintly, responding to something unseen.
He looked down at the city below, the sleeping lights, the quiet peace that felt too fragile.
And in that moment, he made a silent promise—
That whatever he was before, whoever he had been—
He would not let that darkness take root again.
Behind him, Lira's soft voice broke the silence.
"Couldn't sleep either?"
He turned slightly, smiling. "Guess not. Too much noise in my head."
She stepped beside him, her gaze meeting his under the moonlight. "Then let's just… stay quiet together."
And so they stood—two souls under the cold light of dawn, unaware that far beyond the horizon, the storm had already begun to stir once more.
---