FROST
Chapter 37: Where Secrets Take Root

Chapter 37: Where Secrets Take Root

Amethyst’s sharp eyes bore into Cullen, her gaze unwavering — like twin shards of violet glass, searching, dissecting. Yet Cullen stood his ground, meeting her scrutiny with an eerie calmness that made the air feel heavier between them.

"Why are you staring at him like that?" Elise muttered beside her, shifting uncomfortably. The other apprentices were beginning to press against each other near the auditorium doors, their nervous whispers blending into the distant hum of the night. "We should be figuring out how to bloom this damn peony, not throwing death glares at people."

Amethyst didn’t blink. Her voice was low, almost absent-minded. "Look at his hand, Elise."

Elise’s brows furrowed, but when her eyes finally followed Amethyst’s line of sight, her breath caught. The delicate peony cradled in Cullen’s palm — supposedly crimson like the rest of them — was a withered bloom soaked in the blackest shade of ink.

Its petals now curled inward, brittle and lifeless, as if the flower itself had been suffocated by something unseen.

"What the hell..." Elise whispered, unease prickling down her spine. "Did he—did he corrupt it or something?"

Amethyst parted her lips to speak but closed them again. Something in her chest stirred — a hollow pressure clawing beneath her ribs. Instead of answering, she stepped forward, drawn toward him like a moth pulled to a flame she didn’t entirely trust.

With each step, the light around them seemed to waver. The golden glow flickering along the marble walls dimmed into something colder — like the entire academy was suffocating.

It couldn’t be just her imagination.

The shadows stretched longer. The air thickened.

"What is this...?" The thought circled in her mind, tightening the knot in her throat.

By the time she reached him, the cold was palpable — not biting, but cloying. Like fingers trailing along the nape of her neck.

Cullen didn’t flinch. His presence was steady — too steady — as if the darkness bending the world around him was something he had grown used to carrying.

Amethyst’s lashes lowered, her eyes flicking from his face to the ruined flower on his hand.

"What kind of cursed abilities do you possess to turn a holy bloom into that?" she asked, her voice cutting through the thick air. The words came out sharper than she intended — almost accusatory — but she couldn’t stop them.

Elise shifted behind her, muttering a quiet "Amethyst..." like she was about to regret standing this close.

Cullen’s gaze lifted lazily to the cloudy sky above, as if the question barely grazed him.

His voice came low and measured, each word settling like weight against her skin.

"Have you ever considered that perhaps..." his eyes flicked back to her, dark as a moonless sea, "...it’s not me who taints this flower—"

He slowly turned his hand, letting the blackened petals catch what little light remained.

"—but the curse already lingering in this place... trying to stop me from what I could do?"

Amethyst’s brows knitted. Her voice dropped lower, edged with suspicion.

"What do you mean?" she grumbled, but there was a flicker of unease behind her irritation — as if a part of her already knew she wouldn’t like his answer.

Cullen’s gaze remained distant, his dark eyes tracing the barely visible sigils carved into the marble walls — the ancient wards that had protected the academy for centuries. Now, they faintly pulsed with a sickly blue glow, like a weakened heartbeat.

"There is something—" he muttered, voice low enough that only the two of them could hear. "Perhaps someone — trying to breach the academy’s walls."

Amethyst’s breath caught. Elise shifted uneasily behind her, glancing at the darkened corners of the auditorium. The whispers in the room had quieted, as if the shadows themselves were leaning in to listen.

Cullen’s thumb absentmindedly traced the stem of the blackened peony in his palm.

"The moonstone’s barrier... along with every protective ward the sorcerers have woven into these walls — they’re fighting something right now." His fingers curled slightly around the flower. "And they’re struggling."

Elise’s hand tightened around her own white peony, knuckles paling.

"That’s impossible." Her voice wavered, betraying the doubt buried beneath her bravado. "The Guardians are powerful. The Lunar King is also powerful—"

"And yet—" Cullen interrupted softly, lifting the ruined flower.

Amethyst’s heart skipped when the pitch-black petals began to smolder.

A slow, consuming flame — not red nor orange, but black.

Like the night itself had taken form.

The fire swallowed the peony in eerie silence, devouring it whole without releasing so much as a spark or smoke.

Elise stumbled back with a sharp gasp, clutching her own flower as if it might wither next.

The ground’s sudden tremor rippled through the marble foundations of the Academy, like an unseen hand dragging its fingers beneath the earth’s skin.

Dust whispered down from the vaulted ceiling, and distant clatters echoed through the corridors — the sound of ancient and magical structures groaning against an unseen pressure.

The apprentices began to murmur, fear bleeding into their voices. Some clutched their peonies tightly to their chests, as if the holy flowers could shield them from whatever invisible force was worming its way into the heart of the Academy.

