FROST
Chapter 45: Beneath Falling Stones

Chapter 45: Beneath Falling Stones

"G-Get away from me!!" Silvermist squealed, her voice jumping two octaves higher than usual. In her panic, her magic surged out without control — a sharp gust of wind bent to her flustered will and sent West flying backward like a kite yanked off its string.

West tumbled through the air, arms flapping wildly, but somehow — through sheer luck or stubborn pride — he twisted at the last second and landed on his feet, skidding to a halt like a startled cat pretending it meant to do that all along.

Silvermist, meanwhile, had descended into full chaos. She scrambled on the mossy ground, slipping and nearly face-planting, her knees wobbling like jelly. Her face was an impressive shade of crimson as she finally managed to stand, albeit on legs that looked like they were considering mutiny.

She furiously wiped her lips with the back of her trembling hand, as if trying to erase a crime scene. "H-How dare you kiss me!" she groaned, clutching her face as though her entire existence had been violated.

West froze mid-step, his expression morphing from confusion to sheer horror. "K-Kiss? What kiss?!" he yelped, pointing at himself like he couldn’t believe he was the accused party in this dramatic court case.

"Our lips didn’t even meet!" he added frantically, waving his hands around as if trying to physically push the absurd accusation out of the air.

"I FELT it, you LIAR!" Silvermist screeched, stomping her foot so hard a puff of wind shot out from under her sandal, rustling the leaves.

"That was the wind!" West cried, clutching his head.

"I had to take some of the mana which threatened to break your body — would you prefer I didn’t?" West said, exasperated, dusting off his coat as he spoke.

Silvermist’s lips quivered, her indignant glare faltering. Her mouth opened for a retort... but nothing came out. She ended up standing there, fists clenched, looking both furious and embarrassed.

"Exactly," West huffed, bending down to swipe moss off his boots. "Your mana control is really, really unstable." He gave her a pointed look, as though scolding a misbehaving apprentice.

Then, with an air of someone far too accustomed to cleaning up ridiculous messes, he patted the rest of the moss and dirt off his uniform. When he was satisfied, he straightened, snapped his fingers, and summoned a whirlwind right beside him.

The wind gathered obediently, forming a tight vortex that hovered like an eager assistant.

Without missing a beat, West took a step toward it, turned gracefully on his heel, and spread his arms wide as if embracing the spotlight. Then, with all the theatrical flair of a ballroom dancer, he started twirling into the whirlwind — the gusts catching his coat and hair, drying and straightening every crease as if he were a nobleman fresh out of a magical laundromat.

Silvermist stared at him in stunned silence, her indignation momentarily forgotten as West spun with elegance, his coat billowing dramatically around him.

After finishing his final spin and adjusting his collar with the confidence of someone who’d just walked a runway, West turned to Silvermist, gesturing casually toward the still-whirling vortex beside him.

"Wanna borrow?" he offered with a shrug. "You’ll catch a cold, keel over dramatically, and die before we even find that Elixir. And then what? We lose the orb — our only lead — and I get blamed for your tragic demise."

Silvermist pressed her lips into a thin line, still too stubborn — or too embarrassed — to respond. She just crossed her arms, glaring at the moss beneath her, mumbling.

West took that as silent permission. With a snap of his fingers, the whirlwind obediently zipped toward her, swirling around her in tight circles.

It only took a few seconds — the wind dried her uniform, her sleeves, and even polished her boots to a shine.

But the moment the whirlwind dispersed with a final puff...

Silvermist stood there, dry — but her hair had not fared so well. The once silky strands were now hopelessly tangled, twisted like seaweed around her neck and shoulders, a messy knot that looked like it had been caught in a hurricane and then used as a bird’s nest.

She blinked slowly, trying to process the disaster, because of course, she couldn’t argue

West took one look at her and slapped a hand over his mouth, stopping a laugh. His shoulders trembled, and then he lost the battle that he had to turn away to swallow the incoming cackle.

"I—" He gasped between fake coughs. "I think the wind hates you."

Silvermist glared daggers at him, her tangled hair flopping in front of her face like an angry mop.

"Fix. It." she hissed, her voice dangerously low.

"I don’t carry combs with me," West finally managed to say between fading coughs.

Realizing, with painful clarity, that West was incredibly useless in this department, Silvermist let out a sharp breath and sat down on the moss with the air of someone who had been wronged by the universe.

With quick, practiced fingers — and more force than necessary — she yanked and tugged at her hair, muttering curses under her breath until the wild knots finally gave way.

Once her hair was reasonably tamed, she dusted off her hands and paused. Her gaze fell to her palms, where the angry red wounds from the orb had been only moments ago — now smooth and unblemished.

She hastily lifted the edge of her uniform to check her waist. The deep wound left by the arrow was gone too, leaving only the torn fabric as evidence.

Her lips parted slightly in awe. "S-So this water... it has the power to heal and restore mana?" she murmured, more to herself than anyone else.

"Pretty much," West said, nonchalantly, as if discussing the weather. He kicked at a pebble with the heel of his boot.

