FROST
Chapter 40: The Demon’s Gaze

Chapter 40: The Demon’s Gaze

The realization settled like a punch in the gut.

It wasn’t just the two ethereal beings standing before them, posing like they had just stepped out of a limited edition Moonlit Gucci campaign — oh no, that would’ve been too easy.

When the dark clouds peeled back and the moon spilled silver light over the misted forest, the truth came crawling out like a bad omen.

The trees... were alive.

Perched on twisted branches were dozens of elves — long-limbed, lean, and deathly silent, their bows drawn tight, glinting under the pale light. Eyes sharper than any human’s, ears pointed like cursed little devils. They blended so perfectly with the forest that if the moon didn’t betray them, they would’ve gone unseen until all of them were skewered like kebabs.

Sebastian’s breath caught in his throat.

"Well... at least if we die here... we die with honor because—" he paused, flicking mud off his sleeve, "—what the fuck is this?"

"I can now confirm," Adeline whispered as she began hurriedly tying twigs together into makeshift crosses, "that the Guardians brought us here not to retrieve some damned Elixir but to die. This is a mass execution disguised as a field trip. Classic cult tactic."

"Adeline—" West muttered, staring at her with thinly veiled judgment. "What the hell are you doing?"

"Confessing my little sins," she said, eyes wide and dead serious. "I stole a loaf of bread from the kitchen three weeks ago. I kept the knife afterwards. I enjoyed the knife more than the bread. I think I have violent tendencies. Also—"

"Okay, stop," West cut her off, massaging his temples.

Meanwhile, Silvermist stood frozen, clutching the orb tighter to her chest like a toddler holding onto their last chicken nugget.

Mila was trying to summon another water dome, but based on the way her hands were trembling and the faint sound of "Don’t pop, don’t pop, don’t pop—" under her breath, the success rate was looking grim.

West, on the other hand, remained perfectly still — though mostly because he was deep in thought.

A very specific, very selfish thought.

If I run now, they’ll all probably die...

...but would that really be such a bad thing?

The answer was no — it would not be a bad thing.

He could make it back to the Academy. He’d tell the Guardians that everyone fought bravely but tragically perished. He’d write a heartfelt ballad about their sacrifice. Maybe even cry a little in public. He could milk the whole tragedy for at least two years of sympathy and free drinks.

It was a flawless plan.

Except... his goddamn honor wouldn’t let him do it. Ezekiel and Sebastian can teleport back to the Academy if they want. They can do it anywhere anytime as long as they can visualize the place they wanted to go.

However, even in times like this, they chose to stay. How is West’s pride going to accept that? Especially with three vulnerable women.

Stupid conscience. Stupid apprentice code. Stupid Sebastian still breathing.

West sighed, already hating himself.

Just then, he caught Sebastian muttering under his breath, eyes darting around frantically.

"Teleport... teleport... why the hell can’t I teleport—"

"Me too!" Ezekiel hissed beside him, trying to spark a flame between his palms but only managing a sad little flicker.

West’s eye twitched.

"You pieces of shit!" he snapped, turning on them like an angry mother who just found out her kids tried to microwave a spoon.

Mila gasped. "You, guys, are planning to leave us?!"

"We thought we could!" Sebastian wheezed, panic rising. "But the mist... it’s suppressing magic! I can’t even heal my own ass right now!"

"But like, you can teleport us, too, right?" Mila’s eyes sparkled with hope.

Sebastian and Ezekiel exchanged looks, and then shrugged. "Meh!" They even said in chorus.

"You heartless maggots!" Silvermist clutched her chest with the orb.

"Enough !" The carmine-haired elf snarled, bow drawn tight, arrow still fixed on West. His sharp gaze flicked between them, eyes narrowing into slits. "I can sense... funky magic clinging to you." His voice dripped with suspicion. "Perhaps... are you East’s apprentice?"

West slowly straightened, brushing dust off his cloak. His face remained calm, but the subtle tension in his stance betrayed his unease.

"That depends on what your answer would be—if I asked why you’re so curious."

A low snort escaped the man, the corner of his mouth curling in disdain. "Bold of you to think you’d receive one." He relaxed his grip, the bowstring loosening with a faint twang before he lowered the weapon to his side.

"And judging by how that little orb of yours is glowing... I assume you’re here to take the Elixir."

"And what if we are?" West shot back, voice steady—challenging.

The crimson-haired one stepped forward this time, the air around him crackling faintly. His gloved hand raised, fingers curling.

"Then I’m afraid—" His hand clenched into a fist.

The orb clutched tightly in Silvermist’s hands shattered without warning, shards slicing through her palms. She gasped, staggering back as crimson bloomed across her fingers.