Amethyst’s eyes stayed fixed on Cullen.

He hadn’t flinched. Not when the ground began to quake. Not when the peony dissolved into black smoke. He stood there — unwavering — as if the dark pulse around him was merely an extension of his own presence.

Then, without so much as a ripple of magic to announce his arrival—East appeared. Not like his other arrival. This time, he just popped out of nowhere beside Amethyst — a shifting distortion of air reforming into solid shape. The suddenness of it nearly made her heart lurch from her chest. Elise yelped and stumbled back, clutching her wrist.

East’s eyes flicked to them, then to Cullen.

His gaze fell to the empty space where the peony had vanished — the air still faintly shimmering with the last traces of the black flame.

Amethyst saw the subtle crease in East’s brow. He was trying to sense it — trying to dissect the residue that lingered in the air. But whatever corruption had eaten the flower had left no clear trace.

Nothing he could detect, at least.

"There’s no curse magic on him," East muttered, almost to himself. His voice was low, but there was an edge of unease behind the calm. "No hex, no possession... nothing."

His gaze sharpened as suspicion flickered in his mind. His fingers twitched, and for the briefest moment, a soft golden glow rippled beneath his skin — the telltale shimmer of a guardian’s blessing.

His peonies will never disappear just like that even when encountering a sorcerer’s spell, yet the black fire had devoured Cullen’s without even leaving ash behind.

These peonies didn’t simply die.

They were woven from celestial light — fragments of the moonstone itself. If the darkness had been powerful enough to consume one...

It was no ordinary corruption.

A name flicked through East’s mind like a blade cutting through mist. His heart quickened when he remembered Cloud’s hint. It really couldn’t be. Not this soon.

Not when the gods themselves had sworn that the Dream Wars were still a century away from rekindling.

The Sandman was still licking his wounds from the battle with the Titans — trapped in the depths of his own ruined citadel. His legions of dream-eaters scattered across the void.

But the gods had always been too quick to assume the enemy would wait politely for their clocks to align.

East’s jaw tightened.

"If it’s not the Sandman... then it really is Periwinkle," the name tasted bitter in his mind.

The Forgotten Dream.

The one who had slipped through the cracks of history — neither fully bound nor entirely free. The gods and guardians had stopped speaking her name centuries ago, as if banishment itself could erase her existence from the Weave.

But dreams — like gods and guardians — never truly dies.

And if she was stirring now, if she had found some sliver of a foothold in this realm already, then the war would come early.

Tooearly.

"Your Highness," Amethyst’s voice snapped him out of his spiraling thoughts. She was staring at him now — her violet eyes sharp beneath the dimming light.

"You know something that is far more than just figuring out how to make these flowers bloom."

It wasn’t a question.

He hesitated.

He could feel the other Guardians gathering elsewhere in the Academy — their distant auras flickering through the Weave like constellations half-drowned in mist. They were searching, dissecting, warding the gates.

But none of them could find the source of the darkness.

He could feel the pressure gnawing at the edges, fraying the threads of the ancient seals. The moonstone was calling out — not just to the gods who had placed it there... but to anyone who could hear.

East’s eyes scanned towards the apprentices who kept close at each other, keeping themselves feel safe.

"I can’t let this continue..." East turned to Amethyst and smiled. "I honestly don’t know what’s coming. Not yet," his voice was steady, but softer now. "But whatever it is... I know we can prevent it, right?"

Amethyst blinked, her patience thinning faster than the dwindling skies.

"Then if that’s so, why don’t you try and give us proper instructions on what exactly we’re supposed to do with these peonies of yours, Your Highness sir?" she asked, voice strained.

East tilted his head, the faintest trace of amusement curling on his lips. "Isn’t it obvious?" He leaned forward slightly, his golden hair catching what little light flickered from the enchanted lanterns scattered across the room. "You make it bloom."

Amethyst’s eye twitched. "That’s not what I meant."

"Then perhaps," East mused, stroking his chin in exaggerated thought, "you should be more specific with your questions, Apprentice Amethyst."

A muscle twitched on Amethyst’s jaw. She gritted her teeth, glaring at him with the kind of intensity that could probably set the whole academy ablaze—if only she had enough magic left to do so.

"If only you weren’t a Guardian," she hissed through clenched teeth, "I would have cursed you right now."

"Oh, dear... such violent tendencies." East sighed, dramatically clutching his chest. "How unbecoming of the Winter Apprentice. No wonder Silvermist bested you."

Amethyst’s eye twitched harder.

"That’s an evil thing to say in a time like this," East added, his voice practically dripping with mockery. Without missing a beat, he turned and threw himself lazily against Cullen’s shoulder, draping one arm around him like they were lifelong drinking buddies instead of a celestial being and a half-conscious apprentice.