Silvermist blinked up at him. "And how come you knew about this place?"

West simply shrugged, stuffing his hands into his pockets. "I just know."

Silvermist narrowed her eyes at him. "You ’just know’?"

He nodded, casually glancing around like the conversation bored him.

"You ’just know’ about a secret hidden spring in the middle of nowhere with waters that heal wounds and restore mana, and your explanation is ’I just know’?" she repeated flatly.

West only offered her a wry smile. "I’m full of surprises, aren’t I?"

"Meh," Silvermist finally shrugged, giving up on prying more answers out of him. "Where are the others, anyway? Are they okay?"

"Perhaps," West mumbled, resting his chin on his palm. "I could have taken them here so they can restore their mana too, but I had to make you the priority, you know — since you were kind of... dying earlier. So much humiliation for Frost’s star apprentice, huh?"

Silvermist grimaced, her face twitching in annoyance. "Thanks for the concern," she said flatly, though her tone dripped with sarcasm. Then, feeling the warmth and strength returning to her body, she rolled her shoulders and smirked. "Now that I can feel more mana surging in me... perhaps I can finally swish your punchable face—" she paused mid-sentence when she happen to take a glimpse of West’s face.

It could’ve been the soft, glowing lights dancing around them that made West look a little... well, pretty in Silvermist’s eyes all of a sudden. Or maybe — just maybe — he really was a pretty man to begin with, and she’d been too busy being annoyed to notice.

The fireflies — not ordinary ones, but shimmering, magical creatures glowing in shades of pink, blue, green, red, and yellow — flitted lazily through the air. A handful of them drifted around West’s face, their gentle light casting soft glows on his sharp features. His bright grey eyes reflected the colors like polished silver, and when he blinked, it felt slow, cinematic, like nature itself had turned on dramatic filters just for him.

Silvermist found herself staring for a moment too long, watching the way the colors danced across his face and how he somehow looked both ridiculous and strangely ethereal.

He turned to her with that usual mischievous grin, completely ruining the effect — but also making it somehow worse.

She cleared her throat and averted her gaze, feeling a tiny, inexplicable heat crawl up her neck. "Meh," she muttered with another forced shrug. "Perhaps... we better get going."

West blinked again, slow-motion sparkles included. "You sure?" he teased. "You seem hypnotized. Want me to stand here a little longer for your viewing pleasure?"

Silvermist snapped out of it instantly, shooting him a glare so sharp it could cut glass. "The confident is overflowing, I could actually drown."

West’s lips pressed into a thin line, as though he was about to say something — but stopped. His grey eyes darkened, focused on something only he could feel.

Then it hit.

A weight in the air. Heavy. Oppressive. The kind of mana that didn’t simply settle around them, but crushed down — thick and suffocating, like chains tightening around their lungs.

Even Silvermist, whose senses are innately dull, felt it so clearly that her breath hitched.

"W-What was that...?" she whispered, her voice small.

West didn’t answer.

Instead, his gaze sharpened, quiet and calculating, his body already moving before words could catch up. He reached out and grasped Silvermist’s arm firmly — not panicked, not hurried — just steady. Intentional.

And then the ground shifted.

It wasn’t a tremor; it was as if the very bones of the earth twisted in discomfort. The ground convulsed beneath their feet, the cavern walls shuddering and groaning with deep, ancient sounds. Moss peeled away from stone, pebbles rattled like dry bones, and the water’s surface rippled violently without wind.

Silvermist gasped, turning toward him. "West—"

He finally spoke, his voice low and quiet, but with a weight that made her fall silent. "The elves already caught up!"

The rock ceiling above them — the very roof of this hidden, magical place — groaned with a deep crackling sound, like ancient bones threatening to snap.

West didn’t hesitate. He yanked Silvermist toward him without a word, scooping her up effortlessly into his arms. She barely had time to yelp in surprise before he leapt away, light and precise, just as massive chunks of stone thundered down behind them.

The cavern shook violently. The impact sent shockwaves rippling through the ground, and an enormous cloud of dust and debris exploded outward, swallowing everything in choking gray.

For a few suffocating seconds, there was nothing but the sound of crumbling rock and the soft hiss of falling dust.

West landed smoothly, crouching to steady them both. Silvermist instinctively clung to his neck, coughing as the dust thickened around them. Her heart pounded in her ears, but West’s breathing was calm, steady — almost unnervingly so.

Slowly, through the swirling haze of debris, a shadow formed. A figure — tall, imposing — began to emerge from the fog, each step slow and deliberate.

West narrowed his eyes, holding Silvermist close without shifting his grip. He didn’t need to see the face. Just the sheer weight of the mana radiating from that figure told him everything.

The figure finally cleared the dust.

"Ahh... there you are," the voice rumbled, rough and dark with amusement. "East’s apprentice."

The figure’s lips curled into a grin, his voice like gravel laced with thunder.

West said nothing. His fingers only tightened ever so slightly around Silvermist’s waist.

He already knew exactly who had found them.

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