"Sil!"

Mila and Adeline scrambled to her side, panic flashing in their eyes, while Sebastian and Ezekiel instantly shifted into position — a silent promise that no more harm would come, that’s if they can stand a chance.

The carmine-haired man smirked at the sudden chaos.

"You were never meant to leave this place alive."

"We kinda figured that out the moment you started shooting at us," West muttered, the usual sarcasm in his voice dimmed by the weight of the situation.

His eyes flicked toward Silvermist, taking in the deep crimson staining her uniform. Too much blood. The orb should be fragile. The shards couldn’t have pierced her flesh, but then here we are.

Silvermist’s breath was shaky, face pale — she wouldn’t last long if they didn’t act fast. Adeline and Mila are tending wounds, but none of them are healers.

Damn it!

West’s gaze swept the clearing now that the heavy mist had thinned, revealing the jagged rocks and twisted ruins that caged them in. No exits — at least none visible. His fists clenched at his sides, nails biting into his palms. He could feel his mana stirring beneath his skin — faint, sluggish — but rising.

He turned to Sebastian and Ezekiel. Their looks are telling him the same. They still couldn’t use any magic.

Perhaps, the mist did so much not just to suppress their magic but absorbed them as well.

Now, if they wanted to survive this, he’d have to buy more time.

He took a slow step forward, placing himself between the others and the two unknown figures. His heart hammered in his chest, but his voice came out steady.

"Funny how you say we’re not leaving alive when you’re the one who’s been stalling this whole time." He forced a smirk, even as sweat trickled down his temple. "What’s wrong? Scared?"

The carmine-haired man’s smirk twitched, but he didn’t respond. West’s eyes sharpened.

Got you!

They were waiting for something. Waiting for the mists to thicken again.

West’s breath hitched as the realization clicked in his mind. All this time... it wasn’t them. He had assumed the two ethereal elves were the ones weaving the mist — but if that were true, why would they be stalling instead of pressing the attack?

His instincts screamed at him.

A twang of a bowstring suddenly sliced through the stagnant air.

West’s body moved on its own—too fast to think—throwing himself in front of Mila. His fingers closed around the arrow just before its tip could bury itself into her chest. The force rattled his bones, but the arrow didn’t pierce through.

Mila’s sharp gasp echoed behind him.

He tossed the arrow to the ground, golden runes faintly glowing along the shaft.

Slow. Weak. Not at all like the arrows from earlier. Although, somewhere at the back of his mind, they’re just indeed playing with them and with these ethereal elves asking him if he’s East’s apprentice, could it be that they’re waiting for him to...

"Could be."

West muttered.

Another arrow sliced through the thinning mist — faster, deadlier.

A spark flickered from Ezekiel’s trembling fingers — a flame so faint it barely crackled — yet just enough to tilt the arrow off course. The shaft buried itself into the damp earth, barely an inch from Sebastian’s boot.

He didn’t flinch.

Not even a glance.

West noticed — that unwavering calm, even with death brushing against his heels. Sebastian was a wall — battered, but still standing. Yet beneath the surface, West could sense it.

His mana was rising. Slow. Unsteady. But rising.

They were all climbing back — too little, too late.

"Sil..." West’s voice was low, careful not to betray the panic coiling in his chest. "Can you move?"

Silvermist’s wide eyes remained fixed on her trembling, blood-soaked hands. She hadn’t dared to look lower — where shards of the shattered orb glinted beneath the torn fabric of her uniform, embedded in her chest.

Still, her chin lifted.

A shaky nod.

"D-Don’t mind me..." Her voice was barely a whisper — breathless, strained — but defiant. "Do what you have to do."

Mila reached out instinctively, but Silvermist slapped her hand away — forcing her fingers to curl around the shards buried in her palms. One by one, she began pulling them out. Flesh tore. Blood welled between her fingers.

"L-Let me do it," Silvermist groaned, her voice weak but resolute. Her gaze swept over her friends, searching their faces for something—assurance, determination, maybe even fear. Then, her eyes landed on West.

She noticed it immediately—the way he looked at the elves, his sharp gaze calculating yet distant. It wasn’t just the battle weighing on him. Something deeper lingered in his expression, a concern buried so well that most wouldn’t catch it. But she did.

She wanted to help. She wanted to say something. But what could she do? What could she possibly say that would change anything?

Her thoughts wavered back to the shards embedded in her palms. As soon as her fingers gripped one, pain lanced through her arm. Her breath hitched, but she clenched her jaw and pulled it free. Blood welled up in its absence, the deep red stark against the pale fragments of the shattered orb.

"The orb should have been fragile..." she murmured, thinking aloud. "Its shards shouldn’t have pierced this deep..."