Cullen flinched under the sudden weight, looking mildly horrified, but wisely kept his mouth shut.

With an almost lazy flick of his wrist, East hovered his free hand just above Cullen’s own, where the black flames had devoured his peony earlier.

The air shimmered faintly around them, and slowly—like a time-lapse in reverse—a fresh peony began to bloom between Cullen’s fingers. Its petals were no longer pitch black but a deep, striking crimson—as it should be.

"Now, since none of us have the luxury of slacking," East drawled, dusting off his immaculate sleeves as if they weren’t in the middle of an impending danger, "how about you call everyone and let’s all gather here? I do love a good group activity."

Amethyst stared at him for a long moment, as if debating whether or not to launch the nearest peony pot directly at his smug face. Instead, with a sharp huff, she turned on her heel and stalked out of the room, boots clicking against the marble floor. Elise scrambled after her like a startled fawn, nearly tripping on her own uniform.

East watched them go with the faintest smile tugging at the corners of his mouth.

The peony exercise—such an innocent little task, wasn’t it? A perfect distraction wrapped in layers of poetic nonsense. He was buying them time, letting the apprentices’ minds fixate on something delicate, something small—because the moment they looked up and truly saw what was pressing in from outside the barrier, that fragile hope would crumble.

Although if it really is Periwinkle, of course they would be a little starstruck since their youngest sibling is the most ethereal female creature this realm bore.

But still, the corrupted atmosphere was suffocating.

He could feel it gnawing at the edges of the barrier—a slow, patient force that reeked of something ancient. Something that didn’t belong here. The weight of it pressed against his ribs, a blackened pulse thrumming beneath the surface of the Academy.

In truth, the whole peony trial was little more than a ruse—a magician’s sleight of hand.

A hope placebo.

Keep the children busy.

Make them feel useful.

Because if they force to use the apprentices’ abilities now, the force will only end up consuming all their mana. This is something only the Guardians could handle, but they’re pretty much occupied now that the Earth is also in danger.

"What are you really planning?" Suddenly, Cullen spoke.

East’s smile flickered — just for a heartbeat — before it returned, practiced and polite. The kind of smile carved from centuries of diplomacy and carefully restrained secrets. He finally stepped away from Cullen, granting him the personal space.

He tilted his head, the faint golden glow in his irises narrowing into crescent slits.

"My, my..." he drawled, stepping lightly around the peony pots as though Cullen hadn’t just asked the very question the entire island was secretly whispering behind their backs.

"What a sharp tongue you have, little moonflower. Are you sure you’re not better suited under Serpentine’s section instead?"

Cullen’s blank stare didn’t waver, but his fingers twitched underneath the peony’s petals.

East noticed. Of course he noticed.

"We are taken here to learn and become worthy apprentices, aren’t we?" Cullen asked once again, quieter this time. His voice was steady, but there was a tremor beneath it — the kind that only came when someone finally gathered the courage to speak the unspoken aloud. "We didn’t even have the choice to refuse... since everything was already written in our fate."

Amethyst froze by the hallway, half-turned, hearing the weight in Cullen’s words.

Even Elise stiffened — her hands clutching onto her peony.

Cullen’s black eyes darkened, flicking from East to the flickering barrier above them that has become more and more visible.

"And yet you’re not even transparent with us ever since. From what our real purpose is since you all only gave us such broad answer; become an apprentice of a Guardian to maintain the Earth’s fragile balance and that’s it? I am pretty much not convinced—you even hid the very fact that Silvermist is the Winter Apprentice. Why exactly? And then this. What are we really up against that you refuse to let us know?"

His voice sharpened. "How are we supposed to trust in the Guardians... if you never trusted us first?"

Ah.

There it was.

The thorn hidden inside the bloom.

The space stretched into a fragile silence.

East’s smile remained, but the warmth behind it had cooled — like sunlight behind a layer of frost.

Trust.

Such a delicate word. So easily broken. So rarely given.

East could almost hear Cloud’s voice echoing in his mind.

"Youcanonlystretchaliesofarbeforeitsnaps."

"I admire your honesty, Cullen," East murmured, voice silky-soft—smiling. "Truly, I do. It’s such a rare thing... in a world built on borrowed time."

Cullen flinched at his words for unknown reason, but didn’t look away.

East leaned closer, the golden hue of his irises catching the dim candlelight. For a brief, terrible moment — he looked almost otherworldly.

"But let me give you a little piece of advice, beloved apprentice..." His smile curved wider, teeth glinting sharp behind the velvet tone.

"If you’re going to demand honesty from a Guardian... make sure you’re ready to hear the truth."

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