A realization struck her like a jolt of lightning.

"It must be magic," she whispered.

A sudden presence loomed behind her.

"Sil," Ezekiel’s voice was low, laced with urgency. "Get ready. I’ll try to teleport the three of you—at least far from here. I don’t have much mana yet, but if I can get you out of their range, you can run for it."

Silvermist’s head snapped up, her gaze locking onto Ezekiel’s. He wasn’t looking at her—his sharp eyes were locked onto the elves, assessing every movement.

Mila and Adeline stood tense, the weight of the moment clear in their rigid stances. Mila’s fingers twitched at her sides, her magic unstable, while Adeline clutched the scraps of wood she had been tying together in some frantic last-ditch effort, as if preparing for something inevitable.

Sebastian, usually relaxed and smug, had a completely different presence now. His stance had shifted—feet planted, shoulders squared. He wasn’t just prepared to fight. He was expecting to.

Silvermist swallowed, then shook her head.

"No," she said firmly. "I won’t leave you behind." She clenched her fists, fresh blood seeping from her palms. "I—I dragged you into this mess. This is my responsibility."

Sebastian scoffed, rolling his eyes.

"Nah," he said, smirking. "We just wanted to test out some new skills. Didn’t want to let you girls see them, that’s all."

Adeline shot him a glare. "Stop acting cool, Sebastian. Your knees are shaking."

"It’s for aesthetic purposes," Sebastian shot back, unbothered.

Mila huffed. "You mean you’re scared."

Sebastian placed a hand over his chest, feigning offense. "Excuse you. I don’t get scared—I get strategically concerned."

"Yeah? Well, strategicallyconcern

yourself with finding us all a way out of here," Adeline snapped.

Silvermist allowed herself a small smile, the brief moment of banter lifting the suffocating tension around them.

Silvermist steadied her breath, forcing the tremor in her hands to still. She needed to focus. Among them, she was the weakest—her magic unreliable at best, destructive at worst. Sometimes, it felt like she had none at all.

But after what happened in the arena... after the sheer devastation she caused... a small, dangerous part of her felt something close to relief. At least now, she knew she had magic.

The real question was: Could she control it?

"If I try luring that power out now," she thought grimly, "I might end up killing everyone—including my friends."

The weight of that possibility coiled in her stomach like a lead chain, but something gnawed at her—a suspicion.

None of the elves have attacked again.

That wasn’t right. With how easily they had shattered the orb and rained arrows on them earlier, they could’ve ended this already. Yet, they were just... standing there. Waiting.

Her gaze flicked to the mist, curling thicker around them. None of the eleves are trying to act almost giving her the vibe that they’re planning something worse— or perhaps— why does she feels like they’re just there, waiting for something to happen?

She exhaled sharply and turned to Mila. She has no time for that. "Do you have any mana left for a big spell?"

Mila blinked, startled. "W-What big spell?"

Silvermist grinned, her expression shifting from desperation to something sharper, more determined. "How about a waterball?"

Mila’s face twisted. "What the fuck is a—"

"She means she needs water," Adeline cut in, lifting a hand. "Just give me something to work with, and I’ll handle the rest."

Right.

Adeline had the most stable bending abilities out of all of them, despite being younger than most of them, and despite Mila being the Water Apprentice. If anyone could manipulate water into something useful in times like this, it would be her.

"But," Adeline added, batting her purple lashes with mock sweetness, "I can assure you, it will be exactly zero percent arrow-proof!"

Silvermist snorted despite herself. "I’ll take my chances."

Ezekiel, catching onto Silvermist’s plan almost instantly, moved closer, his steps careful and precise. His eyes flickered to the elves perched in the trees, fingers twitching on their bows, waiting—watching. The air was thick with tension, but something was off.

The elves weren’t advancing.

Not because they couldn’t—but because they wouldn’t.

And then Ezekiel saw it.

West, still standing his ground, was different now.

His usual dark eyes, cold and unreadable, had begun to shift—deep shadows bleeding into something fierce, something unnatural. The dim moonlight caught them just right, reflecting a molten red, as if fire itself had cracked through his irises.

The two elves looming before them reacted immediately.

Grins stretched across their faces—wide, unhinged, thrilled.

The crimson-haired one let out a shuddering breath, his pupils dilating as he leaned forward ever so slightly.

"Ahh... those eyes..." he murmured, his voice trembling with something between awe and obsession.

His fingers twitched at his sides, his body nearly vibrating with anticipation.

"Those scalding red demon eyes!"

Ezekiel stiffened.

Thiswasn’tshock. Thiswasn’trecognition.

This was worship.

"West..." Ezekiel muttered.